#partially locked down online? sounds about right

[starlightkun]

❧ word count: 25.5k ❧ warnings: cursing, neck/shoulder biting and marking if you’re squeamish about that, talking about like werewolf scenting and stuff, blood, brief kissing with blood on/around mouths, this is a werewolf fic either you’re into this stuff or you’re not lol ❧ genre: fluff, so incredibly fluffy and sweet it should’ve been a warning honestly, established relationship, modern magical creatures au, college au, werewolf sungchan, human reader, ft. siren shotaro, werewolf jeno & various magical neos, same universe as strawberry sunday, sequel to changer ❧ extra info: this is a sequel to changer! it cannot be read as a standalone, you must read changer first! this work is set in the same universe as strawberry sunday but can be read as a standalone! there is no continuing plotline between fics in this universe (aside from changer to this one), they simply take place in the same world/magic system and may have overlapping characters (neos may pop up in more than one work!) ❧ author’s note: so this is technically the spiritual threequel (fourqual?) to my werewolf jeno fics (pupsick + abh) but you still don’t have to read those to understand this one at all! this is absolutely meant to be read by itself (after changer, ofc), and if you were able to survive changer, then you deserve a medal. and this is that medal, i suppose!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ explore the strawberry sunday universe more here!

The whole thing probably lasted just a couple seconds, but to you it felt like minutes, as every one of your heartbeats pounded through you, ricocheted around in your skull and grey matter. Could Sungchan feel that? Feel your pulse in his mouth? Was he scraping at it with his canines? Just one wrong move away from tearing open something vital?

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, Sung.” You wrapped your arms around your boyfriend, holding him close with no hesitation, even as his own arms were much slower to react. But once they did, he pulled you to him with a nearly crushing force, a strength that could all but make you forget that he was only half-werewolf.

Tonight, he’d let you stay with him for one of his shifts. It was exactly because he was half-werewolf that he’d even considered it in the first place, his shifts were much less intense than full werewolves, generally less violent and possibly dangerous for anybody who happened to be around him. He’d described it to you after the last full moon, that it was more just sort of painful, confusing, and sometimes sort of like when drunk-you left problems for sober-you, like drunk-dialing people or spending too much money online. Except in his case, werewolf-him generally destroyed smaller pieces of property like school notes or clothes. When he said that he always asked Shotaro to leave the night of the full moon, you asked if you could be with him the next time. It sounded terrible to have to do that alone every month. And to your surprise, he’d only responded with a weak ‘please?’

So when you’d arrived this afternoon, you’d taken everything out of his room that you feasibly could that he didn’t want to chew up: his bookbag, textbooks, nice sneakers, photo albums, laptop, etc. And then you’d locked the door, and stayed with him.

Now he was coming out of it—a glance at his bedside clock that had been knocked out of place but was otherwise fine told you that it was almost three in the morning. You cradled the back of his fully-human-again head, not minding the matted, damp hair.

“I’m right here,” you reminded him. “I didn’t go anywhere. I’m not going anywhere.”

You felt him shudder as he let out what sounded like a whine of pain. It made you worried about him staying up on his own two feet. “Sung? Do you need to lay down?”

He didn’t answer, and you realized he might not be back at the point where he could speak yet. Before you could finish weighing your options of attempting to drag the 186cm still partially-shifted half-werewolf to his bed by yourself, he’d buried his face in your neck, opened his mouth, and was resting his set of sharp canines against the curve of where your neck met your shoulder.

You breathed in through your nose, hand still on his head as he just… waited. For what, you couldn’t say. He was still whining softly, though now there was a slight undertone of need cutting through the pain you’d heard earlier.

Your hand was still resting on his head, and you gently pulled him closer, feeling the dull pressure of his teeth against your skin. “It’s okay, Sung. Whatever you need. I trust you.”

Finally, he closed his jaw. But it wasn’t a bite at all, it was more like a toddler teething on something cold to soothe their aching gums while their new teeth grew in. It didn’t hurt; he certainly wasn’t breaking skin, and you doubted that any marks would be left. The worst damage would be slobber, you were sure. If anything, it just… tickled. Suppressing a giggle at the feeling, you stroked his hair affectionately.

“There you go, Sung. There you go…” You murmured quietly. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay. You’re okay, baby…”

“Bite…” He finally let out a grunt that sounded akin to a real word.

“What? What was that?” You tried to pull your head back to be able to look him in the face, but he didn’t want to detach from you in the slightest, his whines becoming less pained and more pathetic. Giving up on the task, you shook your head just a little, “Never mind, sorry. But what were you saying, Sung? Something about biting? You didn’t chew anything up this time, actually. We kept you in check pretty well. Your wallet will thank us, I’m sure.”

Sungchan continued to mouth at your neck a couple more times before he gave another full body shudder and tremble, then fell to his knees. As wrapped up in each other as you were, you went down with him, your kneecaps only saved by the fact that he had a nice plush rug. Your forehead wasn’t so lucky, as it got cracked against his on the way down, and you bit your tongue as a result.

“Shit!” You hissed, but couldn’t even focus on your own pain for very long, because Sungchan was now leaning most of his weight forward onto you. You quickly readjusted hold him up by the underarms. “Woah, woah. You alright, Sung?”

“I… bite…” He groaned again.

“You bite your tongue too?” You guessed humorously, scooting to sit on the floor against his bed and ushering him to lay down with his head in your lap. Ideally, you’d be in the bed, not on the floor next to it, but this was close enough.

Sungchan curled up in your lap as if he’d forgotten how big he was, fitting as much of the top half of his body there as he could. It was as he turned over slightly onto his side that you finally got a good look at his face again and saw just how exhausted he looked. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week, and his skin was warm, flushed, and drenched with sweat. You gently brushed the damp bangs away from his forehead with one hand, reaching your other up towards his nightstand. After fumbling around in the top drawer for a ridiculous amount of time considering you’d put it literally right on top, you finally grabbed the lunchbox filled with cold, damp washcloths and ice packs that you’d stored in there earlier.

Unzipping it, the ice packs were all melted, but the washcloths were still nice and cool, which was what you really needed. Taking the first one, you blotted it along Sungchan’s forehead, cheeks, and neck, following it up with fleeting touches of your hand to assess if it was really helping or not. Judging by the small, soft, not painful sigh he let out, it at least didn’t seem to be hurting.

“Y/N…” He panted, grabbing your wrist as you were pressing the washcloth to his cheek.

“Yep, I’m right here, Sung,” you reassured him, putting your other hand over his. “I’m right here, okay?”

“I…”

“Do you need something, baby? Water? Food?

“I want…”

You dropped the washcloth from his face to listen attentively. “Yeah, Sung?”

His eyes finally opened, letting you see that his irises were still the same glowing, burning amber as earlier in the night. Not quite out of his shift yet. He sat up until he was nearly level with your neck, breathing in deeply. His grip on your wrist tightened, then he all but collapsed back onto your lap again, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Mm… I should… We should… I wan’ to…” He was slurring his words like he was drunk, chest heaving with every breath, and his grip on your wrist relaxed until he was loosely holding your hand, pulling it down to cradle your forearm to his chest like it was a stuffed animal. “Wan’… give you my mating bite… Y/N…”

You stared down at Sungchan with wide, dumbstruck eyes. As he slowly blinked, you could see that his eyes were still that same bright gold. He just shifted further up to try to fit more of himself in your lap, though, pressing his head against your stomach and wedging his shoulder in the gap left by your criss-crossed legs.

Even as you were so shocked, you curled up and readjusted to mold your body around him, one hand giving his head a soft, reassuring pat as the other rubbed up and down his arm, soothing over the surely tired muscles.

“You…” You trailed off in your attempt to get clarification, unable to even begin to try to rephrase it yourself. In packs, mated werewolf couples bit each other in elaborate rituals. Neither of you were any of those things. Could Sungchan even give a werewolf mating bite, as a half-werewolf? Could you receive one? You definitely couldn’t give him one back. Wouldn’t he want one back? Or maybe not? Not to mention he wasn’t in a pack and had never been in his life. What did a mating bite mean to him?

God, your head hurt, and you weren’t even the one who had gone through a werewolf shift tonight.

Sungchan took another deep breath, and long, slow blink, his eyes almost back to their normal brown color. “‘Cause I… I love you. I wan’ to… ‘cause I love you… my… Y/N.”

His eyes fluttered shut, and you heard his breathing even out as he finally fell asleep in just a few moments.

It didn’t seem like you’d get the answer to any of those questions tonight. And as much as the idea of going any longer without knowing made your stomach twist into painful, uncomfortable knots, Sungchan needed the rest. He wasn’t in the right state for any sort of conversation like that. There wouldn’t be any way he’d be able to answer your questions even if you could force yourself to ask them.

Taking a deep breath, you leaned over to gently peck his hair. “Your Y/N loves you too, Sung…”

Your back ached. You had a crick in your neck. And another one in your back. And another one in another part of your back. And yet another one in one more part of your back. You groaned, rolling over in bed to try to crack some of the kinks out without having to actually get up.

That gave you pause. There was definitely a mattress underneath you, blankets covering you, and a pillow supporting your head. But you remembered falling asleep on the floor next to Sungchan’s bed after his shift last night.

Squinting one eye open suspiciously, you saw that it was still very dark in his room, but you had without a doubt been mysteriously tucked into his bed. Much too tired to investigate past that, you pulled the blankets up over your head and buried your face in your pillow, very quickly falling back asleep.

When you woke up again, it was brighter outside, and at first you thought Sungchan had put a weighted blanket on you in the middle of the night. Odd choice, considering you didn’t have one on you the first time you woke up, or at least that you could remember. And then you realized that Sungchan was your weighted blanket.

Your boyfriend was fully snuggled up on top of your back, completely passed out, as you were dozing on your front. You couldn’t even roll him over, he was dead weight. With a sigh, you closed your eyes again, wondering if you’d be able to go back to sleep for a second—third?—time this morning.

“You up?” He mumbled in your ear, voice barely above a hoarse grumble.

“You’re awake?” You asked in disbelief.

“Yeah?”

“So you’re suffocating me on purpose?”

He rolled off onto the mattress next to you, and immediately your lungs could work better. “Oh, so when you do it to me, it’s cute and I’m supposed to enjoy it, but when I do it, it’s attempted murder and ‘Ouch, Sungchan, get off of me, you’re crushing me with your big, huge werewolf muscles.’”

“So I don’t need to ask if you’re feeling better,” you scoffed, but nevertheless shifted onto your side to face him.

He wasn’t pink-faced and sweaty anymore, instead looking unnaturally pale, with dark circles under his eyes like he’d pulled two all-nighters in a row for finals week. You cupped his cheek, gently running your thumb under one of his eyes. His skin wasn’t warm to the touch, instead it felt the same temperature as yours—cold for a werewolf or half-werewolf.

“You’ve got a chill, Sung,” you observed with a frown, taking your hand back as you prepared to get up.

“It’s normal, baby,” he reassured you, grabbing your arm to keep you from leaving. “Just uh… returning to homeostasis or whatever. I’ll be okay.”

“Alright… if you say so…” you sighed, staying put and pressing a kiss to his forehead, sneakily taking note of his temperature that way instead. “You can at least eat, right? Breakfast sound good?”

“Sure. In a minute.”

“You stay here, I’ll go make you something. Breakfast in bed. What’s better than that?”

He pretended to deliberate on this, then grabbed you with two arms around your waist, pulling you to his chest. “This.”

Tucked under his chin, you couldn’t look up to read his face, instead just staring at his t-shirt. “Really? You’re not hungry?”

“A little. But I won’t die if I don’t eat right now.”

“Are you implying that you’ll die if we don’t cuddle right now?”

“Yes,” he replied dramatically. “Absolutely. I’ll simply perish if I don’t get my Y/N time this instant.”

You couldn’t help but snicker at that, finally giving in. Not forgetting about his drop in temperature, you made sure to pull the blankets up around you two before you fully snuggled in, wrapping your arms around him and nuzzling your face into his chest.

“Alright, alright. Slow your roll on your imminent decay. I’m right here, Sung. Like I said last night, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You did say that, didn’t you?” He mused, tangling your legs together.

“Yeah, I did.” You chewed on the inside of your cheek nervously. “Uhm… How much do you remember about your shifts?”

“While I’m fully shifted? Not a lot usually. Immediately before and after? Depends. Why? Did I do something?”

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you remembered the feeling of his teeth on your neck, of him asking to bite you, to give you his mating bite. Did he remember that? Sungchan wasn’t bringing it up… Surely he’d mention it again now if he remembered, or was serious about it.

“Well, afterwards… you were kind of saying some stuff. I just didn’t know if you—”

“Hey… look at me?” Sungchan requested as he leaned back from you. When you’d picked up your head to oblige, he looked you in the eye with no hesitation, his face entirely serious now. “Of course I meant it when I said I love you. I’m sorry I said it to you for the first time looking like a hot fucking mess, and again now not in much better shape, but I mean it all the same. I love you, my Y/N. So much. So goddamn much I feel like I could explode if I don’t tell you every 5 seconds. Except you might get kind of tired of me if I did that.”

Despite it not being the words you were expecting to hear, you were beaming from ear to ear, even managing out a choked laugh through the happy tears suddenly welling up in your eyes.

“Woah, hey, I didn’t mean to make you cry with how bad my confession was,” he joked, wiping at the first tear as it slipped down your cheek.

“Oh shut it!” You chastised him. “What have I told you about being a sweetheart?”

“Own up to it or don’t do it at all,” he recited dutifully. “I’m sorry, baby. I love you, so fucking much and I’m going to explode if you don’t say it back maybe? But no pressure? Also, I love you. And no pressure to say it back right now.”

“Oh my god, Sung, I love you too,” you laughed, grabbing his face in both of your hands to pull his mouth to yours. “So fucking much.”

Dr. and Mr. Jung lived in a two-story townhouse just a couple blocks over from campus. The old bricks on the face of it were a warm red, and as you got closer, you saw that there were shimmery flecks mixed into the rogue.

“How old are these buildings?” You asked Sungchan, reaching out to touch one of the bricks around the entryway. “There’s dragon scales in the brick.”

“There’s what?” Sungchan’s eyes widened, and you pointed to a particularly large chunk, about the size of the head of a thumbtack. It reflected amber in the setting sun.

“Dragon scales. They used to be incorporated into building materials to make them more durable. You know, before integration. There’s been really big debates at like, every open-door City Hall meeting about if we should keep buildings up that have dragon scale brick in them or not, since so many dragons had to be killed to make them.”

“Oh my god.”

“So far it looks like they’re going to move towards tearing down abandoned buildings made of dragon scale brick at least.”

“How-How many dragons? Were killed?”

“We have no way to know. And the thing is, you can gather dragon scales without hurting a dragon, it’s just not going to be enough to make dragon scale brick of any usable quantity.”

“So it should’ve never been made.”

“No. It shouldn’t have.” You turned away from the wall with a shake of your head. “Anyway, that’s why I was asking how old these homes are. They’re by the university, so pretty old, I guess.”

“I have no clue. You’d have to ask my parents.” Sungchan ushered you towards the door with a hand on the small of your back.

“I don’t think I will. Not incredible meet-the-parents dinner conversation, really.”

“As much I want to say they’ll love you anyway, which they would, I do have to agree with you. Maybe save the existential horror of the materials of their home for the second dinner.” He kissed the top of your head.

“Will do.” You nodded. “Now, are you going to knock on the door, or are we going to keep standing out here like we’re casing the place?”

“Oh, sorry, you can’t hear that. My mom’s—”

And then the sound of the front door unlocking came, and you looked up at Sungchan questioningly. It was opened by a face familiar to you only from pictures.

Dr. Jung was already beaming at you. “Hello! Oh, I’m sorry if I startled you, Y/N. I was grading in my office and could hear you two coming up the steps, got a bit excited.” She gestured to the window next to the brick that you’d been discussing.

Dr. Jung was an economics professor at your university, though you’d never taken a class from her personally.

“I was about to give you a heads up,” Sungchan patted you on the back. “I heard her footsteps, that’s—”

“—why you weren’t knocking. Of course.” You nodded, then turned your focus back to Sungchan’s mother. “It’s lovely to meet you, Dr. Jung.”

“You too, Y/N.” She was still smiling ear-to-ear as she reached forward to take your hands. “You’ll have to tell me more about the history of these dragon scale bricks, I truly had no idea.”

You looked at Sungchan in alarm, and he just shrugged. But she was already leading you into the house by your hand, your boyfriend trailing behind.

“Mom, I don’t even get a hug? No hello for your own son?” Sungchan complained dramatically, closing the door behind you three.

“Well since you’re going to be a big baby about it.” A man’s voice suddenly joined in as you had emerged from the front hallway into the living room. You turned around towards the stairs to see Sungchan’s dad standing on the bottom step, still not eye level with his son even with the added height. He wrapped his arms around Sungchan with an affectionate fake growl, and your boyfriend eagerly hugged his dad back.

Mr. Jung was a middle school science teacher, and you couldn’t help but wonder if that was where Sungchan got his love for science from. He never said it specifically, but he’d told you plenty of stories of doing home science experiments with his dad as a kid.

“Hey, Dad.” He was grinning so brightly as he pulled away, then eagerly gestured to you. “Dad, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is my dad.”

“Jung Yoonseo, how are you?” The other human greeted you. But your gaze got stuck on the dip of Mr. Jung’s shoulder, where his neck met shoulder, and two-thirds of a dark bite mark were visible above the collar of his shirt.

You tore your eyes away from the mating bite to look up at his face, smiling again. “I’m good, Mr. Jung, thank you. How are you?”

“I’m very well.” He nodded to you, starting towards the connected kitchen.

“Oh, honey, Y/N was just telling me that apparently our home is made of dragon scale brick,” Dr. Jung pulled you into the kitchen as well.

Mr. Jung turned around from where he’d started peeling a vegetable to look at his wife curiously. “Sorry, you said dragon scales, Jieun?”

“Yes! Go on, Y/N. I didn’t catch much of what you were telling Sungchan, I came to get you all as soon as I heard that you’d arrived.”

You looked to Sungchan imploringly, but he just shrugged again, then mouthed something that looked like ‘go for it’ to you. So you inhaled, and went for it.

“Dr. and Mr. Jung, do you two know how old your house is?”

“I think that went pretty well,” Sungchan declared as the two of you walked down the sidewalks hand-in-hand later that evening. He had a bag filled with containers of leftovers in his other hand.

“Glad you think so. I felt like Renjun, giving people impromptu lectures at the most out-of-pocket times,” you scoffed.

“Yeah, and they loved it. My parents are big nerds like you.”

“You’re literally a STEM major.”

“Point taken.”

“So your dad wasn’t just being nice when he invited me over for tea, then?”

Your boyfriend looked down at you with wide eyes. “When did he do that?”

“When you and your mom were packing up the leftovers and he was showing me the backyard. I forgot how it came up, but I’d mentioned the boba shop, and he said if I liked tea, then I was welcome to come over for a cup anytime. Since he’s still on summer break and everything.”

Despite the smile that had creeped across his face as you spoke, you furrowed your brow suspiciously.

“What? What are you smiling for?”

He surprised you by smooching your temple loudly. “I was wrong. It didn’t go pretty well. It went great.”

“Being invited over for tea is a good sign?” You asked cautiously.

“Definitely.” He stopped the two of you on the deserted sidewalk, letting go of your hand just to immediately seize your waist, pulling you towards him. The surprised noise you were about to make got muffled by Sungchan sealing his lips over yours. You curled a hand around the back of his neck as the other gripped onto his forearm for some kind of stability as he kissed you breathless.

As he pulled back to look down at you with that same big, tender grin, you couldn’t help but let out an airy giggle.

“And what was that for?”

“I love you. And do I need a reason to kiss my amazing, beautiful girlfriend?” He punctuated each of the last three words with more kisses to your cheek this time, making you giggle again.

“Like that, in the middle of the street? Yes.” You pinched his side teasingly, earning a laugh as he squirmed away from your touch. You made sure to tack on an, “I love you too, Sung.”

“We’re not in the street, we’re on the sidewalk.”

Before you could give your retort, he’d caught your lips in another sweet kiss, and all banter was gone from your mind.

“Are you staying at my place?” Sungchan asked when you’d finally restarted your journey.

“Let’s do my place tonight, hm?” You suggested, squeezing his hand.

He tilted his head, an adorable, confused pout on his face. “Why?”

“Because I don’t have some poor roommate that we’ll be annoying.”

“Says the girl who used to specifically ask if Shotaro was going to be home before she’d agree to come over,” he snickered.

“I did that because I had a huge crush on you and you’d friendzoned me, you ass.” You elbowed him in the side teasingly. “Having Taro there made it easier to ignore the aching hole in my chest whenever I looked at you, you dick.”

You landed a gentle mock punch that was in actuality a light tap to his chest, but Sungchan was no longer laughing. He looked down at you, pensive sadness on his features.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to articulate how much I regret putting you through that. You didn’t deserve to ever feel… an aching hole, because of me.”

“Ah, Sung.” You hugged his arm to your chest, resting your head against his shoulder as you walked. “I know you would’ve never done that to me on purpose. But if we can’t laugh about it—about the uh, admittedly kind of funny scenario we put ourselves in before we started dating—then we’ll never be able to really move past it. We’re together now, and that’s what really matters.”

He sighed. “I agree. I just… I don’t think I’m past the feeling bad part yet.”

“That’s okay.” You squeezed his upper arm reassuringly. “Just don’t beat yourself up on my account. Alright?”

“Okay,” he said, and you could hear the small smile in his voice.

“So, my place?”

“I just remembered that my mom put in some leftovers for Shotaro. Kelp rolls.”

“We should probably take that to him, huh?”

“Yeah…”

“Hopefully that’ll be enough to counteract us existing around him.”

Shotaro was enthused to receive his kelp rolls, not even commenting on you staying the night as he excitedly took his food into his room.

“You want something to eat?” Sungchan asked as he put the rest of the leftovers in the fridge.

“No. I ate plenty at your parents’ house.” You shook your head. Stretching and yawning, you started towards the hallway with their bedrooms. “You make your little post-dinner snack. Feed your half-werewolf metabolism. I’m going to get ready for bed.”

“Feel free to take a sweatshirt or something.”

“Way ahead of you.”

Your boyfriend found you a few minutes later already curled up in his bed, bundled up in just one of his oversized hoodies. He scooted in next to you, encouraging you to move your head from the pillow to his lap as you went to snuggle up to his side instead.

“Whatcha eating, Sung?” You mumbled, mouth splitting into another yawn. All you could tell was that he had a bowl of some kind of finger food, as he’d brought no utensil in with him.

“Some fruit. Strawberries, honeydew, blueberries… Oh, you want a grape?”

“I’m still not entirely convinced that you’re not trying to fatten me up to eat, you know?” You said teasingly. “Like some mix of the witch from Hansel and Gretel and the big bad wolf from Little Red Riding Hood…”

“Banana slice?”

But you knew it was just his instinct to feed you, so you always indulged him to a certain extent—not so much that you felt like you were going to burst, but enough to calm his need to know that you were well-fed.

“Mm, grape.” You opened your mouth like a baby bird. He deposited the fruit on your tongue, but due to how you were laying, it landed more-so on the inside of your cheek. You had to sit up and prop yourself up on an elbow to chew and swallow properly without choking, but then promptly laid back down, nuzzling your face into his thigh.

Just a few seconds later, he asked you through a full mouth, “Baby? You want another?”

“I’m good, Sung, thank you,” you replied sweetly. “Your dad’s a really good cook, I ate a lot at dinner.”

“Yeah, he is,” he agreed proudly.

“Now finish your food so you can cuddle me to sleep.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And less than ten minutes later, you were laid on your side, pulled flush to Sungchan’s front, your back to his chest and your legs tangled together. You had one of his arms ensnared, fingers laced loosely with his as you wrapped the limb tighter around you. His face was buried in your neck, planting absentminded kisses to your skin as you were gently floating between waking and sleep.

“I used to think you liked him, for a little bit, you know,” Sungchan murmured next to your ear, clearly a sudden blurting from his own train of thought that you weren’t privy to.

Oh, this sounded like a conversation. You squinted your eyes open blearily, turning over in his arms to face him. Throwing a leg over his to pull him closer, you offered him a sleepy smile and asked, “Who?”

He readjusted to keep holding you like that, one hand resting where the bottom of the hoodie had ridden up around your hip, settling on your thigh. His thumb and forefinger messed with the hem of the sweater, and you could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down in the dim light as he swallowed.

“Shotaro. Since you’d always ask if he was going to be at the apartment. But your heartrate never went up around him.”

You hummed in amusement, reaching out to gently pinch the tip of his nose. “Endearing that you were listening to my heartbeat to figure out if I liked your roommate.”

“But it did… go up around me sometimes. I knew that,” he confessed, his eyes locking on yours, desperate. Like he was searching, asking you for something. Absolution, penance, maybe. “And it made me happy. Even though I had told myself that I shouldn’t have you. It still… made me happy at first, but then it’d make me sad. That you hadn’t moved on. Because I thought you’d deserved to move on.”

But he’d done no sin that you needed to cleanse him of in your eyes. He was a guy who made a few mistakes and then finally made the right choice. After you smacked him upside the head with it, but nobody was perfect. The person who really needed to forgive him was himself. He was still stuck in the past, seemingly afraid that he could lose you at any moment. But he wasn’t going to, and you wished he would just believe that.

“But you got me now,” you promised, cradling his face and wishing he could feel just how much you really meant those words.

“I do.” He brought his hand up to cover your own, and you felt like you could cry. “I do got you now.”

“And I’ve got you.”

“You’ve always had me. I just hadn’t told you yet. But you’ve always had me,” Sungchan admitted with a bittersweet smile, curling his hand around yours.

You surged forward to close the minute gap between the two of you, kissing him so hard that your lips hurt. Your fingers tangled in his hair, your hands grabbed at his shoulders, his clothes, anything to pull him closer to you. He was hugging you tight to him, thank god, because it felt like you could never be close enough. Your bones ached with a need to break the laws of physics and exist in the same time and space as him, and a tiny part of you believed that if you just wanted it enough, if you tried hard enough, maybe you could.

“You know, I thought all I’d feel was relief when you and Sungchan finally got together, but instead I’m plagued by near constant nausea.”

You stopped in your tracks in the hallway. You’d been trying to quietly pee then hurry back into Sungchan’s room the next morning, but instead, you spun around to face Shotaro, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

He was standing in front of his door at the opposite end of the hall, arms crossed over his chest.

“Maybe go see a witch about that. It sounds serious,” you wrinkled your nose teasingly. Thankfully you’d had the wherewithal to pull on a pair of sleep shorts you had stashed in Sungchan’s drawers before leaving his room that morning.

“Yeah, that and my recently developed insomnia, too,” he scoffed. “Three in the morning, Y/N. Some people like to sleep, you know.”

Your skin burned as you started shuffling backwards towards Sungchan’s room. “Sorry! Bye!”

You slammed the door behind you, startling Sungchan awake.

“Huh?” He blinked sleepily, lifting his head to look around.

You launched yourself back into bed, burying your face in the pillow in shame.

“Woah, Y/N, you okay?” Sungchan’s voice was thick and deep this early in the morning, but you couldn’t even focus on that. He rubbed your back soothingly as you shook your head.

You turned your head just enough to clear your mouth to speak. “We should’ve gone to my place... No roommate...”

“Oh, Shotaro giving you a hard time?”

“‘Three in the morning, Y/N. Some people like to sleep.’” You did your best Shotaro impression. “I don’t think it was enough kelp rolls.”

“Ah, I’m-I’m sorry, baby.” Sungchan kept rubbing your back, but you could hear that he was holding back laughter.

You rolled onto your back, shooting him a glare before staring up at the ceiling. “Why do I always let you talk me into staying at your place?”

“Because you love me,” he replied in a sing-song voice, pressing a lingering kiss to your cheekbone, near your hairline.

“Yeah, but I mean, why do we always end up at your apartment, Sung? Why do you never want to come over to mine?”

The teasing dropped from his tone as he straightened up slightly. “It’s not like that, Y/N. I like spending time with you, no matter where we are. We could be in the cold vacuum of space, and I’d be fine with it as long as we were hanging out. And, in space suits so we didn’t die, you know. But, it’s just... I don’t know, I like having you here. In my space. It feels like everything’s right in the universe, like I know everything will be okay, that you’re going to be okay. As stupid as that sounds—”

“No, Sung, it’s not stupid.” You shifted to face him, brushing some hair back from his face. The same anxiety that you’d seen the night before was painted across his features again, and you didn’t like that you were seeing it more and more often. His sentiments weren’t stupid, they were loving, but the root of them concerned you. Was he constantly plagued by worries of something bad happening to you?

“Not at all...” You reiterated softly, running your thumb over the crease between his brows. “Sung? Baby?”

“Yeah?”

“I know you have class today but… can I stay here? While you’re on campus? Then we can do something together when you get back. We can go downtown or something.”

You could feel his face relax again under your touch, and he nodded with a smile.

“Yeah, of course. If you think you can handle being around Shotaro for that long. He’s off work today.”

“I’ll manage, somehow.”

When it was finally time for Sungchan to go to class, though, you encountered an issue.

“Sung, you need to go to class,” you sighed, nudging him from where he had his arms wrapped around you. You’d been lounging on the couch when it struck time for him to finally depart for campus, but you were now dealing with a clingy werewolf.

“The professor doesn’t count attendance for a grade,” he grumbled. “I can skip.”

“You literally said this morning that you had a quiz today.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did, you liar,” you scoffed, trying to wriggle out of his grip. “And you need to go take that quiz.”

Shotaro, meanwhile, was observing the entire thing from the threshold between the living room and the hallway, a fascinating mixture of equal parts disgust and amusement on his features. You looked at him pleadingly for any kind of assistance, and he rolled his eyes, but nevertheless helped you anyway.

“Sungchan, dude, seriously,” Shotaro sighed, his tone on the border of exasperation and understanding. “Y/N’s wearing your clothes, staying in our apartment, and you haven’t let her go for I think the past four hours straight, not even to pee. You’ve scented her up enough to last the next month, a few hours will be fine.”

Your jaw set as there was a sudden spark of recognition in the back of your mind, but you couldn’t follow that train of thought in the moment. Sungchan loosened his grip on you, sitting up and blinking as if woken from a trance. “R-Right. Sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s okay, Sung,” you smiled, standing up and yanking him to his feet as well. You practically dragged him towards the front door, shoving his backpack in his hands. “Now go, you’re going to be late.”

He looked down at you with a small, fond smile as well, slinging the bag over his shoulder. “Bye, love you.”

“I love you too.” You got up on your tiptoes to give him a fleeting kiss goodbye, and he wrapped an arm around you for a hug. You were worried that this was about to be another borderline hostage situation, but he took one more inhale near your neck, then let you go and straightened up.

“Okay. See you in a few.” He said, his hand on the door handle.

“Go, Sungchan.”

“Fine, fine. Bye.”

And with that, he was finally gone. You turned back around to Shotaro, letting out a sigh of relief. The siren just chuckled, shaking his head.

“Werewolves, dude.” He flopped onto the opposite side of the couch from where you and Sungchan had just been.

You sat back down, kicking your feet up and pulling out your phone. “Yeah. Werewolves...”

Shotaro started flicking through a streaming service to try to find something to watch. “Hey wait, shouldn’t he be scenting you less since he’s a half-werewolf?”

“I... don’t know,” you admitted. “There’s not really any sort of research on half-werewolves. We don’t know anything about what they ‘should’ be like. Not even one of those unethical case studies from the 1800s.”

“Huh. But like I was saying earlier, you two make me nauseous.”

“Just put on your trashy reality TV that we know you’re going to pick after scrolling around for 30 minutes.”

“The browsing is part of the experience.”

As Shotaro browsed on the TV then eventually picked a show, you searched on your phone. The Real Sirens of Diamond Bay was great background noise as you dug through the internet, and you barely even realized the time until your friend was calling for your attention from the kitchen.

“Hm?” You looked up from the forum post that you’d been reading.

“I asked if you wanted lunch.” He opened the fridge, taking out the containers of leftovers you and your boyfriend had brought home last night. “Or if only Sungchan could feed you.”

“Yeah, sure, I could eat.” You joined him in the kitchen, stretching out your back. “So you noticed that too, huh?”

“Oh, the pre-mating behaviors? Well, you did give me a very convenient list when you were still in your denial phase.”

You punched his arm, making him nearly drop the plates he’d just gotten from the cabinet.

“Ow!” He rubbed the spot with a pout, handing you one of the dishes. “Rude... I’m feeding you food from my fridge.”

“No, I’m letting you eat my leftovers,” you corrected him. “Dr. Jung made us take all the steamed buns because she knew they were my favorite.”

Shotaro had been loading said steamed buns up onto his plate, then started shoveling the rest of them onto yours. “Calm down, I wasn’t taking them all.”

You looked at the empty container with a sigh, putting half of yours back. “Well, we can’t just leave nothing for Sung.”

After you’d made your plates with minimal bickering and warmed them up, you took them to the small dining table in the corner of the living room to eat. Shotaro continued playing the episode he’d been on for ambiance as he engaged you in conversation.

“So what were you so invested in on your phone?” He asked, cracking open a seaweed-infused sparkling tea drink popular with younger sirens. “You usually love Real Sirens.”

You popped the tab on your soda, taking a sip before answering. “I was doing some research, on what we were talking about earlier—”

“I thought you said there wasn’t a lot of research on half-werewolves.”

“Not a lot of scholarly research. But I found some people posting online about their own experiences either as half-werewolves themselves, or dating half-werewolves. About the scenting.” You explained, pausing to take a bite of your food. “And it seems like the general consensus is that most likely because their sense of smell isn’t as great as full werewolves, but they still can smell that kind of stuff, unlike humans, half-werewolves get a little more… intense with scenting behaviors.”

“Gross.”

“I meant the clothes and the hugging, dude.” You soft-balled a kick at his shin under the table. “Not my fault you’re immediately gross.”

“Does it ever stop?”

You grimaced, “Well…”

“No?” Shotaro asked with wide eyes, presumably having the rest of his recently renewed lease flashing before them.

“Again, there aren’t a lot of half-werewolves. Or at least ones talking about it. But there is one half-werewolf/human couple I found who says that the scenting took better, and the behaviors therefore decreased after…” You trailed off, messing with the strings of Sungchan’s hoodie.

“After…?”

“After they followed through with the werewolf mating bite.”

The siren stared at you blankly. “Oh.”

“They’re the only ones I could find online who has done that, so who knows if that’s a guaranteed result, not to mention that at that point they were also human married, and had been together for over five years, so there was definitely just a lot of security in their relationship not to mention they’d been living together for years so they were going to smell like each other anyway—”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it.” Shotaro stopped your defensive rambles gently. “You two don’t need to do that for me. Just wear his clothes and be annoying, it’s fine.”

You stabbed your fork into a bun. “Yeah, I know that.”

“That was some weird stressing of your words there, Y/N. Anything you want to share?”

You let out a long, steady breath, your lips just a centimeter away from being pressed together. Your mind was swirling with the memory of Sungchan’s last shift. Of him asking you to take his bite. He hadn’t mentioned it again since, but you couldn’t stop thinking about it. Especially because he hadn’t brought it up again since. And seeing his dad’s last night…

“Sungchan mentioned it once, but I don’t know how serious he was being, and he hasn’t brought it up again,” you admitted before tearing into the bun you’d just assaulted. It was filled with delightfully seasoned veggies wrapped in smooth, pillowy dough. God, these really were some of the best steamed buns you’d ever had.

Shotaro practically did a spit take with his tea, dribbling the sip he’d just taken back into the bottle. “He what? When?”

“Shotaro—”

“No, he brought up essentially werewolf engagement to you— What? While you two were playing video games or something? And neither of you mentioned this to me?”

“It wasn’t like that but... sure. I guess.”

“No, no, what was the context? Post-nut confessions or something?”

“God! Why are you like this?” You groaned, dragging a hand over your face in exasperation. “No, he let me be with him for his last shift, it was when he was coming out of it. He wasn’t all there, he was tired, he had all the extra adrenaline and everything else going through his body still.”

He didn’t seem convinced. “So I was right.”

You gave him an unamused look. “Think more like a boxer with a concussion.”

“And you haven’t brought it up with him since?”

“I was just focused on making sure he was okay. And now, I don’t know, he hasn’t mentioned it again. Maybe he wasn’t serious about it?”

“If he was... would you say yes? To be werewolf married?” The siren waggled his eyebrows at you teasingly. “Or half-werewolf married? Half-werewolf half-married?”

“They really need to make like even a single MCS class mandatory in the Gen Ed requirements, because what the hell are you saying to me right now?”

“You know what I mean. Would you say yes?”

“I… need to talk to some other people, I think.” You turned your eyes downwards as you tried to really think about it.

“That wasn’t a no! Hell yeah! I’m so going to be Sungchan’s best man!”

You rolled your eyes. “You have no clue what you’re talking about.”

As you finished up your lunch, your mind wouldn’t stop turning over what Shotaro had said. If Sungchan had been serious, would you say yes? You knew from class what the bite meant to werewolves within packs, but did it mean the same thing to Sungchan since he was half-werewolf? Did that even make a difference? Not to mention that you weren’t any part werewolf, the exchanging of bites was supposed to be an entire ritual similar to a couple exchanging rings on their wedding day. You couldn’t exactly bite him back. And the couple online was already legally married anyway…

Well, you did know one other werewolf/human couple that you could talk to, at least. You quickly texted Jeno.

[you: hey, are you home right now?]

Miraculously, he texted back almost immediately.

[jeno: yeah, just got back from a run]

[jeno: why?]

[you: mind if i come over really quick? need some advice on something with sung]

[jeno: oh sure]

[jeno: everything okay? should i have tissues out…?]

[you: omg no like werewolf stuff]

[jeno: oh good]

[you: thanks though. be over in a few]

Standing up from the couch, you stood off to the side of the TV so you didn’t block Shotaro’s show as you announced, “I’ll be right back.”

The siren gave a thumbs up in acknowledgement as his focus remained on the screen. You nodded before hurrying to pull your shoes on. The last thing to do before leaving was shoot off a text to Sungchan.

[you: hey sung, i’ve got a quick errand to run. i should be back before you get home from class, but just in case i’m not, i’ll be coming right back to the apartment! love you!]

“Hey, Jeno, thanks for having me over on such short notice.” You offered your friend a nervous smile as you stepped into his apartment.

“I’m not your professor that you’re seeing outside of his office hours, Y/N,” he chuckled, shutting the door behind you. “Don’t worry about it. What’s up? You said it’s something about Sungchan?”

“Is your girlfriend here?” You looked around the living room as the two of you sat down.

Jeno tilted his head curiously. “No, she’s at the bakery this afternoon. Did you need her too?”

“Not necessarily, it’s just...” You dropped your head into your hands, frustrated. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Try to start at the beginning?”

“Right. Sung let me be with him on the last full moon.”

“Wow. I haven’t even done that.” Jeno sounded genuinely impressed.

“Well… Uhm, do you know? About Sung?”

He stared at you blankly. “Need you to be way more specific here. I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

You tried to pick your words carefully to give him enough of a hint if he did know without outright telling him if he didn’t know. You were sure that Sungchan wouldn’t mind if Jeno knew that he was half-werewolf, but you still didn’t feel like that was your place to go around telling people. “About his parents?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah.” Your friend nodded in recognition. “Half-werewolf, that’s why he was able to have you there, duh.”

“Anyway, when he was coming back out of the shift afterwards, he mentioned us... he mentioned the werewolf mating bite.”

His eyes widened as he took a short inhale before slowly starting with, “Well, I can tell that you two haven’t done that.”

“I figured. So, with Sung being half-werewolf, he’s been having a difficult time with the scenting. I think because he can smell it enough to notice it, but not as strongly as full werewolves...”

“He would have a higher threshold for scenting in order to register it, right. Hence your current attire, I’m guessing?” Jeno gestured to the large black leather jacket you were currently drowning in, which was much too hot for the sweltering summer heat that was still going on outside, but still a better option than the hoodie you had previously been in.

You gave a resigned, what-can-you-do smile. “Yeah. And he’s not going to say anything about it, but I know he’s going to be stressed when I see him after this and he can smell you and Jaemin.”

“Oh, definitely.” He snorted lightly, not judgmental, but more sympathetic. “Let me guess: he gets all needy and clingy? Likes to bury his face in your neck?”

“Exactly. And the cuddles would be nice but, I don’t know... I hate seeing him like this, you know? So... anxious. It’s not like him.” You sighed, beginning to feel more guilty the longer you stayed here and got wrapped up in the smells of other people.

“It’s the first time in his life the wolf side is in charge of him and not the other way around. He’s really understanding what it’s like being a full werewolf outside of the full moon, of course he’s not having a good time.”

“Is it like that for you? With her?”

“Kind of. I can smell everything better, so I can smell the subtler things. Without going into too much detail, all those instincts aren’t on edge for me as much as Sungchan’s are right now. And we also figured something else out.”

“Something else?” You asked curiously. Last time you saw Jeno’s girlfriend, you couldn’t remember her having a bite mark. But maybe there was something that hadn’t been covered in your classes. After all, several millennia of the cultures, histories, and customs of fourteen species just couldn’t be fit into one undergrad degree. Your bachelor’s was nothing more than a survey of the two fields, to give you the broad strokes and the tools to start wading in.

Jeno pulled on a leather cord that you hadn’t even noticed was hanging around his neck, bringing a pendant out from under his collar. It was a pale white stone, flat, the size of a coin, with opalescent flecks that caught the light as he showed it to you.

“Moonstone. We have matching ones. They’re even enchanted so that when I…” he wrapped his whole hand around the stone “…hold onto it a little tighter, it reacts, and she can feel hers warm up too. So she knows I’m thinking about her.”

“And it helps with your shifts. That’s really sweet, Jeno,” you said, watching as he tucked it back under his shirt, presumably to keep it in skin-to-skin contact so he could feel if she squeezed her gem back in response.

“But that’s what works for us. It needs to be whatever works for you guys.”

You looked down at your fingers nervously. “But you two haven’t even…”

“I haven’t bit her?” The werewolf said bluntly.

“Yeah, and you’ve been together for a lot longer than us.”

“We’re not you and Sungchan. We may have set you guys up, but we’re not you.”

“You set us up? What?” That little off-hand comment had stolen your focus for the moment.

Jeno’s brow furrowed. “Did you never get the full story of how you got sent on that first blind date with him?”

“I mean, Jaemin had shown me a picture of him from your Instagram account, and I knew that you two knew each other through your girlfriend. But no, I guess I never did get the whole story. Jaemin said something about a deal, I think…”

His wide eyes and ‘oh shit’ face said it all. With a wince, he sighed, “I don’t know if I should be the one to tell you this…”

“What? Jeno, come on,” you pleaded, clasping your hands together in front of you like you were kneeling at an altar.

“Ah, fine, fine.” He gave in easily, regret immediately coming to his features as you perked up, eager to hear the story. “We were all playing soccer one day and her—” he jerked his thumb at the empty space on the couch beside him that the both of you had both been vaguely referring to whenever you mentioned his girlfriend. “—and Sungchan made this bet. You see, something had happened at the park that day. There was another werewolf there, and he called my girlfriend something nasty. And Sungchan was saying that because of stuff like that, he wanted to just stick with dating other werewolves. He also kept saying something about love making my brain rot. It made sense in context. Sort of.”

You raised an eyebrow, but didn’t interrupt Jeno for fear that you’d get him off-track and lose your opportunity.

“Anyway, they made a bet that if she was on Sungchan’s team and did her best in the game against me, then Sungchan would let her set him up on one blind date with anybody, werewolf or not. And he wasn’t allowed to intentionally bomb it, he had to actually put in a genuine effort.”

“And I was that date…” You surmised, several pieces falling into place. Specifically, Jaemin and Donghyuck’s initial pitch of Sungchan to you.

“Jaemin suggested you, and we thought the two of you would be a good fit.”

You added humorously, “And I’m not a werewolf.”

“Well, yeah.” Jeno ducked his head sheepishly like he was a puppy that was afraid you were going to notice the shoes that he had chewed up behind him. “But we really did put a lot of thought into it, I swear. And then when we heard he made you walk out in ten minutes, we were actually going to make him go on another one because we thought that he had sabotaged his one with you.”

“Amazingly, no, I think that really was his best effort at the time.” You snickered.

“Now I feel like I have to apologize for subjecting you to him.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Anyway, he said he didn’t want to go on another date, he had to fix things with you first. She let up on him after that. Apparently believed his mind had been changed.”

“I don’t know how a ten-minute conversation where he practically accused me of being a werewolf fetishist for dating two werewolves, and I asked about his major and told him about my cheating ex could’ve possibly changed his mind but— Hey, look how far we’ve come.”

“And now you know the story of how you two ended up on that ten-minute, awful, terrible blind date that I almost wish we didn’t send you on now that I’ve heard what happened on it.”

“I’ve had worse dates.”

“But like I was saying. We—” he pointed between himself and the empty space proxy of his girlfriend “—are not you two. Just like in human relationships, the big steps happen at different times for everyone, there isn’t one right answer to when a werewolf couple take on each other’s bites. There’s even less of a blueprint for werewolf-human couples. So as far as I’m concerned, you and Sungchan? A half-werewolf and human couple? You two do whatever the hell you want. You’re unprecedented.”

“Unprecedented…” You repeated to yourself, drumming your fingers along your knee.

You and Jeno chatted for a few more minutes about this and that, but you soon decided that you’d have to be going. Sungchan had texted you the full sequence of finishing class, leaving campus, and arriving home while you’d been talking, and there was a pinch at your heart as you could imagine him getting more anxious with each passing minute that you weren’t there. And then there were the smells that you were going to have to deal with once you did return, too.

As Jeno walked you to the front door, your eyes drifted over to the kitchen, an idea popping into your head.

“Hey, Jeno? Can I have a glass of water?”

“Sung?” You called out into the seemingly empty apartment as you turned to close and lock the front door up. “I’m— oof!”

You were knocked off kilter by 186cm of werewolf, barely catching yourself against the door on your forearms to avoid bonking your forehead into it. Sungchan had his arms wrapped around your waist, already nosing around your hair and neck.

“Hi…” Sungchan said against your cheek, his tone apologetic. He got too excited, he didn’t mean to almost KO you like that.

Slowly, you reached over to finish flicking the deadbolt into the locked position. Then, you blindly stretched a hand back to pat him on the head. “Hey, hey.” You kept your voice calm and soothing.

He was getting down to the collar of the shirt you were wearing—one of his t-shirts, and you could feel him shifting to hold you tighter. He’d definitely noticed something was off.

“You know, I’m really sorry, Sung,” you began, turning your tone mournful and looking down at the wet patch on the front of your shirt. “I know this is your shirt, I feel really bad about this, but I spilled water on myself while I was out. Do you think I can throw this one in your wash here and borrow a new one?”

He immediately perked up at this, “Yeah, of course!”

You smiled. “Thanks.”

Success.

After your dinner and night out together in downtown, you ended up back in Sungchan’s room, fitted in your new crewneck sweater—this one for a concert he’d gone to last year. You were reclined between his legs against his chest as you half-watched him game, half-scrolled on your phone, and half-snoozed. You’d been playing the game in multi-player mode with him earlier but put your controller aside some time ago when you’d let out a couple loud yawns. Ruminating thoughts of your conversation with Jeno had kept you from fully falling asleep, though.

“Sung?” You waited for a pause on a loading screen to call for his attention.

“Mm?” He hummed back to let you know he was listening, even as the new map loaded in. He hadn’t moved his character yet, fingers frozen as they hovered over the buttons.

“Can we talk for a second?”

“Of course.” Your boyfriend quickly saved and exited the game, setting the controller beside yours on the nightstand.

He wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you tighter to him, resting his chin on your shoulder as he waited attentively for you to start with whatever you needed to talk about. You could hear him take a pause to sniff the air around you, and a small, disgruntled sound came from the back of his throat almost immediately.

“Face-to-face?” You requested quietly.

“Right, sorry.”

He loosened his arms, reluctantly letting them fall from around you.

Pushing yourself up off his legs into a full sitting position, you turned around in place, still finding yourself between his thighs. He straightened up a little bit from his spot against the headboard.

You reached out to take his hands in yours. “This is something that really stresses you out, isn’t it? The smells?”

“It’s… I can’t put my finger on it. It’s like…” He took one of his hands back to run his fingers through his hair, and your chest hurt to see the distress on his features. “Imagine being able to constantly see something right in the corner of your eye, but when you turn your head, you can’t actually look at it. You know it’s there, but you can never actually get a proper look. Humans never know it’s there, and werewolves get to look at it head-on. But I don’t get either. It’s terrible.”

“Ah, Sung… That sounds awful, baby.” You grimaced sympathetically, unable to imagine how wound up and panicky he must be all the time. You just wanted to cut this conversation short right now to wrap your arms around him, rub his back and tell him you were never going to leave him again. But for right now, all you could do was squeeze his hand tighter, and hope he got the message.

“I know that sometimes you smell right and sometimes you don’t. But I don’t know why, usually. And it’s not like you smell bad like you need a shower or anything. But like… ah, I can’t describe it.” He groaned, rubbing his face. “I don’t even know what I’m smelling all the time. But it’s just—”

“Not right. I get it, that made sense. And it’s better when I wear your clothes, or spend time with you? Here?”

“I’m sorry…” He said weakly.

“Woah, hey, where in there was I asking for an apology? I’m trying to figure this out together, okay? Not make you feel bad for being unable to turn your nose off. I don’t like that you’re this stressed all the time, you know?”

“In my normal, thinking brain I know you should—and I want you to—be able to wear whatever clothes you want to wear. And I’m glad that you’re spending time with your friends, and I want to go wherever you want to go, whether that’s out somewhere, or to your place. I loved our date night out tonight. It’s not those actual things that bother me at all, it’s just that you smell different.”

“I know, I know.” You reassured him, continuing to hold his hand and gently rubbing his forearm with your free hand. “So maybe there’s something more permanent we can do to help you with the smells?”

Sungchan met your gaze uncertainly. “Permanent?”

“You mentioned it after your last shift. Me taking your bite. I found one other half-werewolf/human couple who did it, online, and they said it helped with the scent anxiety.”

“Y/N…” He breathed your name out.

“I understand if you’re not ready for it. I know it’s a really big step for werewolves. But I had to put it out there, if there’s any possibility that it’ll help.”

“This is not how I imagined this conversation going at all.”

“What?”

“The human reassuring the werewolf that it’s okay if the werewolf isn’t ready for a mating bite yet.” He laughed, throwing his head back. “Oh my god. We really are one-of-a-kind, huh?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle too. “When you put it like that, that is pretty funny. You thought you were going to have to convince me, huh?”

“I wasn’t going to badger you into it if you didn’t want it, that’s for sure. But I mean, I didn’t bring it up again after my last shift because I wanted to do it more… I don’t know, romantically than being a sweaty, exhausted, slurring mess in your lap. I just hadn’t figured out how to do that yet because I’ve been too focused on spending every spare second I can with you.”

“I thought you were a very cute sweaty, exhausted, slurring mess when you asked me last time,” you giggled.

“Right, thanks.”

“So, do you want to do it, then?”

“Aren’t I supposed to be asking you that?”

Jeno’s words came back to you: You two do whatever the hell you want. You’re unprecedented.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to be doing anything any specific way, Sung. We just do it. But if you want to ask me, go for it.” You smiled at him encouragingly. After a few beats of silence, though, you pinched his thigh teasingly, “I’m waiting.”

“What—Right now? Really putting me on the spot.” Sungchan rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“Well when else—”

“No, I’ve got it.” He squared his shoulders, face turning serious as he turned his eyes to you. Briefly kissing the back of your fingers first, he began, his voice much shakier than you had expected, “Y/N, I’m ready to give you my mating bite, if you will accept it. But I don’t want it to just be me biting you. I-I want you to do whatever you need to do to make it feel complete to you, too. Since you can’t give me one back. If that’s okay with you?”

Despite you (mostly) knowing what was coming, you still unexpectedly found yourself tearing up as you went to nod your head yes. “Of course, Sung. That’d be perfect, yes. You’ll have to give me some time to figure it out, but yes, I love that.”

“I love you.”

You stood up on your knees to wrap your arms around his neck, giving him a quick kiss before burying your face in his collar. “I love you, too.”

Sungchan hugged you back tightly, pulling you back with him into almost the same position as before, with you against his chest. He pressed kisses to any part of you that he could access, your cheek, your jaw, your neck, your ear. You turned your head enough so that the next one he could plant on your lips, a sweet, loving kiss.

“Ah…” He sighed, his eyes squeezed shut, a bright smile on his face.

“What?” You traced over the smile lines at the corner of his eye.

He was almost nose-to-nose with you when his beautiful brown eyes were open again. Looking at you, he admitted freely, “I’m just… so happy.”

“Me too.” You beamed.

“And I can’t believe I almost let myself miss out on this, on you, so many times.”

“Let’s see… the night we actually got together.” You teased, ticking the instances off on your fingers.

“Mm-hm.” A pink flush was starting to creep up Sungchan’s neck.

“Valentine’s Day at the boba shop. Which you owe me emotional damages for, by the way.”

“Yeah. Sorry…” The pink had overtaken his neck and was starting to flush his cheeks.

“Our first date.”

Completely red-faced, he nodded and sighed. “Like I said, I’m just happy that—”

“Oh, and the bet.”

“Huh?” He was entirely frozen, staring at you with wide, unblinking eyes.

“I saw Jeno today,” you stated.

“Yes, I did smell him when you came home.”

“I finally got the full story of how you ended up on our blind date, Sung.”

“Listen, I am a proud member of the Love-Rotten Brains Club now.” He tightened his arms around you and nuzzled his nose along your cheek and neck as he spoke, making his lips brush over your skin in ghosts of kisses. “I’m the president and the whole board and the social media intern and whatever else. Never have I ever been more proud of being wrong. I’ll say it every day for the rest of our lives.”

“Ah!” You squirmed and laughed as he was over a ticklish spot. “Alright, you don’t have to do that. But I’m glad they pushed you out of your comfort zone.”

Sungchan let up, allowing you to simply rest your head in the crook of his neck.

“To my credit, I was the one who offered the terms of that bet in the first place.”

“Really? You had to know that they were definitely going to set you up with someone who was not a werewolf, right?”

“I knew. I figured I could make polite small talk for an hour and be done with my end.”

You couldn’t help but laugh loudly, from the gut. “Oh, baby, if polite small talk was your goal, then you failed miserably.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” he said remorsefully.

“Now, I’ve got to know.” You poked his chest pointedly. “Everyone seems convinced that you were like, in love with me and a changed man from that one plane crash of a conversation. Shotaro says that you kept walking around talking about how you wanted to apologize to me for weeks after. Jeno and his girlfriend didn’t set you up on another date despite you not really holding up your end because she was content that you had changed your mind. So?”

Sungchan’s chest rose and fell under you with a deep breath, and he took a pause as if piecing together his thoughts before responding. “Even if we didn’t end up meeting again, I think that date with you was always going to be an important lesson for me, about getting my head out of my ass. I’m just glad I got to take what I learned back to you and apologize and show you that. Like, yeah, our first date was only a few minutes, but I kind of hate to admit that I thought about it for weeks afterwards, because that sounds like weirdo behavior. I mean, literally until the night we saw each other at the boba place. It’s not that it was even romantic at that point, it was more guilt than anything else. I knew I was in the wrong, and I felt awful that I might not be able to tell you that I knew that.”

“I’m glad you found me again at the boba shop. Not a lot of guys would’ve had the guts to actually apologize. Probably would’ve grabbed their drink and ran. Or ran as soon as they saw me and not even ordered.”

“I just wish I had the guts to actually ask you out that night.”

“Me too. But I’m not entirely blameless either. The start of our relationship isn’t a weight that falls solely on your shoulders just because you’re the guy, or the werewolf, or whatever.” You shrugged. “And we figured it out eventually anyway.”

“Yeah, we did.” Sungchan pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Stopping in front of a familiar red brick townhouse, you ran up the couple short steps to knock on the front door before you could psych yourself out. You and Sungchan had decided to go through with the mating bite after the next full moon in one week, which was a couple days after the end of the summer semester. It gave him time to focus on his finals, and fell in the two-week break between the summer semester ending and the fall semester starting. This was going to be your last year as undergraduates, both you and Sungchan were graduating in the spring. You could hardly believe that you only had two more semesters left of your bachelor’s degree. And then you had grad school.

But right now, you had this: The front door being opened to reveal Mr. Jung to you, a smile immediately crossing his face as he recognized you. Even behind the glasses perched on his nose, you could easily see Sungchan in his features.

“Hi, Mr. Jung,” you greeted him politely.

“Oh, hey, Y/N.” He tucked the pen that was in his hand behind his ear. “Here to see Jieun?”

“Uh, no. Sorry to just drop in, but I wanted to talk to you about something, actually. Do you have time for some tea?”

He backed up, waving you in. “Sure, of course. Come on in.”

“Thank you.” You walked in with a grateful head dip, taking your denim Jasmine & Pearls baseball cap off as you passed over the threshold of the front door.

“Sungchan’s got a hat just like that,” Mr. Jung commented, leading you further into the home. “Or is that one his?”

“Oh, we actually won them in a game at the boba shop that Shotaro works at. We each have our own.” You looked over the purple embroidered logo fondly. “It’s kind of how we met. The second time.”

“Right, the boba tea place that Shotaro works at…” He echoed, recognition in his tone.

You followed Mr. Jung upstairs, which you didn’t get to see the last time you’d been over for dinner. He led you into a room with wallpaper depicting cartoon spaceships, planets, moons, and stars. The ceiling was covered in glow in the dark stars, and even the curtains were embroidered with star maps. The furniture itself was set up to be an adult’s home office, though, despite the shell having clearly been a child’s bedroom. There were still some shelves on the wall with trophies from science fairs and sports teams.

“Sorry, Jieun doesn’t drink tea, and the electric kettle in the kitchen is busted.” Mr. Jung half-explained why he’d brought you in here, another electric kettle in his hand. “Give me a second, I need to fill this up.”

“Of course,” you nodded, not entirely paying attention to what he was saying. Truly, you were still looking around at what was obviously Sungchan’s childhood bedroom.

Any kids’ furniture was gone and replaced with a desk, laptop, two chairs, and a printer. But you didn’t mind, as you leaned in to read the little engravings on his science fair trophies, and from his soccer teams, and baseball teams, and spelling bees, and mathletes competitions—god, you were dating a mathlete? He’d failed to mention that. There was a picture that looked like it was from a field trip from primary school, of his whole class in front of a space shuttle at the closest space and natural history museum. You squinted your eyes as you studied the picture, trying to figure out which one was your boyfriend.

“Sungchan’s the really tall one that you probably thought was a teacher’s helper,” Mr. Jung said humorously, announcing his return.

You turned around, the picture still in your hand, and your eyes immediately landed on the child he was referring to. Gangly, awkward, nearly a head taller than the rest of the kids, but still smiling so brightly—his crooked smile gap-toothed at that moment in time—because he was just so, so excited to be there.

“Ah, yep. There he is,” you smiled fondly, setting the picture back down.

“He gets his height from Jieun’s father. In case you were curious.”

Mr. Jung set the kettle back on its stand on the desk and started heating it up. He cleared a huge stack of papers off a second chair that was next to the desk, then gestured for you to sit. You did so, watching him take down a couple mugs from the shelves over his desk, and pull open the top drawer to root around in it.

“Jasmine?” He asked.

“That sounds lovely, thank you.”

He took out one tin, right as the kettle made a small ding to let him know the water was ready. Mr. Jung poured the water into both mugs first, then took out a couple small, empty pouches. He measured out the loose jasmine tea into each before sealing them and dropping them in the water.

“I figured you would’ve wanted to talk to Jieun about the bite,” he said as he handed you your cup. “Also, let me know if you want some honey for that.”

“I’m good on the honey, thanks,” you smiled awkwardly. “So he told you already.”

The other human eased himself down into the office chair in front of you. “Yes, Sungchan’s been keeping us appraised. He was nervous to tell us at first, since you two haven’t been together very long.”

“Well, yes—”

“It’s okay, Y/N. It’s a decision for you and Sungchan to make, not his parents.”

That put you at ease again. “Thank you.”

“And it did make Jieun laugh when she heard that you were the one who did the mating bite talk with him. She likes you a lot. We both do.”

“Oh, thanks…”

“So why did you want to see me? I’m always happy to have some tea with you, but it sounded like you came with a purpose.”

“I wanted to ask about what it’s like? Taking a werewolf’s mating bite as a human?” You plunged into the conversation head-first. “The only other werewolf/human couple we know hasn’t done it, so I don’t really have a point of reference. Like, in class, I’ve learned about the sociocultural importance of it within werewolf packs for mated werewolf couples, but… Sung and I are a bit different, you know?”

Mr. Jung nodded thoughtfully. “I can tell you what my personal experience is, sure. It may be different for you since Sungchan is half-werewolf.”

“Right, of course.” You sat forward, interested. Blowing over your tea, you took your first sip, the lightness of the jasmine dancing across your tongue.

“The biting itself hurts at first. If we were werewolves, my understanding is that it’s nearly painless since their bodies are prepared for it. Humans, not so much.” He rubbed at his mark absentmindedly. “So it will hurt, which I’m sure my son will feel awful about. The shoulder will be a little sore for maybe half an hour or so after, but he won’t even draw blood. And it heals very fast, too. Then you’ll be left with the mark. Werewolves who receive bites have something happen biologically in them with pheromones or something. Again, we don’t have that going on. But that doesn’t mean that it won’t be meaningful for you at all. That meaning will just manifest differently, I’m sure.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jung. That was really informative.” You took another drink of your tea.

“Of course. And you know that it’s not a one and done, right?” He warned.

You let out a half-chuckle. “I do know that, yes.”

“Again, I don’t know how much it’ll vary since Sungchan is half-human, but the bite will need to be refreshed more often than if you were both werewolves. My guess would be even more frequently than if he were a full werewolf, but that’s just purely speculation.”

“That would make sense. Thanks for the heads up.” You said, watching the metal of his wedding band glint as he lifted his mug to his mouth. “Can I ask… when did you take your wife’s bite?”

Mr. Jung sighed, a bittersweet sort of smile coming to his face. “It was before we were married. We’d been dating for some time at that point, a couple years. When we first got together, there were some… vocally unhappy members of her pack, but they did quiet down after a while. However, I think they hadn’t expected us to last so long, or that Jieun was just going through a phase or something. After a while they started pressuring Jieun to break up with me and date within her pack— or at least another werewolf. We’d discussed the bite once or twice before, and she thought that if I took it on, it would make everyone leave us alone; that we’d look like any other mated pair of werewolves. It ended up doing the opposite. It was way too far in the eyes of Jieun’s pack. I already knew at that point that I was going to spend the rest of my life with her, so from there we eloped, settled down here, eventually had Sungchan a few years later.”

“And you all… have you spoken to her pack again since?”

“No. Unfortunately Sungchan has never been able to meet his family on that side. I suggested it to Jieun when she was pregnant, but she looked me in the eye and asked me if her pack reacted that way just to us being together, then could I imagine what sort of awful things they might think of our child? And would I want to put our baby through that just for some romanticized idea of family? I never brought it up again.”

“What about your family?”

There was no more bitterness in his smile anymore, just pure love and fondness. “They’ve been incredible. Never looked at Jieun or Sungchan as anything other than family. I know Sungchan would probably rather have the pack but—”

“What do you mean?” You couldn’t help but blurt out, furrowing your brow in confusion.

“I know he doesn’t tell people he’s half-human. And really, it’s alright. I get it, being a human isn’t anything to brag about.” Mr. Jung sounded like he really had come to terms with that, that his son would rather not tell people about his dad, about where he came from. Which wasn’t even true.

“That’s not why he tells people he’s only a werewolf. He’s not ashamed of you, or of what he is, on either side. He loves you, a lot. He does that because if he tells people that he’s half-human half-werewolf up front, they take it as a free pass to ask him weird questions.”

The man’s face relaxed, and he nodded his head in acknowledgement. “I never realized that. Thank you, Y/N.”

“And I mean, you didn’t need me to tell you that. Just look around you. It’s not like he’s exactly got wallpaper of spreadsheets and supply/demand graphs in here, right?”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth at that. “You’re right. It’s… comforting, though, to have outside confirmation.”

“I know, I get it.”

Mr. Jung gazed past you, out the window behind your head wistfully, taking another sip of his tea. “Growing up how he did… we—Jieun and I—were worried about him for a while, you know.”

“Worried how?”

“Well, that he’d spend so much time trying to protect himself from what our life was like, that he wouldn’t actually be looking for what he wanted.” Mr. Jung’s eyes focused back on yours then, and he smiled at you. “But as soon as he brought you home, we knew we could rest easy.”

“Because I’m human?”

“No, no,” he shook his head, lifting his mug to take another relaxed sip of his tea. “We would’ve loved you if you were human, werewolf, fairy, dragon, anything.”

“I’m sorry but… I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“When he was in high school… he and his mom used to get into fights. Teenager hormones, half-werewolf teenager hormones… it was a lot. I know the fact that he was the only half-werewolf at his school, and the only werewolf not in a pack, too, didn’t help either. A lot of it was Sungchan not understanding his mother’s choices, either about leaving her pack, or dating a human in the first place, or not going back to the pack, or whatever else he decided she’d done wrong that day. He’d pretty much always declare that he’d make the ‘better choice.’” Mr. Jung put air-quotes around the last two words. “You know, have a werewolf partner so that his family wouldn’t get harassed, join his future partner’s pack, things like that. Sungchan mellowed out a bit more after he started college, and they started properly getting along again once he moved out last year.”

That mostly lined up with what Jeno had told you about his conversation with Sungchan at the park, his previous policy to only date other werewolves. You frowned thoughtfully, taking a long, slow drink of tea.

“Seeing how Sungchan is with you… he’s not hiding from anything,” he finished fondly.

“I’m sorry I was so dismissive before, Mr. Jung,” you finally said, your voice quiet and contemplative. “When you were talking about Sungchan not telling people he’s half-human. I jumped in completely forgetting that you’ve known him for his whole life… and there could’ve been a lot more reasons why you would’ve thought he was ashamed to be human.”

“Hey, Y/N.” Mr. Jung put his tea down on the desk, perching on the front of his seat to gently place a hand on your forearm. “It’s okay, really. For one, I know you meant well. And two, we know Sungchan very differently. Obviously, yes, I’ve known him his whole life, but you were lucky enough to meet him now, when he has some stuff already kind of figured out. And I’m very glad you did. Because trust me, you should not have met Sungchan in high school. I love my son, I’ve always loved him, but I definitely do not think that if you two had met in high school, you and I would be sharing a cup of tea right now.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at that, thinking not only of the high school version of Sungchan that had just been recollected to you by Mr. Jung, but also of yourself in high school, who honestly wasn’t any more put together. “Yeah… I don’t talk to any of my high school boyfriends anymore. Saw one of their moms at the grocery store last week actually, and she still recognized me, gave me a nasty look, and blocked the aisle with her shopping cart so I couldn’t get by her. I dated her son almost five years ago now, I think?”

The other human laughed, giving your arm a couple pats before taking his hand away and reclining back in his desk chair again. “Not to mention, if we both had known him his entire life, then I wouldn’t get to tell you any of the fun stories about him as a kid. Has he told you he was a mathlete?”

“No, he hasn’t.”

“Team captain junior and senior year. They were semi-finalists both years he was captain and even won the State series his senior year.”

“Did he have like a little dweebus uniform or something?”

“Polo shirt, khaki cargo shorts, the whole nine.”

“Please tell me you have pictures.”

“Oh yeah, him and Shotaro.”

“Taro too?!”

[you: attached image]

[you: attached image]

[taro: HOW DID YOU GET THOSE?????????]

[taro: WHAT THE HELL I MADE SUNGCHAN PROMISE ME THOSE WOULD NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY AGAIN]

[you: did you make Mr. Jung promise you though?]

[taro: does sungchan know that you’re getting blackmail material from your new bestie, HIS DAD??]

[you: what do you mean blackmail material?? personally, i think you look SO cute in those pictures in your little mathletes uniform]

[you: i didn’t even know sirens could need glasses and braces]

[you: wait does this mean you wear contacts??? i feel like it’s illegal to know this]

[taro: it is, now i have to kill you]

[you: ooooohh, wait till i tell sung]

[taro: not if i drown you first]

[you: you can’t kill me, i know where Mr. Jung keeps the mathletes photos]

[taro: damn it]

[you: and the ones from your first school dance]

[taro: DOES THIS MAN JUST HAVE A SHOEBOX LABELED “OSAKI SHOTARO BLACKMAIL MATERIAL” OR SOMETHING WHAT THE FUCK]

[you: no it’s labeled “jung sungchan blackmail material” actually but you just happen to be in a lot of the pictures too]

[taro: wait for real?]

[you: no, dumbass, he’s sungchan’s dad, of course he’s going to have a lot of old photos of his son and by extension, his son’s friends]

[taro: don’t get a guy’s hopes up like that, damn]

[taro: alright come on, let me see the bad pics you got of sungchan now]

[you: noooo, they’re not bad, they’re actually really cute 🥹🥹]

[you: attached images(+5)]

[you: like just LOOK at my little guy 🥹 he was so little and cute]

[taro: the FUCK are you talking about]

[taro: he’s clearly like 20cm taller than me and everyone else INCLUDING THE TEACHER SPONSOR]

[you: yeah, and he’s JUST a little guy, so little and cute]

[you: i wouldn’t expect you to get it, taro…………sigh]

[taro: attached image]

[taro: THIS IS YOUR MANS????]

[you: WELL WHEN YOU ZOOM IN ON ANYBODY’S FACE LIKE THAT OF COURSE IT’LL LOOK A BIT OFF]

[taro: the favoritism is so real right now]

[you: i’m so tired of your dramatic ass like what fucking “favoritism” 😭😭 of course i like sung better he’s my boyfriend]

[taro: and??]

[you: you’re not??? the fuck you mean “and??”]

[taro: and i think a good friend should be fair and impartial]

[you: i came here to name and shame you to your face, not to be fair and impartial i don’t know how you could’ve been under any other impression]

[taro: i’m so telling sungchan about this]

[you: don’t forget to leave in the part where i called him cute and you intentionally manipulated a picture of him to make him look worse]

[taro: i regret ever setting you two up]

[you: actually jeno and them did it first]

[taro: and i should’ve left you two crashed and burned and SINGLE where i found you]

[you: love you taro 🫶]

[taro: nice try demon that lives in my apartment and doesn’t pay rent 🫶🫶🫶]

[you: SUNGCHAN DOESN’T LET ME WHEN I TRY TO CHIP IN FOR HOW MUCH I’M OVER THERE I SWEAR]

[taro: i figured, which is why i don’t let him pay more than his half either]

[you: then why are you being mean to me about it 🥺]

[taro: do you feel bad enough that you’ll delete those mathlete photos off your phone now?]

[you: nice try demon that i’m never paying rent to 🫶🫶🫶]

Pushing open the door to the next shop on this street, you were pleasantly surprised by the calm, quaint atmosphere that you were greeted by. The bright red and gold pillars outside of the toy and watch shop had suggested otherwise, but inside of it were a few display cases filled with watches and other pieces of jewelry, while the other half of the shop had shelves upon shelves of toys. Every item in the store seemed handmade, and even to your untrained eye, you could tell that several had magical properties. A girl about your age was behind one of the watch and jewelry counters towards the front of the store, which also had the register on it. She was fiddling with an open watch, and you watched as she readjusted the light of the lamp above her with just a flick of her wrist—not touching a single button or switch on the device. All the jewelry and other accessories she was wearing already made you think she might’ve been a witch, but that just locked it in for you.

Some music played throughout the store, though you couldn’t quite tell where it was coming from, as there were no visible speakers on the ceiling or elsewhere. Briefly dragging your eyes over the display cases as you strolled up towards the employee, you spotted quite a few watches, of course, as well as necklaces, rings, earrings, and small trinkets. But nothing that quite stuck out to you as what you were looking for.

The witch perked up as you came to a stop in front of her, setting her tiny tools down on the small rag alongside the watch pieces. “Hi! Welcome in. Is there something I can help you with?”

“This is a magical kind of shop, right?” You asked curiously. Apothecaries usually stuck out as such, but having a witch and a couple things that glowed didn’t guarantee anything.

“Yep! This place is ran by my coven!” She told you proudly. “We make everything in here by hand in the back, fine tune the mechanics and the magic ourselves. Are you looking for any particular kind of magic thing?”

“Yes, well, sort of…” You trailed off sheepishly. “I’m kind of gift shopping right now.”

“What’s the occasion?”

After a split-second internal debate, you figured this witch had probably dealt with weirder, and you would definitely need her insight and experience when it came to the magical properties of all of the options in front of you.

“My boyfriend is giving me his mating bite in a few days, but I don’t want to show up empty-handed, you know?” You scratched at the back of your neck. “Like, it’s not an engagement-level thing for us, but it’s still big, and I want to be able to give him something too…”

She didn’t seem thrown off in the slightest, instead seeming to ponder this for a moment, tapping her chin, before her features lit up, and she slid over to the other end of the display case. You followed her down.

“Now, I’m guessing you already know about moonstone—” She explained, pulling out a small display of rings. “Helps their shifts.”

You nodded as you looked over the many rings inlaid with opalescent stones like the one on Jeno’s necklace. “Yeah. And, I mean, his aren’t that bad. Just sort of… disorienting and confusing. Though I hate how sickly he gets the day or so after.”

The witch gave you an intrigued look. “He’s… half-werewolf?”

Darting your eyes back up to her, you wondered which part of what you just said had given it away. The less intense shift? The ‘sickly’ bit?

“And half-human?” She took your silence as an apparent cue to finish her guess.

You slowly nodded.

Immediately, the rings were whisked away from under your nose. She was practically alight with excitement as she flitted over to a completely different display case, grabbing just one singular piece from there and bringing it back over to you. It was another ring, a thick silver band of one width, with no obvious gem settings or other such features.

“So, you wouldn’t really be worried about the shift itself, then. Or, at least not the pain part, which is really what the moonstone helps werewolves with. Easing the transition into and during the shift.” The employee rambled enthusiastically. “The symptoms that he really has a problem with are about getting back into balance after. Since he’s half-human, his body has to work a lot harder to return to homeostasis after an ordeal like a werewolf shift.”

“He’s said something about that before. Homeostasis.”

“Then what you really want is something like this—” She offered the ring out for you to take, depositing it onto your palm. You curiously looked it over closer. “Instead of moonstone, like most things designed for werewolves, this has concentrated moonflower essence in the chamber that makes up most of the band.”

You tilted the ring and could in fact see a small amount of mostly clear, but shimmery iridescent cobalt blue liquid shift around in the light. The container that held the liquid must have been incredibly thin to fit along the ring whilst adding negligible bulk.

Moonflower was of course familiar to you from Magical Botany Club. While the plant itself wasn’t magical, it had a slew of magical applications, and could be distilled down to a magical essence. Much like moonstone, which also wasn’t in and of itself magical, it had an effect on magical beings that were also tied to the moon, most notably, werewolves. Moonflower paste was a common ingredient in traditional werewolf medicine, and even in modern pharmaceuticals, many medications with different formulations for werewolves—or formulated to treat diseases that only werewolves got—often had ingredients derived from the moonflower. In addition to healing properties, the smell tended to have a calming effect on them as well, both in and out of their shifts (unlike moonstone, which exclusively aided their shifts).

You had a moonflower plant in your own apartment, which had been useless for any werewolf purposes as of late with Sungchan never coming over, but hopefully it wouldn’t be that way for long. It had been slightly altered so that it would be suited to growing indoors; moonflower was typically a vine, which was difficult to keep in a one-bedroom apartment with limited balcony space, so after a little bit of help from Jaemin, your moonflower grew as a cute little potted bush instead.

But there was still one more feature on the ring that hadn’t been explained to you. A single, silver, almost-circle on one side of the outside of the ring, entirely flush with the top of the container that held the moonflower essence. The outline of the rest of the circle was there, but it wasn’t quite filled in all the way, a small crescent of darkness keeping the silver from being whole.

“And this?” You gestured to the symbol.

“Tracks the lunar cycle. Waxing gibbous, we’re just a couple days away from the full moon. He probably instinctually knows what phase of the moon it is, but it doesn’t hurt to have an extra reminder.”

Turning the ring over in your hand again, you found yourself nodding and smiling. “Yeah. This is perfect.”

“And you said it’s happening in a few days? So after the full moon, right?”

“Oh, uhm, yes.”

“We could totally make another by then, if you wanted a matching set,” she offered.

“Really? So quick?”

“A lot of the initial process is the R&D,” the witch explained with a laugh. “But we already know how to make this one, it’ll be easy. Promise.”

You thought this over for a moment. After telling so many people that it wasn’t marriage or engagement, getting matching rings… But the whole point of exchanging mating bites in the first place was to match. Well, almost, since no two werewolves would have the same bite. To coordinate. To give each other your own version of the same thing. Your own version of the same thing.

“Do you think you could make it without the chamber with the moonflower essence, actually?” You asked. “Like, still with the lunar tracker. Just the main band and the little part that tracks the lunar cycle.”

She lit up. “Absolutely! Should be even quicker, actually. Probably have that done by the end of business tomorrow, morning after tomorrow at the latest.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah! Say the word and I’ll start as soon as you leave.”

“Yes, please!”

Sungchan hadn’t let go of you once since you arrived at his apartment the evening that you were to be receiving his bite. Either with an arm around your waist, pressed up against your back, or holding your hand. Shotaro had already vacated the premises by the time you’d gotten there, a half-excuse of him staying at Jisung and Chenle’s place tonight being given by the werewolf when you asked.

The two of you ate dinner first. He wanted to feed you, making sure you had eaten and were hydrated before. You were finally taking your class on werewolves this looming fall semester, and had already bought and read ahead in the textbook for it. Specifically, you’d lost count of the amount of times that you’d read and re-read the sections on mating bites, mating bite rituals, and anything else that you could imagine would be relevant to your current predicament.

For mated werewolf couples in packs who were going through the actual ritual, the first step was to usually share a meal consisting of raw meat—fresh kill. Neither you nor Sungchan could or would actually eat that, so you just had a hearty serving of your favorite takeout orders.

Sungchan didn’t even let you sit in your own chair, having insistently pulled you into his lap right at their kitchen table, lifting bite after bite of food to your mouth, always sure to follow it up with your slowly draining glass of water. You were mindful of him, too, making sure he didn’t ignore his half-werewolf appetite in his concern over you.

“‘M full, Sung…” You murmured, gently covering his hand with yours to maneuver the food towards his mouth instead.

He frowned thoughtfully, not parting his lips even as you bumped the spoon against them, looking like a very serious toddler who wasn’t enjoying the game of airplane being played at the moment. “You sure?”

“Yeah, promise.” You nodded with a smile. “It was delicious, and I’m all done. You took good care of me, Sung. Can you let me finish taking care of you, now?”

Your boyfriend’s features softened at that, and he parted his mouth, letting you feed him the spoonful. He happily chewed and swallowed, looking especially blissed out as you gently scratched his scalp with your free hand. In between continuing to feed Sungchan, you finished off your water, and made sure he drank his as well.

Finally, he too declared that he was done eating. Curled up in your boyfriend’s embrace, with a full belly and a full heart, you could’ve almost thought that this was any normal night; nearly forgotten what was going to come next. Nearly.

Sungchan took you to his room next, which wasn’t really necessary, since you had the whole apartment to yourselves. He held you to him with an arm around your waist as he shut the door behind you two. You raised an eyebrow when you heard the door lock.

He buried his face in your neck, wrapping both arms around you now as he half-growled, “Smells like Shotaro out there…”

“Locking the door to keep the smells out…” You hummed in amusement, leaning your head on his shoulder and resting your weight back against him. You decided not to outright point out the flaw in logic there, nor the fact that the two of you could’ve also done this at your place, where there was no smells of Shotaro or anybody else, just you. But of course, you figured it needed to be here because it smelled like Sungchan. It had been so long since Sungchan had been to your home that you were doubtful even a full werewolf would be able to catch a trace of him.

He lifted his head and breathed in like he was about to say something, but you just pulled his arms tighter around you and reassured him, “It’s perfect, Sung. Our own little space. Just you and me.”

Dropping his cheek back down to your shoulder, Sungchan let out a long but shaky breath. Putting your hands over his, your slotted your fingers with your boyfriend’s.

“Sung? Baby? Everything okay?” You asked.

“I just can’t believe we’re doing this…”

“Hey, if you’re not ready for this, we can stop. If you don’t want to do it, that’s okay.”

“No, I want to,” he said, a hard edge to his voice. He coughed, his voice softening again but sounding a little strained as he continued, “Really. I mean… I can’t believe I’m doing this with you. I seriously thought I’d royally fucked things up forever. Multiple times.”

“Well, you didn’t,” you told him strongly. “Now, can I go first?”

“You… go first?” He repeated, confusion coloring his voice so clearly. Apparently, he’d forgotten that you’d be doing more than just getting bitten tonight.

“Aw, I would love to, thanks, Sung,” you tittered jokingly, patting his cheek. “Close your eyes, please?”

He chuckled, and a beat later, announced, “Okay, they’re closed.”

You craned your neck just the slightest to be able to peer at him out of the corner of your vision, seeing that he was in fact squeezing his eyes shut tightly. Reaching into your pocket, you retrieved the small pouch that you’d picked up from the coven’s shop this morning. You shook out the two rings inside into your palm, and put yours on your left middle finger first, a simple silver band with the lunar indicator welded into it. It looked almost like a full moon, but you could see just the faintest strip of black showing that it was actually beginning to wane. Next, you gently put the other on Sungchan’s right ring finger, his with a faint shimmer of the moonflower essence.

Holding the side of his head to press a soft kiss to his cheek, you declared, “Done. You can open your eyes.”

He did so, immediately holding up his hand to inspect what you’d done to it. As he looked over the new jewelry, you explained, “It has moonflower essence, all around the band. And the moon design on it will actually change with the phases of the real moon.”

“Thank you, Y/N. It’s beautiful,” he picked up your left hand, bringing it up towards his face that was still hooked over your shoulder—presumably to kiss the back of it—but stopped short as he seemed to have noticed your new accessory as well. His fingers turned your silver band until he could get a good look at the lunar tracker that matched his.

“I got one too,” you added, skin turning warmer and starting to prickle the longer he went without saying anything. “It’s a lot prettier than those phone apps that track the lunar cycle, right?”

Then Sungchan was turning you around by the hips. He grabbed your face with two hands to kiss you, and you got on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his neck, eagerly kissing him back. You could feel the cool band of his new ring pressing against your cheek, warming up with every passing second from yours and Sungchan’s bodies.

Breaking the kiss, he reached behind his neck for your left hand with his right, bringing them both down to rest over his chest. He pressed your palm against him firmly, and you could feel his heart beating under your touch.

“I love you so much, Y/N,” he said quietly, earnestly, his voice cracking over your name. “So much… that it doesn’t feel real sometimes.”

“What do you mean, Sung?”

“Like, one person shouldn’t be able to have this much love in their body. Or at least, I shouldn’t.”

“What?” You let out a breathy chuckle. “That’s what so beautiful about love, there can only be more of it, it’s infinite. Of course you’re capable of so much love. How could you think anything else?”

“I used to never understand how my mom could choose to fall in love with a human. To doom her family—me—to our life. No safety or identity that comes with a pack. Even after I realized I had fallen for you, I-I was afraid I was so… messed up from thinking like that my whole life that I wasn’t going to be able to love you like you deserved. Like something might’ve been broken in me.”

“Sung…” You touched under his eye with your free hand, where a tear had fallen. “You’re not broken. You’ve never done anything but love me with your whole heart, I know that. You’ve been so good to me, always.”

“I know,” he nodded zealously, accompanied by a sniffle. “I know now, that I’m not broken. That I can have all this overflowing love in me, and it’s so awesome, but also kind of terrifying?”

You chuckled lightly at that. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I love you so much I get a little scared too, because I’ve never loved someone like I love you. And we haven’t even been properly dating for that long, so if I already love you this much, then how much more am I going to love you in six months? A year? Two? Five? Ten?”

He snapped his head up from where he’d been gazing down at your hands, eyes locking on yours. You smiled back at him weakly. The urge to stuff your words back in your mouth was there, but you knew you couldn’t. It was the truth, that you could picture yourself with Sungchan that far ahead in your life. For the rest of it, if you were going to be that honest, but you bit your tongue before you got there.

The two of you had unintentionally moved onto the next part of the werewolf mating ritual: moonlit confessionals. The light of the nearly full moon shone down on the two of you in front of one of his bedroom windows. Your textbook hadn’t been terribly explicit on the exact content of the words exchanged at this point, just that it was an opportunity for the couple to truly bare their souls to each other, make sure there was nothing hidden that would make the other not want to go through with the rest of the ritual.

“After my last relationship… ended like it did, I thought I might be a little broken, too,” you pushed on with your confession. “I was afraid that in my next relationship, I’d just see cheating everywhere. I was honestly a little relieved when our first date blew up, because I thought that if I dated someone again, I’d treat them like a criminal. But never once has it ever crossed my mind with you, never once have I ever doubted you, have I ever felt anything less than absolutely loved and adored.”

“I do, absolutely love and adore you,” he replied. “And I’m so glad you brought up the future, because I think about it, too. Like, all the time. When I imagine my life after college, or what my life is going to be like in five or ten years… I don’t know much, but I always imagine that you’re there. Like, I don’t know what I want to be, other than happy, with you.”

You couldn’t take it anymore, grabbing him by the neck to yank his mouth down to yours. Pulling him with you towards the bed, you stopped when you felt your legs back up against it.

“Do it, Sung. Bite me,” you murmured against his lips.

He let out a low, throaty groan at your words, tipping his head back as he took a couple deep breaths. You pressed a few more open-mouth kisses to his Adam’s apple and collarbones. Sungchan made another sound that was between a sigh and a grunt.

“We should be sitting down for this,” he stated, though he made no move to follow through on his words.

You removed your lips from his skin to happily plop down into the center of his mattress. The front of you was a bit cold since you were no longer pressed up against him, though you had a feeling that wasn’t going to be for very long.

Sungchan sat down facing you, scooping you up into his arms. You easily settled into his lap, your legs finding familiar places on either side of his hips. Fondly brushing some hair off his forehead, you would’ve been rather content to just stare down at your Sung bathed in moonlight for the next several minutes, so handsome and all yours. But you had something you needed to do tonight.

Grabbing the hem of the sweatshirt you were wearing—Sungchan’s, of course—you shucked it over your head and off onto the floor. That left you just in a tank top with nearly negligible straps. You could see your boyfriend’s eyes zero in on the bare expanse of skin from your shoulder to your neck that you’d just exposed, where his bite was supposed to go.

“I had my turn,” you said, slipping the thin strap off of the shoulder he was staring at, and tilting your head to open up as much space as possible, make it as clear of an invitation as possible. “Now it’s yours. Go on, baby. I trust you.”

Sungchan didn’t say anything more, but he did grab both of your hands by the wrist—his grip surprisingly gentle—to wrap your arms around his waist. You splayed your hands out over his lower back under his shirt, indulging yourself in his warmth, and smoothing a thumb over his skin. He then wrapped his around you to hold you even closer, if that was possible, and you watched him open his mouth, his white teeth catching the pale moonlight, glinting, and looking much sharper than normal— reminding you of how they looked during his shifts.

Then those teeth were biting you, sinking into your muscle.

Renjun had described what being bitten by a vampire was like to you, once. He had a bucket list for that sort of thing—magical encounters. He said it was a small pinch, barely more than the pressure of a needle, then it was all pleasure from thereafter. Vampire venom, of course, was meant to do that so that those they were biting felt so good so they wouldn’t resist while the vampire drank as much as they pleased from them.

Werewolves were predators in an entirely different sense, with the teeth to match. Theirs were meant to grab prey, hold them in their jaws no matter how much they struggled, and rip flesh from bone. As much damage as possible in one go, so that if said prey happened to escape, they wouldn’t be able to get very far with their injuries.

It was visceral pain, the moment Sungchan bit you. You couldn’t hear the noise that you made—only aware that you made one as you felt the gurgle of something in the back of your throat—through the white noise that exploded behind your eyes the instant his teeth hit bone. You were glad he’d directed you to put your arms around him just moments earlier, as your nails were now firmly embedded in the skin of his lower back—you were sure those would’ve been drawing your own blood in your palms if they hadn’t been there.

A memory suddenly flashed in your mind. You were seven, in your backyard with your dad, watching two squirrels chase each other across the grass. Then your neighbor’s dog came out of nowhere—maybe slipped his collar—and got one in his mouth. Your dad couldn’t get his hand over your eyes quick enough. You didn’t want to pet Mr. Lee’s dog when you saw him a couple days later, despite how well he sat, the adorable way his tongue lolled out from between his razor-sharp canines, and how fast his tail wagged.

The whole thing probably lasted just a couple seconds, but to you it felt like minutes, as every one of your heartbeats pounded through you, ricocheted around in your skull and grey matter. Could Sungchan feel that? Feel your pulse in his mouth? Was he scraping at it with his canines? Just one wrong move away from tearing open something vital?

You trusted him, of course, or you wouldn’t have asked him to do this. Not let him; but suggested, encouraged, requested, told him to. Your fingernails dug into his back even harder at the idea, as much to anchor yourself and provide an outlet as to hold him to you as well. Surely you had to be breaking skin at this point.

You had the urge to bite down on something too. It was a need that came from deep in your jaw. Like when people were given something to bite on for painful procedures in old medical dramas. Or maybe reciprocity.

This go around, you kept your teeth to yourself, though, sinking them into your bottom lip. That pain didn’t even register past the supernova radiating out from your shoulder.

Sungchan finally pulled his teeth out from your flesh, and the rest of your senses snapped back into focus. Your eyes fluttered open—when did you close them?—back to Sungchan’s bedroom, your fingers slowly unfurled from where they’d dug into his back, and you could hear him talking to you as he gently inspected the bite wound.

You brought your hands back around in front of you. Your eyes widened minutely as you realized that there was bright red under a couple of your fingernails. And it wasn’t yours. The beds of your nails were perfectly intact, meaning that you really had broken his skin.

“Oh God, Y/N, the blood. I’m so sorry.” Sungchan muttered under his breath, reaching for something on his nightstand.

For half a second, you thought he meant his, and you were about to apologize as you were still staring down at your hands mostly in awe. But then you actually saw his face for the first time as he turned back around, clutching a damp hand towel.

There was a red tint to his lips, and you realized that wasyour blood. Electricity jolted up your spine before the thought had even fully formed.

…he won’t even draw blood. So much for that, Mr. Jung.

His tongue darted out to instinctively investigate the wetness on his mouth, and a sudden thrill shuddered through you as you watched. You decided not to ask how it tasted to him, despite the question certainly popping into your mind.

You pressed a kiss to his cheekbone instead, so far back it was nearly in his hairline. “I’m okay, Sung. I’m okay.”

Without a word, he started gently cleaning up the bite wound, and you had half a mind to ask for another towel for his back, though you knew that would be futile until he got you situated. So, you sat patiently, keeping your head craned to the side to give him plenty of room, and watched his intent face as he worked.

“Sung?”

He sighed, a sound that let you know he was already beginning his mental descent through the seven circles of werewolf hell. “I know, I know, I’m sorry, I’m so—”

“Can I bite you next time?” You asked simply.

The towel stilled over your bite.

“You… next time… bite… me?” His eyes glassed over as his mouth stumbled to even form around the individual words.

“I know I won’t leave a mark like you but… so I can have something to do?” You used the hand of your unbitten shoulder to trace a line from his ear down his jugular, under his collar, to his shoulder, then back to his collarbone. You took your hand back as you went to joke, “Unless you’re expecting extravagant and meaningful gifts every time?”

“No, no. I mean yes! I mean—” Sungchan took a second to shake his head and blink, clearing his mind. “I don’t expect gifts every time. And yes, you can bite me next time. I didn’t think you would be up for a next time after I… well, after all this.”

He gestured vaguely to the wound that he’d gone back to tending to. A quick glance at it out of the corner of your eye showed you that it had already stopped bleeding and was starting to mend itself. At least Mr. Jung was right about that part.

Even through the acute worry over the unexpected severity of the bite, you could tell that Sungchan was already more clear-headed and overall relaxed, the constant nervous tension in his body gone, replaced just by a determined set of his shoulders, and momentary furrow of his brow as he cleaned up the bite. Brushing his hair off his forehead, you trailed your hand down to cup his cheek fondly. “Sungchan, this is the most yourself I’ve seen you in a long time. Yes, I’m going to keep your bite.”

Just the bright, tender smile on Sungchan’s face—the recognition of being loved and reflecting it back to you—would’ve been more than enough for you to do this again, whether or not it helped the scent anxiety. You could always work on another solution for that. But this you wouldn’t take away for the world.

He set the towel aside again, and you grabbed his hands now that they were free, messing with the brand-new ring adorning one of his fingers.

“Besides, even if I can’t leave a mark like yours next time, I can still mark you up,” you mused quietly, almost as if it were to yourself, except for the fact that you had a werewolf practically chest-to-chest with you. And you knew very well that you did. “They just won’t last as long.”

“Why wait until next time?” He suggested, and you heard the long inhale he took after. You wondered if you smelled any different to him already, or if he just needed to breathe.

You looked up from your hands to him with a smirk. “I like the way you think.”

Sungchan captured your lips in a kiss that tasted of hunger, and love, and metal— your blood was still around his mouth. And you smiled into it before doing as promised and dropping your mouth to the column of his throat, well above his collar, and letting your teeth graze his skin. You could feel his gasp rush in under your lips as his hands pulled your hips firmly down against his.

You decided that Jeno could be a ‘puppy’ all he wanted. You had a wolf, and you were more than happy with that.

“I think I made it out more marked up than you, you know,” Sungchan called out to you from the bathroom the next morning.

“Really?” You replied just as loudly, amusement in your tone as you stretched leisurely in his sheets.

“Shotaro’s going to be concerned for my wellbeing at this rate.”

Sitting up and scooting towards the corner of his bed closest to the mirror, you checked out your own reflection as you imagined he was currently doing, your fingers trailing over the dark bite mark now set into your skin. There was no scab or blood, just the faintest ring of raised skin and distinct outline of teeth. Rolling out your shoulder, you winced as a dull pain radiated out from the bite. Dropping the arm back down, you continued staring at the mark, a certain giddiness fluttering around in your stomach. You’d have this for… who knows how long. The rest of your life, maybe.

Clearing your throat and your mind, you responded to Sungchan with a disbelieving snort, “No he’s not.”

“No, he’s not,” he agreed with a sigh as he walked back into his bedroom just in a pair of sweatpants. Which let you get a great view of the countless blue and purple hickies, love bites, long red scratches, and faded remains of crescent-shaped nail marks that littered his neck, chest, shoulders, and back. You bit down on your bottom lip, a strange mixture of pride and embarrassment welling up in your chest. Sungchan fixed you with a shit-eating grin, putting his hands on his hips. “But my parents will be when we go over for dinner next week.”

“We’re going over for dinner next week?!” You yelped, covering your mouth in horror, panic, and mortification. A lot of the worst of those bruises were well above the collar of all of his shirts. “Why did you let me—”

“I’m kidding,” he cut you off with a chuckle, lumbering over towards the bed to flop down beside you on the mattress.

You smacked his arm as you hissed, “I’m going to kill you, Jung Sungchan! Don’t do that to me!”

“Ouch, full name.” He pouted.

“God, I was about to preemptively die of embarrassment!”

“So it’ll be fine for them to see that,” he pointed to your shoulder, “but not these?” He gestured from his own neck down.

“Different situational and cultural contexts!”

He nodded slowly, “Oh, right, of course...”

“You’re half-human, Sungchan, don’t pull that ‘I’m-just-a-simple-werewolf’ act on me!”

“I upset you. I’m sorry,” he apologized, grabbing your hand and kissing the back of it.

“You better be, Sungchan.”

“I am, baby, I am.” He gave your hand a half dozen more fervent, rapid-fire smooches. “Now are you done calling me that?”

“What? Your name?” You scoffed.

“You know what I mean, baby...”

“So we don’t have dinner with your parents next week?”

“Nope. Two weeks.”

You shook your head and sighed. “And so you live to see another day, Sung.”

“I’m half-werewolf, I would’ve been all healed up by next week, you know,” he pointed out, sitting up behind you and pressing a couple lingering kisses to your shoulder with your new mating bite.

“I know, I know.”

He continued trailing sweet kisses up your neck and jaw. “Which means I’ll also be all healed in two weeks if you were to give me some more…”

“I don’t know, you just played a very mean trick on me, Sung,” you teased, crossing your arms over your chest as if you were genuinely deliberating not giving in and absolutely devouring this man right now.

“I know,” he murmured between kisses, gently holding your chin with one hand to turn your head back towards him. “I’m the worst.”

“You are,” you breathed out against his lips.

“So now that we agree on that…”

“I feel like I’m going to throw up.” You jabbed the crosswalk button repeatedly.

“It’s going to be fine, Y/N,” Sungchan reassured you, lacing his fingers with yours. “I’ve already met your parents before and it was fine.”

“Yeah, once, for like two minutes, as my friend.” You pointed out, banging the button with the side of your fist when it still hadn’t changed.

You were of course talking about a random Sunday afternoon way back in the spring semester, before you and Sungchan had started dating. He had come over that day to help you put together your new coffee table that you’d finally gotten around to buying. Except, upon starting the assembling, the two of you had realized that neither of you had one of the tools required for it. Thankfully, your dad did, and offered to bring it by since he and your mom were about to head out to run errands anyway. Cue some very brief, very awkward introductions between your parents and Sungchan when they’d brought the promised tool. You weren’t counting, but you would’ve bet money that you had called him your friend at least ten times during that less-than-five-minute conversation, with so much stress and nervous emphasis on the word that you wouldn’t have been surprised if your parents had left your apartment that day already thinking that the two of you were dating.

But now you were actually supposed to be introducing him to them as your boyfriend, and you felt like you were going to throw up and pass out and die before you even got there.

Sungchan wordlessly let go of your hand to smoothly step between you and the crosswalk button, picking up your other hand to hold.

“Come on, you said it yourself that they were impressed with me after that two-minute conversation,” he reminded you. “Imagine how great of an impression I’ll leave after two hours.”

“All I said was that my dad told me later that he was surprised that you were a werewolf because you were so calm,” you corrected him. “He’s used to all my friends from high school who had the bouncing-off-the-fucking-walls energy like Jeno.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Which, by the way, I’ve already told them that you’re not in a pack or anything like that, but pretty much all they know about werewolves is from my classmates and friends from when I was in high school. So… apologies in advance for any assumptions or comparisons they make.”

“Right, the two packs you went to school with.”

“Yeah, them. I told them you’re not in a pack, and don’t have any of that going on. It actually made my mom relax a lot more. I think all that stuff kind of scares her.”

“What? Afraid that I’d whisk you away with my big werewolf muscles to my werewolf pack and she’d never hear from her poor little human daughter ever again?”

You burst out into an incredulous laugh. “You have got to stop talking about yourself like that or I’m seriously going to hurt your feelings one of these days, baby.”

“By saying what? It’s not like I’m lying?”

“Your ego is as stupid big as your stupid big werewolf muscles.”

“Ha!” He cheered out victoriously. “So you admit it.”

“Wasn’t falling in love supposed to rot your brain? Make you more docile or whatever? I think it’s just made you even worse…” You tutted, shaking your head.

“How could I not be on an ego trip? I mean, have you seen my girlfriend?” He retorted. “She’s crazy beautiful, and smart, and funny, and so sweet. I’d be jealous of me if I wasn’t me.”

You rolled your eyes, but squeezed his hand tighter. “Alright, you sap. Maybe the ego trip is warranted. But seriously, don’t talk about yourself like that in front of my parents or I’ll die of secondhand embarrassment. Okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

So far lunch was going okay. Your mom had invited the two of you over for a late Sunday lunch, which always meant sandwiches and lemonade in your house. And it was going okay, aside from the initial reaction you’d gotten when they’d opened the front door. You could still hear your mother’s shocked gasp and ‘Oh my God…’ muttered under her breath as her eyes were glued onto your neck. More specifically, you knew she was staring at your new mating bite. Or, the half of it that she could see— you weren’t exactly hiding it, so you’d picked your t-shirt today only for comfort in the lingering end-of-August-cusp-of-September heat. It was just over three weeks since Sungchan had given you his bite, a couple days shy of the upcoming full moon, and yeah maybe you should visit your parents more often. But in your defense, you’d been a bit busy between getting the bite in the first place, and the new semester starting.

Your father didn’t have much better of a reaction than your mother, eyes going wide behind his thick, frameless lenses before his jaw clenched. There was still a certain tension in his muscles that jumped every time he saw Sungchan touch you, whether it was a brush of arms, holding your hand, or an innocent squeeze of your knee as he stood up to head to the bathroom that he’d just been gestured towards.

Picking your glass of lemonade back up after Sungchan had left the room, you took only a sip before your mom was reaching across the table to gently take your hand in hers.

“Hey, sweetie…” She said softly but with a certain worried tenseness in her tone that made your stomach drop.

You tried to mimic the front she was putting up, smiling back at her brightly and innocently, “Hey, Mom?”

“Listen... We are so happy for you, and we love Sungchan, we really do.”

“Okay, then why does it feel like this is about to go somewhere that I’m not going to like?”

“Don’t you think that the two of you might just be moving a little fast?”

Entirely dropping all sunny pretenses, you narrowed your eyes at her suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

“The-the bite,” she explained with a wince, pointing to her own shoulder.

“That’s sort of like marriage for them, right?” Your dad cut in gruffly.

Despite it being phrased like a question, his tone made it sound much more like an accusation, like he already knew he was right and was just letting you know that he knew the truth—or at least what he thought the truth was. It reminded you of when you’d get in trouble as a kid and he’d ask you if you knew how the vase in the living room got broken despite very much already having a good idea himself. Giving you the opportunity to fess up before he punished you even more severely for the initial bad deed and then lying about it on top of that. But you hadn’t done anything wrong this time.

“Sort of, not really, it depends. In some packs, I guess. But Sung’s not in a pack, you know that,” you reminded them firmly, straightening up in your seat.

Your mom jumped back in, “Right, but still, don’t you think he kind of rushed you into—”

“It was my idea,” you cut her off before she could even finish articulating that thought. You knew you’d get all the way pissed off if she did. It was already taking a lot to dampen your anger now and keep this at a civil conversation. It’s just because they didn’t understand. You had to keep telling yourself that, and do your best to explain, calmly, and make them understand. Not everybody had three years of Sociology and Magical Creatures Studies under their belt like you. Your mom had been a stay-at-home mom all your life, and your dad was just a few years away from retirement, having worked in a human-dominated field for his whole career. An architect.

Those same sharp eyes that would pore over building designs late at night in his home office while you sat in his lap and did your own colorful sketches in crayon—and eventually fell asleep in his arms—were now regarding you with a clear distrust. “Darling, really, it—”

“Look, when we first started dating, Sung was having a really hard time with scent anxiety,” you once again spoke over him authoritatively. “All the usual scenting stuff, it wasn’t working. He was really stressed, and anxious, and just… worried sick all the time about me like spontaneously combusting or something if we were apart for even a second. Me taking his bite was the best solution. And now, the beginning of the semester has gone off without a hitch. Classes, my Magical Botany Club, his astronomy club, his senior thesis meetings, my research mentorship project... I don’t know if we would’ve been able to do all of this apart, clear-headed like… literally a month ago. And yes, I brought it up to him. I’m fine, I promise. This is what I want, he’s what I want.”

The two of them exchanged perturbed, skeptical glances, before your mom nodded, and your father let out a resigned sigh.

“Alright, sweetheart. Like we said, we like Sungchan. We just don’t want you two doing anything that you might regret. Either of you.”

“I know, Dad. But we’ve got this. Seriously, it’s… really good with him,” you promised him, a giddy smile coming to your features with your last words.

“We’re happy to hear that, sweetie,” your mom patted your hand.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“I don’t want to know anything else about how it happens, but— Does it hurt? Like, right now, does it hurt you?”

“Oh, no, Mom, it’s not painful to the touch or sore or anything,” you reassured her, carefully skirting around the how and instead focusing on the now, pressing on the bite mark to demonstrate that it wasn’t tender like a bruise.

“Good, good, I’m glad.”

The sound of the bathroom door opening echoed down the hall to you, and you turned around to smile at Sungchan over your shoulder as he started back towards you all.

“Well, I think it’s time for the tart I’ve got in the fridge, huh?” Your mom beamed at everyone, standing up from the kitchen table.

“That could’ve gone worse,” you declared as soon as your parents’ front door shut behind the two of you, leaving you and Sungchan on the sidewalk. There wasn’t much in the way of leftovers aside from the berry tart, which your mom sent you off with so that your father wouldn’t eat it all.

“You think so?” Sungchan asked warily. “Because I uh… I did hear what you all were talking about when I was in the bathroom.”

“Yeah, I thought you might’ve.” You nodded, squeezing his hand. “I’m sorry about all that, Sung. I think they get it now. And really, it was my fault for not at least giving them a heads-up about the bite, it didn’t even cross my mind. We just caught them off-guard.”

Sungchan suddenly stopped the two of you on the empty sidewalk. He cupped your cheek in his hand, running a thumb over your cheekbone, then down your jaw, the side of your neck, until he stopped right over where you knew the mating bite was. His thumb once again stroked over your skin, tracing the shape of the bite and pushing aside your collar when needed.

“Hearing you say that this is what you want, I’m what you want… made me really happy,” he declared simply, eyes still locked on the mark.

“It’s true,” you replied.

A bright, giddy smile spread across his face. “I know. And I knew it as soon as I heard you say it, too.”

You grinned back up at him. “That makes me really happy to hear, Sung. I always want you to know how much I love you.”

He leaned in nearer, and you closed your eyes anticipating a kiss, but instead he just dropped a fond peck to your nose before standing up straight. “I think it’s starting to finally uh, get through my thick skull.”

“Finally,” you echoed with a giggle. “Alright, your place?”

“I actually wanted to ask… Can we go to your place tonight?”

“Finally going to give poor Taro some peace?”

“That, yeah. But I wasn’t even thinking about him to be honest. I just… I want to.”

“Okay, Sung. Come on.” You tugged him down the street in the direction of your apartment.

Sungchan had been to your place on several occasions as your friend and your boyfriend, and yet you were drawing a blank for exactly the last time he had been there. Maybe your third date? Or, technically your fourth date, but you and Sungchan had unanimously agreed to not count that first awkward blind date that the guys set you up on as your official first date. Regardless, it’d been… a while since he’d been over. You kicked your shoes off by the door and didn’t bother to turn the lights on as you deposited the leftover tart in the fridge before beginning your nightly plant-tending. There were a few that needed to be misted still, then you could fully relax. You did the majority of your plant care-taking duties during the actual day, there was just the odd handful that needed a couple good spritzes.

Sungchan watched you patiently as you did so just in the moonlight coming in through the sheers you had over a window. Then, once the spray bottle was put back down, you led the way into your bedroom with maybe a little bit of a skip in your step. While you weren’t a werewolf, you were understanding how nice it felt to have your person in a space that you felt safe and warm and good in again. Like everything was going to be okay forever, maybe.

“You want to wear one of my hoodies?” You joked, rifling through your drawers for some pajamas for yourself.

“You have anything that’d fit?” Sungchan perked up from where he was laying on your bed to ask. He’d already located his few pieces of clothing still stored away here, meanwhile you were struggling as it turns out you very much needed to do a laundry day.

“Try that.” You tossed one at him before turning back around to the dresser. After a few moments, you hadn’t heard anything from behind you, though. “Sung? Love? Everything okay back there?” You looked over your shoulder to find a very cozy-looking werewolf in your extra, extra large hoodie—which just fit him regularly. But it was the eyes-closed, soft, happy smile on his face as he had the hood up around his head, his hair strewn about messily, and he held the ends of the sleeves up to his nose that made you stop in your tracks to just take him in.

His eyes snapped open, and he dropped his hands almost sheepishly. “Yeah, yeah, all good. It fits. Thanks, baby.”

“Of course.” You nodded, feeling a fond smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

You quickly got into your own pajamas for the night and climbed into bed as well. As you reached over to turn off your lamp, Sungchan stopped your hand.

“Are you going to sleep right now?” He asked.

“Well, no,” you said, an eyebrow raised as you watched his eyes flick between your hand and your neck.

“Can we leave the lights on for just a little longer? You can turn them off as soon as you need to sleep. I just… So I can see it?” He let go of your hand and instead graced a finger over your bite mark.

You dropped your hand, nodding. “Sure, Sung.”

He smiled brightly at you. “Thank you.”

With the added light, you decided to do some reading, and Sungchan kept busy alternating between his phone, and folding and unfolding the same origami heart on your bedside table next to him. But you could feel him look over at you every so often, and you knew he was getting used to the still-new image of you with his mating bite. As you came to the close of a chapter, you tucked your bookmark—the film strip of you two from Valentine’s Day at the boba shop—back in and set the book aside.

“Sung?”

“Mm?”

Now that you’d gotten his attention, you wordlessly opened your arms, and he immediately launched himself into them. You let out a punched-out giggle as you suddenly had an arm- and lapful of werewolf. He settled in with his head in the crook of your neck and shoulder, his lips right against your bite again, his arms wrapped around your waist, and one of his legs slung over you, caging you in. You rested your cheek on the crown of his head, threading the fingers of one hand in his hair as you rubbed your other hand up and down his back. The metal of your lunar ring glinted from among his soft brown locks. Waning crescent.

“Can I turn the light off now, love? I don’t think you can see it from this angle, right?” You requested humorously.

“Hm?” Sungchan made a low, slow, questioning noise in the back of his throat, and you knew he hadn’t even processed your ask.

“Light. Off?”

“Mm, yeah, mkay.”

You could feel him nod against you.

Reaching over towards your lamp was a bit difficult, but you were finally able to stretch your fingers enough to turn it off, plunging your room into darkness. Shifting to relax a bit lower into your pillows, you returned your hand to your boyfriend’s back.

“You’re cuddly tonight,” you commented. Cuddly, not clingy like before the bite. You didn’t feel guilty for reading earlier, he’d been content to do his own thing in the meantime, and you’d been the one to initiate the cuddling now. He’d just been very enthusiastic.

“Don’t you know, Miss MCS Major?”

“How long have we known each other, and you don’t know my major?”

“‘Miss Interdisciplinary Major with a concentration in Magical Creatures Studies’ is a bit long, don’t you think?”

“It’s correct.”

“Miss MCS Student?”

“That’s… acceptable.”

“Anyway, don’t you know about werewolf mating bites, Miss MCS Student?”

“Only whatever was covered in my Intro course, the sociocultural importance of them in packs. We haven’t covered that in my class on werewolves yet. And unfortunately, Dr. Kwon’s Interspecies Marriage class didn’t fit in my schedule last year.”

“Scent swapping. After a werewolf couple exchanges bites, they swap scents until they eventually just have one new one.”

“Ah, so it’s my turn to scent you.”

“Something like that.” Sungchan shrugged. “I know that’s the scientific explanation, like, the magianthropological one or whatever. But really… I just know that being here right now feels right. Like I was never meant to do anything else. Like I could go to class, or go hang out with friends, or something. But after, this is where I’m supposed to be. With you.”

“Home.” You replied simply. “You feel like home.”

“Yeah. You’re my home.”

Unable to come up with anything to say near intelligible, you pressed a long kiss to the top of his head before nuzzling your cheek back into his hair. His arms tightened around you minutely, holding you just that much closer to him.

“And you can’t just start calling me ‘love’ and expect me to just do nothing,” he added teasingly.

“Sung.”

“Yeah?”

The darkness made it so that you couldn’t see Sungchan as the two of you laid together, but every place that you touched felt much more alive, so much more real, connected. “I love you.”

He grabbed one of your hands, just to hold it. You let him.

“I love you, too.” His words didn’t hang in the air, they laid over you like a warm blanket, wound and weaved through your mind like your favorite song, and wrapped around you like a familiar hug. You stayed silent as you basked in them, letting out a soft, content hum as you cradled his head closer to your chest.

“I think I really understand her now,” Sungchan spoke up after some time.

You were used to his non-sequiturs by now. “Who?”

“My mom… Who you love isn’t always a choice, but where you go from there is. The choices you make with that love is up to you.” His hand tightened around yours.

“I can’t wait to be there to make more choices with you, Sung,” you murmured, running a thumb over the back of his knuckles.

Entering Half Moon Bakery with a skip in your step, Sungchan stopped you just past the front door. The two of you had been out and about running various errands all day, and had finally popped into your friends’ workplace for a little breather.

“I’ll be right back.” Sungchan pecked your forehead.

“I’ll go order.” You nodded, watching him disappear around the corner that led to the restrooms.

As you walked up to the counter, you offered the familiar wolf behind the counter a big smile. “Hey Jeno!”

“Hey, Y/N!” He grinned back. “So what can I get—”

He was cut off by a clanging from the kitchens behind him that made you jump out of your skin. The werewolf whipped around, concern etched on his features. He looked to you apologetically, “Sorry, I need to—”

“Go check on her,” you agreed, not liking the distinct lack of cursing that had accompanied the raucous noise. “I wanted to pick something new today anyway, so I’ll need some time.”

“Thanks, be right back!” And with that, he darted into the back.

You did in fact meander over to the display case of pastries, bending at the waist to peer at your options. Humming along to the song playing over the speakers, when you heard footsteps coming up behind you, you figured that it was Sungchan.

“Back so soon, love?” You asked with humor in your voice, standing up straight and turning around. All warmth that was in your chest froze and turned to dread when you saw who was actually behind you.

“Y/N. Been a while since you called me that.” You hadn’t seen your ex in over a year. Not since a week after you’d found out he’d been cheating on you throughout the entirety of your short-lived relationship, when he’d come to pick up what few things he had at your place. But somehow he was at your friends’ bakery now.

“I never did.” You reminded him through gritted teeth. “And clearly I didn’t mean to now.”

Pivoting back around, you crossed your arms and stared straight ahead at the menu board behind the counter.

“Back to your old type, huh?” He was peeling back the collar of your blouse to reveal all of your mating bite.

You snapped around, slapping his hand away. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Humans weren’t good enough, so you’re back on the werewolf dick, of course.”

You couldn’t stand to be in here for another second with him sneering at you like this. He wasn’t worth it. You could leave, go around the corner and text Sungchan and tell him where you are and what happened. The two of you could just go somewhere else for the afternoon.

“I’m not going to justify myself to someone like you, so if you’ll excuse me—” You tried to walk past him, but he stepped in front of you, blocking your path.

He seized your wrist. “Y/N, come on—”

“Let go of her.” Jeno had appeared at your side, stepping in between you and pulling your ex’s hand off of you.

“Oh, Jeno,” you breathed his name out as a sigh of relief, almost absent-mindedly, as you withdrew your hand back to your chest.

The human was unfazed, though, a sick delight lighting up his eyes as he looked Jeno up and down. “You must be the lucky dogboy. I should tell you, for your sake, she has a type, if you know what I mean. Dated two werewolves before me, and she broke up with me because I just couldn’t satisfy her like she was used to.”

“You’re disgusting,” you hissed.

“She broke up with you because you’re a cheating scumbag, actually.” Sungchan was back from the bathrooms, and strode up behind your ex, a deep frown already etched onto his features.

“That’s the lucky wolf whose girlfriend you just manhandled.” Jeno pointed up at him.

Sungchan clearly hadn’t witnessed anything, as his eyebrows raised minutely at the word ‘manhandled’ before his frown became a hard glare and he pushed your ex back against the wall by the shoulder. “If you grab her again, you lose the hand and the arm it’s attached to.”

The human looked around Sungchan at you with wide eyes. You nodded firmly in agreement with what your boyfriend had just said. Sounded plenty reasonable to you.

“Get the fuck out of here and don’t come back, we don’t want scumbags for customers,” Jeno growled, folding his arms over his chest.

The human had to wrench his shoulder out from Sungchan’s grip, giving the lot of you a final glare before storming out of the bakery. When you could finally no longer see him, you let out a shaky breath, and Sungchan immediately came over to wrap his arms around you. There was a vein protruding on his forehead that you weren’t used to seeing, and his jaw was still clenched tightly.

“Thanks, Sung.” You pressed yourself into his side, all too happy to be back in his familiar warmth. You weren’t going to forget about your friend that had come to your aid first, though. “You too, Jeno.”

“Yeah, thank you, Jeno.” Sungchan clapped the other werewolf on the back sincerely. “On one hand I’m so sorry I wasn’t here, Y/N, but on the other… I’m kind of glad I wasn’t because—”

“You might’ve actually broken his hand if you had been. I know, I know.” Jeno interrupted him humorously, despite how not humorous that outcome would’ve been. Satisfactory in the moment, yes, but ultimately not worth the criminal charges he could’ve pressed against Sungchan. “Try some werewolf meditation apps.”

“They have those?”

“You’ve never had to look into those before. Ha! Mr. Zen Werewolf taking advice on werewolf meditation apps from me! Oh, hold on, she’s going to get a kick out of this one, I’ve got to go tell her.” Jeno pointed to the kitchen over his shoulder with a thumb, turning around and pushing a door open, laughing the whole way back.

As Jeno relayed this hilarious revelation to his girlfriend, Sungchan led you over to a small loveseat in the corner of the bakery, settling the two of you down on it. Judging by the dual cackling laughter now coming from the kitchens, it was going to be a while before you’d be able to get your pastries.

“I know I can’t prevent everything bad ever from happening, but…” Sungchan laced his right hand with your left and rubbed slow circles into your skin with his thumb. “I hope you’ll always let me be there with you after.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, gazing at your lunar rings displaying matching half moons. “Always, Sung. We made a deal, remember?”

“Of course,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice before he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

⤷ blog masterlist  ⤷ anthology masterlist

[atlantahammy]

Taken

Trigger warning for: Blood, Murder, Guns, mentions of organs, etc.

Astra was scared, she had no idea how she ended up in this situation, caught by a crazy alien worshiping cult that wanted her blood, organs, and body for some ritual that she could only mentally describe as 'whack-ass'

Thrown in a holding cell with no windows, vents, or even light, only that coming from the small slit on the door.

Her component pouch was snatched from her to prevent her from casting anything that would aid in her escape.

With Cameras likely watching her, so she couldn't pull anything from her bag of holding without it alerting them to her lie that it was a simple bag, enchanted to get ingredients preserved.

At that thought she quickly huddled into a corner and used her cape to hide her form the best she could, she was facing a corner, her cape hood pulled up, her back facing the door and the rest of the cell, it dropped in the rest of the fabric of the cape.

It didn't obscure her movements, but it was enough to hide what she was doing. This place likely had Wi-Fi phone, and radio signals blocked, which sure, made sense, but did they have magic signal blockers that even without all those, allowed her to stay connected to the internet?

Probably not, because they were not as terminally online as she was.

She quickly turned her phone's screen light down and silenced it, and snapped a picture of herself, thankfully she never had the flash on to begin with.

Next she went to her discord app, and found the room she and the Hamato's were in and quickly typed, not worrying to much of typos and autocorrect, only that the message got crossed:

--Turtle Tank-V.I.P Chat🟥🟦🟪🟧🟨🟩🏒-- Voidwalker (Astra): I hate to sound alarmist, but IDK WHERE THE FUCK I AM AT! ITS DARK, COLD, THERE NO WINDOWS OR VENTS, AND A FUCKING ALIEN CULT THAT WANTS MY BLOOD AND ORGANS??? OH AND THEY TOOK MY FUCKING SPELL COMPONENTS, SEND HELP PLZ. FlavourTown (Mikey): Rayray! ohmigosh We were so worried, we saw them take you and we couldn't follow! ;^; RedAngel (Raph): How do you have working wifi?! that and they didn't take ya phone?! NeonLeon: Lets not worry about that right now and focus on tracking her down, which I'm sure Donnie's on right now.. Astra do not let them know you have your phone! Voidwalker: NO SHIT. Voidwalker: Sorry caps lock. Bootyyyshaker9000: Completely within reason, but, good to know, and worry not Leo, I am already tracking her location, Astra, don't worry we're coming, and please, do inform them if a single hair is out of place on you, I will personally, re-arrange every one of their atoms.

Astra breathed a sigh of relief, one chat was on their way.. but she went and copied and pasted her message into another chat, one with her hometown team in it.

She couldn't help but think about how she was a admin there, and thought quickly, copying the invite link and slapping it into the turtle-tank to let the Hamato's join in coordinating this rescue effort, despite the fear of them not getting along, she knew how Inferno and Drakus could get.. Still, seeing her friends talking helped calmed her nerves.

At the sound of noise, she quickly socked her phone away back into her bag of holding to ensure it wouldn't be confiscated.

She didn't need it out, and it wouldn't mess with Donnie tracking her, as it wasn't what he was tracking, but the subdermal tracker Donnie had on her, and she'd improved with her magic for her and his family..

She just now needed to survive till the groups got there to help her. ----

Some hours later, the groups were sneaking outside the compound in which Astra was being held, Donnie antsy to get in there and get her out, Devi, Astra's father, was ready to storm the place like a wrecking ball, the only thing keeping him from doing so was the fact Wolf was keeping the small wizard under his arm like a sack of potatoes... That and holding him partially like a bomb.

The last to arrive to the party was Mata, Astra's sword teacher, the strawberry-blond, nine-tailed Kitsune, but he was not in his normal kimono outfit, which took Leo by surprise the most.

In fact he wasn't in his normal fluffy, fox yokai form at all, this was a tall, young, willowy man with dark skin, and tattoo's on his shoulders.. Dressed down in black in what was clearly ninja gear, but.. Something was off and Leo knew it, as his eyes darted over the man it became clear why.

Mata wasn't just dressed like a ninja, it clicked with Leo that Mata, was in fact a ninja, but not any kind, he was a full-blown Shinobi, an assassin...

"Raph still thinks this is to many people." Raph grumbled as he looked at the people there, the group was large, more chances at them getting caught, but Leo clearly had a plan.

Leo tsked as he looked over at the defensive wall and at the cameras and guards, there were far more people and security here then he'd expected.

"Donnie, you got the cameras?" Leo whispered to his twin, who gave an affirmative nod as he worked to disable any and all alarms.

"Good, now we just need to deal with the guards--" "Don't worry, I have that covered."

Mata told Leonardo grimly, and before the blue turtle could protest, the fox was gone in the blink of an eye.

A series of cracks and gurgles caught his attention as he looked to the wall where two guards below now lay slumped and unmoving.

Wolf, the werehusky-wolf cringed. "Ohh.. thats gonna hurt when they wake up." He commented as if he was watching a sporting event.

It did ease Leo's nerves about Mata likely murdering them without hesitation.

He then spotted movement above as Mata was quickly paralyzing the guards with a series of hand movements to their backs before knocking them out.. But one unlucky guard, saw him as his partner slumped to the ground in front of him.

This caused Mata's red eyes to widen in surprise but quickly he lunged to paralyze the guard, only for him to move out of the way, and strike Mata harshly in the center of his back with the butt of his gun.

Mata hissed out in pain, but quickly recovered, despite his back now screaming at him to stop moving. He needed to keep this guy from sounding the alarm.

The guard went to run, pulling out his radio, but Mata was quicker on the draw, using a Kunai to break the device in one swift shot.

The guard panicked, dropped the device, and focused on running, only to be out-run by Mata, who was now in front of him, ready to try and knock the man out, only for him to dodge and slide under Mata's arm.

Mata cursed under his breath and moved swiftly to catch up and then stated harshly, in a low tone.

"You don't want to do this," he warned.

Mata's warning was met by a middle finger, and the drawing of a gun, that would surely alert the whole base.

Mata had the decision to make now, and it was one he didn't take likely, blow their cover and try to disarm the man, and let him get a shot off? or ensure silence and their plan..

Astra's life was at stake, as where there's if caught, so the life of one.. for the lives of many who this man threatened.

Without hesitation and a swift movement, Mata drew one of his dual blades and aimed for the neck as he lunged at the guard taking aim at him.

Sadly for him, Mata was faster, with a sickening thud and smattering of blood, the man lay motionless on the ground, in a puddle of blood.

Mata let out a disappointed huff, he did not want to do that, and his hand was forced. He looked to where the group was, and raised his bloody sword hand with a thumbs up and a smile with his eyes, as his mouth and nose were hidden by his mask.

"... Remind me not to get on that guy's bad side." Leo cringed in equal parts amazement and horror.

[artichokefunction]

there was a break in. honestly pretty clever of the intruders, to do it while all the combat-trained people were away on a mission. bad for you though. very bad. you scan the workshop, looking for anything that would be of use here. random big heavy pipe. perfect. blunt force instrument. you scuttle over to it, and arm yourself. you remove your scalp piece as well, and hide it with all the boring nuts and bolts and hand tools, where they probably wouldn't think to look. is there anything else you should do before they get to you. uhhh. oh yeah, duh. you perform a partial system backup, just of the new and important stuff. in case this goes badly. they're getting closer. you leave the workshop to meet them in the halls. you lock the door behind you, it *might* stop them. or slow them a bit.

you're holding up pretty well, given that you weren't designed for combat. their squishy little skulls do make it easier for you to take them out, but there's quite a lot of them. you don't have 360 vision, you're trying to keep track of as many of them as you can. you're distracted. something hits you right through the h- h- h- h- h-

...

emergency SAFE MODE startup. running system diagnostics.

LED display - 40% online

front cams - 1 offline

sensor modules - 1 offline

arm 2-3 - online

arm 2-5 - offline

leg module - connection weak. processing...

leg module - 4 units online, unusable. connection unstable.

functional sensor module picking up on input:

[man, i was hoping for something good in there. why do they have to make all the cool stuff really heavy? AND bolted to the floor]

[shut up. look at the robot. not dead yet]

deactivating LED display.

[...should we take it?]

[no, look at how beat up it is. we can't fix that]

[could always sell it for parts]

[honestly, it took out a lot of our guys. i say we smash it again. no witnesses]

[yeah alright, i'm down. smashing is fun]

EMERGENCY: MAJOR DAMAGE TO CORE

EMERGENCY: MAJOR DAMAGE TO CORE

EMERGENCY: MAJOR DAMAGE TO HEAD

EM- E- E- E-

...

someone turns your power on. your primary power source is unresponsive, you only have access to your small head battery. they ask if you're awake. you beep weakly in response. they ask if you're alright, and you flash your display to red, for no. they say something about getting the engineers, which you agree with. they put your head down again- they were holding it when they powered you on, you guess- and leave. you perform rudimentary diagnostic checks. 15% of your display is functional. all front cams offline. first sensor module still smashed. second also smashed but less so. can still kinda hear and make sounds. you check the other sensors. temperature normal. looks like a wall. smells like burnt plastic. that's not good. torso unit fully unresponsive. that's also not good. can't access your arm or leg modules. your head battery is already running low. you decide to power off again. not much else to do here.

...

a usb cable is plugged into your head module, providing a small power source. a command is issued to light up all functional LEDs. the person sees how many are busted. you can hear them cringe. they say something quietly, either to you or to someone else in the room. you don't bother processing it. you're tired. your head is disconnected from the rest of you, sat on a table or something. the person inputs a txt message via the computer you're connected to. you didn't know that could be done. they tell you that the intruders have been dealt with. there will be no more damage to your system today. they're gonna get to work on fixing it all. that's nice of them. you tentatively type [thanks] into the text editor they're using. oh, while you're here you could do something. you take all the undamaged data you have on the break in, including your diagnostic checks, and leave them in a file on the desktop. they should see that eventually. the usb connection is removed, and you power back down.

[josiebelladonna]

is it just me or is social media getting really boring as of late

Between the constant onslaught of the pandemic and everyone screaming at the top of their lungs about it (among other things), it all feels too much and I feel so... out of step with everything.

Like “yes, I know. All of this is fucking horrible. I am forbidden from leaving my own house unless I really have to and I have to don a bandana around my face like an old timey bandit. Pretty sure California’s fucked from an economic standpoint. Then again, I’d rather let the economy die than risk my life or that of anyone else in favor of the almighty dollar. We have the absolute worst people at the helm right now. I worry about Joey and Krista getting it all the time. I used to actually love getting groceries, ‘cause growing up poor will make you appreciate that sort of thing - I fucking hate it now because I never know what’s going to be there. Or what’s not going to be there. These live stream concerts are godawful (probably the best ones I’ve seen by far were Eddie and Billie Joe at that Home Together thing back in March, and Post Malone doing Nirvana covers a couple of weeks ago), and I really hate how everyone’s acting like it’s going to be all over come next month—if you ask me, this thing is just getting warmed up.”

But I literally do not read anything political anymore because it’s so played out and predictable at this point. Like... “wow, how original it is to be political. The guy we have as president is an idiot and said something outrageous. How original.” The last... I’d say the past few days I went on Twitter (this morning being the most egregious example), I had to get out of it after ten seconds. I just.. I couldn’t take it. When news got out that Chris died, I was communicating like crazy. I was talking to people, and consoling with them, and connecting with them through our mutual love of music, and then... I don’t know. After a while, everyone stepped away (or they only came to me when I brought up Chris, which was not at all fair to me because I wanted to let him rest and move on) and I went on my hiatus. I almost feel like I can’t talk to people anymore if I’m honest.

I’m starting to think making my old FB account a safe spot was a bad idea because I don’t know anyone anymore and it doesn’t help a lot of those dude bros in the Anthrax group have been really irking me the past couple of days (I’m starting to think a lot of them don’t like Joey. But then again, he’s a slender handsome Italian/Iroquois boy with the voice of a choir boy, I’d be insecure in my balls, too). Instagram’s getting boring, too. It’s like “scroll... like Pearl Jam’s post, like Anthrax’s post, watch something Charlie did with Skolnick and Danny Lilker, like Kirk Hammett’s post, giggle at Cypress Hill’s post, like Alain Johannes’ post... done. Go draw or write something.” I almost don’t even feel like making comments anymore; it’s kinda sad because I like making comments - I like getting them, too! And I always have because they’re more engaging than a straight up like.

It’s just... incessant. And I really feel alone in my being a glimmer of light, or at least trying to be because it’s like all everyone wants to do is be negative all the time.

And it’s a little ways off, and I’m glad I caught it now, but I know there’ll come a point where I’m going to yank someone aside and say “stop. Just stop. Enough. Shut the fuck up. I get it. Your wokeness makes me wanna poison myself not only smack the shit out of you but log off the Internet forever.”

In fact, you know what? I think I might partially log off. I won’t go on Twitter and I’ll use IG very minimally. Just keep Tumblr active, my writing spots open, and keep making art, because god damn it, JOEY FREAKING BELLADONNA IS A FAN OF ME! And my writing is starting to find some traction on the writing sites so I gotta stay open at least somewhat no matter how many caveats come with it.

[whirlybirbs]

               (   another gif by @unearthlydust​ from this beautiful set !   )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  3/?

summary: you find out about bucky’s past, he finds out about yours. 

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.4k, va va voom

a/n: oh look out here comes the plot, charactization, and growth between to pals who are maybe starting to feel a little something begin to take shape. but ignore that, there’s danger afoot. no spoilers for tfatws here!

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“You know I have to ask these questions. It’s part of the check-in.”

“Yeah,” you fire back, flat enough to warrant Dr. Hart’s scowl to grow. You can’t see it over the phone, but you know the way her words whip around you means she’s upset, “I know.”

“If you’re not following the action plan set out by the judge,” she begins, leaning forward as her tone drops into a scalding hot sort of seriousness on the other end, “You will go to prison. You know this. So, do you want to spend ten years of your life behind bars? Are you trying to get yourself locked up? Come on.”

You can’t look up from your computer’s screen. Or maybe you can, but right now, there’s a dangerous mixture of anger and guilt and frustration boiling under your skin.

“I’m trying.”

“Trying isn’t good enough for the GRC,” Dr. Hart snaps, “You know this. They’re giving you a chance — they know you’re talented. You have the ability here to go straight, to earn a living, to finally make up for those years of blackhat work.”

“Everything I did,” you fire back, ripping your eyes up to meet Dr. Hart’s, “Was for others. I didn’t get a fucking penny.”

“You’re not Robin Hood,” she shakes her head as her tone softens, “We all make mistakes. But, everything has a consequence. You know this. And this conversation isn’t even considering the other charges.”

“You know the extortion case would never hold up in court.”

Dr. Hart sighs raggedly. “And I don’t intend on ever seeing it play out in court, because you’re going to follow the conditions of your pardon.”

“The GRC is a bunch of fascists—”

“Enough,” she snaps, “If you want to go and appeal your case with the judge, be my guest, but I can almost guarantee you’ll be perp-walked out of that Federal courtroom in cuffs.”

She’s right.

Dr. Hart is right.

Your knee is bouncing, up and down and up and down. You’re wound up around yourself, arms crossed tight, brows knotted. With a shaky exhale, you just nod. You breathe, and you remind yourself that she’s right. She’s right, she’s right, she’s right. It’s not worth it. Dipping yourself back into that world, the layer of the web beneath the surface, isn’t worth it.

The GRC is your way out.

Just be a good little girl and do as you're told.

“So, I’m going to ask you again,” Dr. Hart begins, pen clicking alive on the other end of the phone call, “...Have you engaged in any illegal activities online in the last seven days?”

                                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Inessa Sidrova’s photo stares up at him from its place on the speckled marble counter, stacked neatly next to his notebook where her name is scrawled in chicken scratch — between two other names: Zemo and Henrikson.

His laptop, technically on loan from the FBI, sits beside both.

(When Barnes had agreed in that closed doors meeting to the conditions of his pardon, a certain FBI agent by the name of Jimmy Woo had been rather insistent that Barnes needed a personal computer in order to carry out his portion of the conditions insofar as tracking down the remaining HYDRA pawns in the States. Woo had also insisted, to the agreement of Dr. Raynor, that a personal computer would help better acclimate Barnes to the new world he’d been dropped into.

Woo was even nice enough to take an hour of his own time to show Bucky enough to get started — but was whisked away for some investigation out in New Jersey.)

Bucky rubs the cold vibranium of his left palm into his eye, then exhales long and slow.

He’s done all he can. And still, no leads on the woman.

Rounding the kitchen island, he digs his cell from his pocket. He goes back to staring at that text — the one he’d laughed out loud at the moment it lit up his phone — and he can feel that ol’ bite of anxiousness creep into his arms. His fingertips tingle.

On the television, a laugh track plays over a clip of The Three Stooges. Blue eyes flick upward, and he partially wishes a ladder would put him out of his own self-induced misery.

Outside, the antics of a Saturday night in Brooklyn roll on.

In the last few days he’s parsed through his thoughts enough to realize it’s not telling you that scares him — no, it’s telling you the truth. The whole truth. All of it. After all, the good comes with a lot of bad; the sort of bad you chain in a chest and sink in the ocean. And Bucky finds that, even still, the good is questionable at best. The good is… small. Microscopic. Completely and totally tainted by the fuckin’ decades of brainwashed, war dog bullshit.

He groans and drops his head back against the wall.

He tries, for the next twenty minutes, to formulate some sort of reply to your text message. But, half the battle is figuring out what to say, and the other half is actually typing it out. This whole flip phone purchase was really starting to sting like regret — and as much as Bucky loved technology back before the war, and all the magical possibilities it held, he can’t help but feel like an ornery old man now.

It’s the change. Steve was right. Too much change.

He can’t find the space button and he can’t figure out how to delete the random 3 he’d accidentally punched in — so, with a grumpy huff of disapproval, Bucky simply dials your number.

You pick up on the third ring.

“Don’t you know it’s Saturday?” your voice is a welcomed sound, “The History Channel is running a bunch of old war documentaries you might enjoy, grandpa.”

Bucky snorts, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. “What makes you think I’d wanna watch that shit?”

“Everyone knows that old men like two things,” your voice is light, half-distracted from the sounds of it, “World War Two, or grilling. And honestly, you don’t strike me as the grilling type.”

“I like a good burger.”

“Yeah?” you snort, and Bucky can hear you shift your phone from one ear to the other, “Is that why you called? To hint at being hungry?”

“No,” he exhales, looking out the window, “No, I was trying to reply to your text but I can’t find the fuckin’ space button. Calling is easier.”

“Oh my god—”

“Shut up,” he barks with a laugh, sitting up, “Don’t even start — are you hungry?”

“Almost always, why?”

“Got any plans tonight?”

“... You do know who you’re asking, right?”

Bucky grins, a little boyish and a little tired. “Good point. Loser.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re the one calling me to hangout,” you snort, leaning to prop your feet up on your desk and lean back. Your chair wheels backwards, far enough for you to get a good look down the street. It’s a nice night, cool enough, and it seems like the whole borough is awake, “But, I’m only hanging out if you tell me what the fuck is up with court mandated therapy. I can’t wait another three days.”

Your anxiety has been pricked the last few days over it.

“... Do I get to pick the place?”

You roll your eyes. “Fine.”

“Great,” he exhales tightly, “I hope you’re in the mood for sushi.”

                                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Izzy’s is busy, but there’s privacy in the bustle.

Bucky had buzzed your apartment’s ringer and you’d flown down the stairs, looking… alive. The sort of alive that was new — like a fresh bud beginning to bloom in spring. It had made him grin, and he’d watched you push a tress of hair behind your ear as you decided it was warm enough for no jacket tonight. The light of the crosswalk sign lit you up like a star.

He was sweating.

Dr. Raynor was right — that was it, of course it was — that it was getting too warm for his usual outfit. So, he’d settled on the next best thing: a sweatshirt that was big enough and black enough that he could bury himself in it. His hands are tucked neatly into the pockets.

No gloves tonight.

He feels naked.

He shoulders the door and holds it open with the toe of his boot as you duck towards the back of the restaurant. There’s a booth in the back by a large bamboo plant — you weave through the place with a new found confidence. There’s anxiousness in your shoulders but it melts when you look back at Bucky. Like a watchful guard dog, he nods.

You settle into the booth, toss your jacket in the corner, and smirk.

“I get out sometimes,” Bucky remarks before you can even say anything. He shifts in the booth and reaches up to scratch his cheek with his right hand, “Not often, but I do.”

“I didn’t say anything...”

“You were going to,” he nearly smirks back, his brows raised as he adjusts the chopsticks on the table, “I know that look.”

You snort, nudging his boot under the table. That works a huffed little laugh out the man across from you. Almost immediately you can sense anxiousness rolling off him — it’s the tightness in his mouth that gives him away, the way he’s fussing with the soy sauce dish and trying to get it to line up perfectly with the marbling on the table. Worry flashes in your eyes.

“Bucky.”

He raises his head.

“You alright?” you ask quietly.

“You have to promise not to flip out.”

Your brows knot tightly — but before you can even question what the fuck he means, he’s casually dropping his other hand onto the table.

And you almost don’t notice at first. Your brain fills the gaps in, figuring it’s his glove. But, then you blink and his hand catches the light and you realize it’s not leather. It’s glittering obsidian, garnished with gold, and it’s moving. Flexing. Seams bending and warping and there’s a gentle hum coming from the appendages and you squint because he’s tapping his fingers on the table and there’s a metallic tik-tik-tik that meets your ears.

Then, your eyes jump to his face.

He looks pained.

You’re confused.

And then you’re not.

“You’re —”

You slap a hand over your own mouth. You have to promise not to flip out. Your eyes are eighty miles wide and your jaw is falling open and you’re leaning forward, whispering in a rushed tone because what the fuck.

“You’re that Bucky?!”

Oh, you feel stupid.

The hostess appears, suddenly. You snap backwards in the booth, Bucky tucks his hand away, and you both muster forced smiles to the waitress. She’s young. Pretty. Her name-tag says Sarah.

She asks about drinks.

Bucky gets a beer.

Slowly, you knock your knuckles against the table and drop your head into your hand. The look on your face is exhausted. “Do you guys have Mai Tais?”

The answer is yes. And you’re glad. Because you’re going to fucking need it.

The two of you are quiet until the drinks come — avoiding one anothers gazes for completely different reasons. Bucky is sheepish, a bit mortified, like he always is when people recognize him. It’s why he shaved his fuckin’ head. It worked well enough but… the arm was usually a dead giveaway.

Meanwhile, you’re wondering if you could shave your own head and disappear. Because there’s no easy way to explain the weird elation swirling in your chest right now.

Bucky’s first to speak. His beer is in his good hand. He inhales quickly, eyes darting to you as he leans forward and whispers incredulously. He speaks quickly and his words are pointed with an edge of curiosity.

“...What do you mean ‘that Bucky’?”

“Y’know, I knew there was a reason you acted like you needed a senior citizen discount. And you know exactly what I mean,” you rush out all while waving your Mai Tai and jabbing the side with the umbrella towards him, “Listen, this is a lot to take in, Mr. Avenger.”

“I am not an Avenger—”

“You helped reverse the Snap. You’re the Winter Soldier. That makes you an Avenger—”

Bucky’s shaking his head, eye screwed shut tightly because the sudden equation to his past self being considered a hero is like being socked in the mouth. He stutters over his words and shakes his head more vigorously, like he’s trying not to hear what you’re saying.

“I am not the Winter Soldier. Not anymore. And it’s not like I’m not on the fuckin’ roster, doll—”

You hold a finger up, stopping him there, and take a long sip of your sunset colored drink. You swallow. You exhale. Bucky swigs his beer.

“One, don’t call me doll,” you say curtly, then raise a second finger. You lean in and squint, “Two… Christ, the haircut really makes a big difference, doesn’t it?”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” he sighs raggedly, dismissing your scrutiny.

You puff your cheeks out and exhale. Leaning back in the booth, you try not to feel so fucking insane.

“...I can never have you over now.”

Bucky’s brows narrow quickly and his eyes snap to yours. “What?”

“I can’t have you over,” you explain slower with your eyes rooted to the soy sauce in the corner, “Because I don’t think I could ever handle you seeing my signed and framed Captain America poster from his USO tour in 1943.”

Bucky’s face is deadpan. “You’re kidding.”

“I really wish I was,” you gripe, “It’s an original.”

“...You’re a Cap girl,” he says suddenly, leaning back with this look in his eye. It’s less of a question. You can’t pin it down. It looks like he's damn near traumatized.

Bucky thinks — honestly — that this is the cherry on top. Every girl back then was a Cap girl, too. It figures, now, in this new century where he’s making new friends that… as per usual, Steve gets the cake. That fuckin’ pint sized bastard.

He’ll have to tell him about this.

You yank your eyes up to Bucky’s face. His mortification is shifting to surprise to amusement. You’re fast to sit up, mouth opening to fire a retort — but Bucky’s suddenly really enjoying the look of pure horror on your face at the insinuation. He’s smirking. Plain as day. He swigs his beer.

“No, no—” you raise a finger, “No, stop it. Don’t make it fuckin’ weird, Bucky, it’s not like I have his name tattoo’d on my ass. And I knew a girl in college who did.”

His brows rise sharply and you’re finding you’re regretting everything that’s coming out of your mouth.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you guffaw, gesturing for him to show you his hand again, “I wanna see.”

Bucky sighs and plucks his hand from his hoodie pocket.

With a sort of tenderness Bucky wasn’t prepared to handle, you take his metallic hand into your own. There’s an immediate twinge — one that’s procured by flashes of violence from years of being a walking weapon. He breathes, and he reminds himself that this arm is not the same that tethered him to HYDRA all those years ago.

This arm is his, it is not him.

The sensation is different. He isn’t used to anyone touching him like this; he’s used to the feeling of flesh on the other end of a punch, or a throat caught in his palm. Not the gentle pass of your fingers, delicate and purposeful, over his knuckles.

You turn over his hand, eyes alight with curiosity — and Bucky, desperate to stamp out the hotness growing in his gut, moves quickly to flick your nose.

“Ow—”

“Don’t stare,” he says coyly, “It’s rude.”

The waitress is back. His hand is tucked away, and you wrestle the stupid expression off your face long enough to order a plate of assorted maki rolls and some fried tofu. Bucky orders what seems like his usual — shrimp tempura and spicy tuna rolls.

The waitress, Sarah, disappears with a smile.

You’re grinning.

“So… Does this make me the sidekick?” you whisper playfully.

“Shut up,” Bucky laughs, his lips almost darting into a smile.

You cock your head, pushing your chopsticks across the table with a horribly coy look on your face. It’s comical. “...I think this makes me the sidekick.”

“It — stop it — it does not make you the sidekick,” Bucky says slowly as he sips his beer and pins you in the booth across from him, “I’m not a hero. You’d have better luck asking Cap on that one.”

You grow silent. There’s a question hanging on your tongue. You’re wrestling with yourself — Bucky can see that much. He frowns.

“Spit it out, Goose.”

You blink. “Was that a Top Gun reference?”

“You wanted to be the sidekick.”

You wave it off, blinking into your Mai Tai. Your voice is quiet. Even as you speak, there’s a hesitancy akin to walking on eggshells. “What happened to Cap? Is he… alive? He’s gone off the grid. It’s, like, this massive conspiracy theory online.”

“He’s upstate.”

You blink.

“That’s ominous.”

Bucky shrugs. “Someday I’ll take you. It’s… nice.”

You go quiet. You freeze, drink halfway to your mouth. Bucky can’t help but smirk at that. His laugh is more of a scoff than anything.

“Relax, Miss America.”

“Shut up — do you mean that?”

“What, that I think you’re in love with Captain America?”

“No, you bastard, that you’ll take me. To meet him.”

Bucky’s words are easy. They roll off his tongue without a second thought. He feels… okay. Like this part is okay. Not as bad as he thought it could be. His anxiousness isn’t as heavy now. He feels like he isn’t losing you. But then again, he hasn’t gotten to the bad part yet.

“He’s my best friend,” Bucky explains plainly, “And so are you.”

The admission is warm. As easy as breathing. Two months in the making.

“Your only friend,” you say quietly, offering the joke as a cover for the softening tone that dances over your words. It’s affection, you realize, as you mimic his shrug, “But, go on.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Bucky chirps, “But, yea, I mean it. He’d like you.”

You raise your chin, wiggling a bit in the booth. It’s pride — and as much as Bucky likes the look of it, he can’t handle the ridiculousness that comes along with it. But, it’s sort of comforting. He knows this playfulness, this easiness, it’s all because he’s him. You trust him. In.a way, it strikes Bucky with guilt. There are wall of his still built up high. Maybe they’re slowly coming down, but… he’s like a stray dog, slow to trust.

“Safe to say,” you breathe, “I have a few questions.”

“I figured as much.”

You sip your drink and swallow. You raise a hand. “But — I wanna know the boundaries. I don’t want to… I don’t want to pry about shit I have no business knowing, alright? It’s your life and even if we are friends, I don’t need to know everything.”

The relief is almost immediate. He thumbs the label of his beer.

“Ask anything. But I can’t promise I’ll be able to give you the answers.”

“And I’ll leave it at that,” you say sternly, propping your elbow up on the table and offering your pinky finger, “Until you want to talk about it. Promise.”

He crooks his pinky in yours, squeezing gently. You smile.

Sarah comes back with the food, and then Bucky offers his usual half-exhausted, half-amused smirk.

“You get three questions now. Then, we shut up and eat.”

You fold your hands neatly over themselves, eyeing your food as you try your best to sort out what questions come up with the most urgency. There’s… a lot. I mean, everyone knew about the Avengers — and everyone had their opinions. The Sokovia Accords, Lagos, the Blip… and SHIELD. Years of bullshit culminating around those who were considered the heroes. The kickback usually ended up on everyday citizens like you. After the initial amazement, the reality of it all set in.

But, to Bucky’s point, he wasn’t really an Avenger.

Nowadays, there really wasn’t a team at all. No up-state compound, no leader, no Stark and no Rogers.

You’re sure the GRC will try — that the military will try. Morale and hope and blah, blah, blah.

You narrow your eyes. “How old are you?”

It’s quick. “One hundred and six.”

“How’d they keep you alive that long?”

There’s a wince that flashes across his face like he’s been stabbed with a white hot poker in the ribs. You see a twitch of irritation bubble across his lips. Not with you. No, it’s that this question is still hard for him to answer. Bucky exhales sharply.

“Next question.”

You feel a pang of guilt flare in your chest. You move along.

“Who kept you alive that long?”

“The Russians. HYDRA, if you wanna get specific.”

You exhale and settle on the fact you now have more questions than answers. But, you nod and snatch up your chopsticks. Enough of the twenty questions game.

In all honesty, it’s not like Bucky’s existence was common knowledge. The Winter Soldier was known mostly, sure, to those who had floated in the same circles as him when he was nothing but a rabid cur on a choke chain. He can’t help but be a bit thankful for the minor erasure of his new self — sure, in the eyes of the U.S. government he was a high-level threat to be reintegrated as soon as possible and surveyed at all times. But, to the average New Yorker, he was just another person. Everyone was so used to seeing the heroes in their costumes with their bigger than life personas and…

Bucky was just Bucky.

Even he didn’t really know who that was. He was starting to.

His pardon had come with some flak from some of the more political news outlets but… somehow, the details of the Winter Soldier’s exact crimes were being kept silent. Probably to avoid panic. And, even then, the connection between the newly alive James Buchanan Barnes and The Winter Soldier hadn’t been made yet in the public eye. He was glad.

The haircut definitely helped.

It’s like he was a walking classified redaction.

Bucky has a sushi roll in his mouth when he finally speaks. “For such a Captain American fan, I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me.”

“Oh, you’re really not gonna let that go, huh?” you say as you chew, covering your mouth. You swallow and waggle your chopsticks at him, “Listen, it’s been a while since I’ve… y’know, had my Avengers phase. That was years ago. It was at its peak when I worked for SHIELD. And besides, you’re kinda new to the whole superhero scene.”

Bucky frowns. “You worked for SHIELD...?”

“For a year,” you say tightly, “Back before the collapse.”

“Only a year?”

“It was for my graduate program,” you wave it off, “I won out on the most competitive internship NYU had to offer. I was working within their cybersecurity division. I will say I spent more time trying to sort of email phishing scams than anything else, though. I’m sure they saw my record and wanted to keep me away from the juicy stuff.”

Bucky squints.

You offer a sheepish shrug.

“I got into trouble when I was younger,” you sip your drink and sigh, “I always liked computers. I used to spend all my time on forum sites just… reading and talking to people and figuring out how these sites actually worked, so learning how to write my own code was just the next step. When I was fifteen, I learned how to tap phones. At sixteen, I was hijacking my neighbor’s internet conenctions and remotely controlling his laptop.”

“Sounds like a good time.”

“Yea, well, he was a sitting Senator who was having an affair with the nanny,” you mutter, “And I was stupid enough to try and blackmail him for cash. I wish I could say I learned my lesson.”

Bucky exhales long and hard at that, like he knows where that snap of misguided judgement goes. It’s not like he’s passing judgement onto you, but… like he knows the feeling. And you manage to not feel so small, then — telling him this is easy. It’s not your favorite part of your life by any means, but Bucky is listening. Really listening.

He fiddles with the paper wrapper of the chopsticks.

“So, less a Goose and more a Kevin Poulsen type, huh?”

You snort. “For an old man, I’m surprised you know who that is. But, I wasn’t hacking into the Pentagon at seventeen. I was too busy doing community service.”

“HYDRA had their eyes on him in the 90s,” Bucky mumbles through a bite of spicy tuna, the memory popping into his mind and flying out before he can stop it, “I remember… I thought his username was stupid.”

“Oh, you didn’t like Dark Dante?”

“Like I said,” Bucky chortles, “Stupid.”

“You wouldn’t have liked mine, then,” you smirk lightly, “It’s worse.”

Bucky raises his brows, somehow doubting that entirely. “Really?”

“...I was hackrabb1t for a long time. Y’know, with a ‘one’ for the ‘i’,” you cringe, “People kept thinking I was a furry.”

There’s a pause. Bucky’s face is set in an unreadable emotion. It’s confusion mixed with amusement mixed with… something else. When he speaks, he clears his throat and tilts his head.

“It’s clever. But,” a pause, “What is a furry? I’ve been seeing that word all over PlentyOfFish.”

Your jaw flies open. You raise your hands as your head reels around. Bucky has a look on his face like he knows, he knows he shouldn’t have asked and he definitely shouldn’t have given you enough context to know where he’s seen that phrase before, because now you’re looking at him like he has seventeen heads and they’re all on fire.

“Y’know what, nevermind—”

“—Oh, no, no, there’s way too much to unpack here,” you lean forward, “You’re on PlentyOfFish?”

“ChristianMingle wasn’t really my speed — stop laughing.”

“Shut up — stop it, stop — this is too much,” you say with a high voice, “If you get catfished, I’m not helping you track the person down…”

“—What the hell is a catfish?” he nearly cries, raising both hands in a desperate shrug, “I don’t even know what any of these words mean.”

“Oh, you sweet, naive, innocent, man—”

“No, no, no, no,” he chirps, raising a finger with a deadly look of seriousness on his face, “No, I am not naive or sweet or any of the above. I’ll take ‘cute’, sure, but none a’ those.”

“Is that what the furries call you on PlentyOfFish? Cute?”

He drops his head back against the booth and stares at the ceiling.

“Our friendship was a mistake, rabbit.”

You choke out a laugh. “Shut up, you walking claw machine.”

You’re both laughing now — quieter but sustained and everytime you think you’ve calmed down enough to sip your Mai Tai, you just have to look at the distraught, scruffy man across from you to break into another fit of muffled laughter. Finally, after what feels like forever, you both manage to calm down enough to finish the plates in front of you.

There’s a warmth that’s settled in Bucky’s chest — it’s eaten away at the usual jitter in his legs, the anxious twitch of his fingers. It’s a different emotion. Acceptance, maybe. Comfort. Affection.  

Then, while you’re piling the last bit of sushi rice into your mouth when your phone, set on the side of the table, begins to go off. It hums erratically, dancing in a circle, and all you do is stare at the name flashing across the screen. You’re smiling, hugging her. It’s from Jaimie’s wedding — out in some big, wide open orchard with the sun setting behind you. The picture there is old; you were both different people then.

Before… everything.

MOM Morristown, NJ

You scowl and stare.

Bucky blinks.

“You gonna get that?”

Quickly, you snap out of it. You reach and silence the buzzing with two quick taps. Quietly, you offer up a somber sigh.

“I never do.”

Bucky frowns again, this time with a worried look that digs deep into his eyebrows. You ignore it on purpose, pushing your plate away and leaning back in the booth. He knows what you’re doing — you’re avoiding his gaze, and therefore his own questions.

“Rabbit.”

“Oh, is that my new nickname, then?”

“It fits,” he chirps before crossing his arms, strategically hiding his metallic hand, “What’s up?”

You grow quiet — then it spills out.

“I can’t talk to her.”

“Why?”

You chew your lip. You bite your tongue and you hold back on the finer points of your anger — ones dredged up by the still present sting of your check-in with Dr. Hart this afternoon.

Here it comes.

“As a part of my pardon, I was ordered no-contact with my family,” you exhale, controlling the level of your voice, reciting the court papers you’d read over and over and over, “It was deemed that further contact would impact my progress towards reformed behavior and judgment.”

Bucky’s eyes are wide. His jaw is tight.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘pardon’?”

It’s your turn to cross your arms now, to ignore the sting of his look. It’s the kind that screams disappointment more than anything. You hate that you’re getting it from Bucky of all people.

“Like I said, I didn’t learn my lesson when I was a kid,” you shirk, “Last year I was arrested on a number of counts — I’d been evading the FBI, CIA, all of them, for years. I was doing it all for people like me. The ones who got left behind.”

Bucky’s tone is flat. It’s serious. His next sentence is less of a question, more of an order. The cadence is rhythmic and it reminds you of your brother the night he found out about the first time you’d been arrested; you decide, then, that Jaimie and Bucky would have gotten along.

“What did you do?”

“Whatever I could,” you wave your hands, “Identity theft, falsified documents, insurance fraud. Anything. There were people, like me, that in a blink, lost everything. Accidents, deaths, evictions and no one did anything for us. The insurance agencies wouldn’t cover damages related to The Snap. Life insurance policies, social security… It all got snatched up by people at the top while the system collapsed around us. I had to pay for my brother’s funeral out of pocket. And there were hundreds of thousands of people just like me, just trying to get by. And everything failed us.”

Bucky is stuck in silence. It’s like mud, dragging him to the bottom of a pond — the sort that’s dredged with misery. In an instant, his veins are on fire with an anger he hadn’t felt in a while. It manifests itself in the tightening of his jaw. He rubs his face and props his elbows up on the table.

“Why won’t they let you see your family?”

You fiddle with your napkin.

“My brother… His wife was on maternity leave when she disappeared in the Blip,” you mutter, “She came back to no job, a dead husband, and no home. Their apartment complex had been abandoned. She’s trying her best to make ends meet. She lives with my Mom in our old home. Neither of them can find work. They… The court thought that I’d be influenced to do something if I was around them.”

“What, like help?”

“They see me as a criminal,” you manage, “But I’m useful, so they’re keeping me around.”

Silence falls between the two of you once more — and the sad look on your face makes Bucky’s chest tight. He can see anxiety beginning to spill over; you’re wringing the napkin, fiddling with the edges. Suddenly, Bucky realizes you’re feeling exactly how he was an hour or so ago.

Your voice is soft. “I’m sorry. I was going to tell you.”

“Looks like we’re two birds of a feather,” he says, knocking the toe of your sneaker with his boot, “Listen, we all do stupid shit. I’ve got a lot worse weighing me down. I get it.”

You look up, sadness glistening in your expression like sun off a lake. It’s harsh. He wants to look away.

He doesn’t.

“... So, that means you’re good with computers?”

                                                      ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦  

That’s how you find yourself in Bucky’s Brooklyn apartment at almost midnight, wandering behind him in the long halls and watching curiously as he digs his key from his pocket and shoulders the door open.

It’s a small apartment. One bed, one bath, a kitchenette and that’s really it.

For its size, it’s hardly lived in.

You suppose it makes sense — Bucky didn’t have a lot of personal belongings, and with the hints he’d dropped about his life before The Blip, you were beginning to understand that he may have never really had that much to begin with.

There’s a blanket on the floor by the television and a single couch pillow. It’s tucked in the corner, behind a small sofa. There’s a chair in the living room, one from an old dining set. At the kitchen counter, there’s a stack of papers and a single laptop. Even though all the kitchen’s wares are older models, the bones of the apartment are good. Bare, but good.

You stop in the doorway to the bedroom and stare at the untouched bed. The sheets are tucked tightly in the corners — there’s something militaristic about it. Across the hall is the bathroom. It’s small. You can see a few amenities scattered across the sink’s top.

Being in here feels something like an open wound.

It was lonely. Quiet. Cold.

“We need to make a trip to HomeGoods,” you mumble as Bucky flicks on the lights, “I get the whole minimalist thing, but sheesh.”

“I don’t have a lot,” he says, kicking off his boots by the door and shrugging off his jacket, “And I don’t need a lot either.”

You watch as his shoulders sag a bit, like he can finally let down his guard just a little in his own space. It’s endearing. You perch yourself up on the kitchen counter as your eyes follow him; he moves to fling open a cabinet and grabs a mug. Then, he hesitates.

“You want tea?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Tea?”

“Dr. Raynor said,” Bucky reaches for a container of tea bags from the top shelf. His henley lifts enough to flash a bit of skin along his lower back and you swear you see a scar, “It would help with my anxiety.”

You swing your legs a little. “Then sure.”

“You can use my Captain America mug,” he chirps, laughing a little to himself, “Seeing as you’re such a big fan…”

“God, I regret even saying anything to you,” you spit as you hop down and lean around him to get a look at the mug, “Did you seriously buy that?”

“It was a gift.”

“Bullshit.”

Bucky snorts as you shake your head and wander backwards, eyeing the rest of his apartment with a bit of astonishment. It’s really nothing impressive — but, you suppose it makes sense. Whatever meager disbursement that the government was willing to give Bucky for his efforts in fixing the Snap was better than nothing.

Your gaze hangs on the blanket in the corner.

He watches you; and he notes the sore sadness that dissolves your posture at the sight of the nest in the corner. A bit of shame colors his cheeks as he heats up the water. When Bucky speaks, it’s slow.

“The bed was too soft. I couldn’t sleep on it,” he shifts from foot to foot and focuses on taking the tea bags out and methodically wrapping the strings around the handles, “Dr. Raynor said that’s a typical thing for soldiers to experience when they come home from war.”

You’re quiet for a while after that, only speaking when he rounds the counter with your tea. He offers it up with a tilt of the head.

“You never got to come home, though, right?”

“No,” comes the short reply as you both watch the lights outside the window, “No, I didn’t. Not until now.”

You nudge his arm with yours. You lean a bit. Bucky leans back.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he manages after a sigh and sip of the tea, “I can’t just feel sorry for myself anymore. I’m trying to fix the wrongs I did — and that’s why I need your help.”

You quirk a brow. He reaches around you and grabs the stack of papers on the counter. With a steady grip, Bucky presents the photo of a woman who looks strikingly familiar. You can’t place her face, but there’s something about her that feels like a slap across the cheek. She’s young here, in a faded photo with tattered edges. Beside her is a man who is laughing. The photo is candid, and they’re both beautiful. They’re both  wearing a uniform — but you can’t place the era or location.

You turn to Bucky for answers.

“Back in the 70s, at the height of the Cold War, HYDRA was working in tandem with the Russians to spy on American forces,” he offers easily, staring out the window, “The American HYDRA cell hadn’t yet been planted. This man, Andrei Kuznetzov, was a spy. He was feeding the Americans information on the Russian nuclear program. His wife, the one in the photo, was ordered to kill him. She refused.”

Bucky’s fingers twitch.

His words are soaked through with pain.

“I,” he continues, “killed him.”

You hold your breath. Then you spare him a mournful look.

“Inessa Sidrova went on to help form the same HYDRA cell that ended up taking over SHIELD here in America,” Bucky mumbles, “She’s dangerous. There’s others like her, ones who I helped create, all over the world. But, she’s my top priority. I just haven’t had much luck tracking her down.”

“That’s why you need my help.”

“I’m 106 years old,” Bucky deadpans, “The microfiches at the library were getting a little tedious.”

“But,” you chirp with a sly smirk, “You figured out how to set up a PlentyOfFish account?”

He shoulders you again as you sip your tea and laugh.

“Shoulda never said anything,” Bucky grumbles, “Dr. Raynor thought it was a good idea. Y’know, to get back out in the world.”

“I can promise you,” you say with a stern shake of the head, “The metal arm will get you plenty of chicks and dudes in due time.”

“Good to know,” Bucky replies as his words lilt with a playful sort of questioning that you purposefully ignore. You’re not feeding his ego today. Maybe tomorrow, after you take a crack at figuring out where this woman is.

It’s going to be a long night.

[morimakesfanart]

Sindria's Prophet #14

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13]

[AO3]

~POV Mori~

I woke up when it was still dark out. Only the faintest light came in my windows.

I hadn't done anything yesterday. Just laid down and rested for the first time in a long time. The doctor's were convinced I needed one more day of rest, but I knew I was already better. When was the last time I had just let my body rest like that when I wasn't sick? I couldn't remember. This peace was nice.

The quiet of sunrise was only broken by the faint sound of bird calls in the distance. I sat up and closed my eyes. I focused everything on my other senses. I couldn't hear the ocean easily from here. I had wanted to use the sounds of the waves to meditate, but I would just have to do without.

It had been a few days since I last checked in with myself and really focused inward. I could still feel them, all of the Black Rukh that had merged with me back in Balbadd. They were much calmer than before. And they felt like a part of me now, like I might be incomplete if they were suddenly gone. I knew each one from the dreams too. Their lives were mine and each also now knew my life as their own.

Going through all of their lives on the ship would have been painful even without being sick. These were angry souls and they did not welcome the inner peace I was offering easily, but a person's Rukh doesn't lie. After reading this world's truth through my memories they all calmed.

All of us lived lives of loss and poverty and trauma. That must have been another part of why we were able to fully merge in such a short time.

As Black Rukh they couldn't return to the Great Flow where the rest of their loved ones were, but they at least had each other within me.

It was a very strange feeling.

And along with their lives and Rukh, their magoi was also now mine. What had felt like a small pool now felt like a large lake. I had a lot more magoi at my disposal now that they were fully integrated with me.

The Great Bell range and I grounded myself in the present.

Only then did it occur to me that I was probably sick, and suffering from the influx of Rukh separately at the same time. It had been both all along. Whatever illness I had was worsened by my situation with the Rukh. I hadn't lost my magoi manipulation during it, but it was probably learning it ahead of time that had saved me. There's no way such a large amount of Rukh entering me wouldn't have made my body unstable.

Would the doctors understand if I explained it to them? I should ask Sinbad before saying something unnecessary.

The dim light from my windows called to me. I got out of my bed, put on my glasses, and sat on the sill of one them at the encouragement of the waves.

Like this, I could look down and see the Palace court yard. On the other side of the court yard were the Silver Scorpio (martial arts training), and Black Libra (libraries & schools) Towers, behind them to the left was the Red Cancer Tower (military) and fully to the left was the Purple Leo Tower where Sinbad lived. Since I was on a high floor I could easily see all of the towers of the Palace from my windows -all except the White Capricorn Tower where Ja'far does most of his work since that building was on the other side of this one.

It was so strange. Looking at all this made it real that I was really here. How many times had I reread or rewatched scenes wondering what it would feel like to be here?

I rested my head on the window frame as I watched the growing light from the sunrise.

The guards changed.

The sun was fully risen. Ja'far would be waking up Sinbad soon if he hadn't already.

Two people walked out of the Purple Leo Tower -a guard and a woman. She wasn't wearing a uniform. In fact she was wearing less than the citizens I saw the other day.

"Oh, right."

Sinbad has a call girl see to him after Ja'far wakes him up.

I had the 3rd fan book for the anime which contains a day-in-the-life for a bunch of the main characters. It was only in Japanese, but I had learned enough (and could look up what I didn't know) to at least read his schedule.

The direct translation was for a "temporary woman" which from what I've found is the Japanese term for a fem sex worker. I've seen some translations for Magi's extra material refer to them as "call girls" so that was the term I chose to use.

The franchise used the word "harem" in a bunch of places, but purposely didn't use it here. That combined with an omake of Sinbad having a nightmare about being married and having a harem made it clear that Sinbad did not have a harem; he had the whole red-light district of his country to choose from.

Hold on... That book wasn't supposed to reach my house until after I had Isekaied so how did I know it's contents? There were barely any scans or photos of pages online-

*Knock knock*

My thoughts

were cut off when breakfast arrived -with more medicine of course.

---

~POV Sinbad~

Nearly a week had passed since King Sinbad had arrived home. There was a lot to catch up on. As much as he wanted to finally relax after everything that happened in Balbadd he didn't really have the time for it. Even after catching up he would still have to prepare for his trip to the Kou Empire. And Ja'far wasn't letting him forget either responsibility.

None of this stopped him from having his slow mornings. He at least gave himself that little slice of heaven.

This was business as usual -at least it was supposed to be- but Sinbad couldn't shake a growing feeling that he couldn't name. It was making him unsettled. The waves didn't give him any answers and drinking hadn't made it go away. It felt similar to missing important.

He wasn't missing any paperwork. There had been an issue with one of their supply ships going missing, and another being delayed, but he had already decided how to proceed. He was definitely interested in the progress the Black Libra Tower was making with testing Mori's theories, but the experiments would take time and they had already scheduled a meeting for an update. The new guests were still settling in. Alibaba was a mess and Aladdin was only marginally better the last time he had visited, but Morgiana was fine and already training with Masrur regularly. According to the doctors reports, Mori would be better in another day or so, and the reports he got from the maids said she was resting every day after giving that partial scroll.

Maybe this was impatience. Aside from his paperwork, everything interesting was either done or waiting for the next step.

Sinbad often walked his country in the evening, but there was no reason he couldn't check on things now. He didn't have time to go for a walk at that moment, but he could spare the magoi needed to use Zepar and fly around the country using the bird he had possessed with the Djinn's power. This wouldn't be the first time he'd done this while working on paperwork.

The bird was sitting on a railing in the city center when Sinbad took over. From this spot he could make some quick rounds in the city and then maybe make a stop in the Black Libra Tower to get a sneak peak at what they had found out so far.

The same old gossip filled most of the streets. Some price complaints, who just had a child, how work was going...

"You're serious? A prophet?”

"My husband saw the scrolls she made from her visions with his own two eyes."

Now that was new gossip.

Sinbad had the bird land near by the two women.

"Oh? What was in them?"

"He said it was like reading secrets of the world."

"Really???"

"Mhmm." She nodded. "Not everyone believes it though so they are all working to test her writing."

"Didn't you just say she was brought in by our King? Do they really think he'd be fooled by some false prophet?"

"I said the same thing! And you know what my husband said? He said that they need to find proof even if they believe the Prophet because otherwise we won't be able to prove it to our allied countries."

"I guess that makes sense..."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Oh! I think I might know what she looks like!”

"What? How? You only learned about her just now."

"When King Sinbad came home, there was a girl on some magical flying cloth, remember? That has to have been the Prophet!"

"I think you're right!"

To two moved on to some other gossip and King had the bird fly towards the Palace. Listening to talk about his Beautiful Prophet reminded him of his mission to peek at what was happening in the Black Libra Tower. Being able to bypass the stairs and the gates made the journey much faster.

The Sun was already in the western side of the sky. Shadows were cast onto the court yard from the Black Libra Tower. The stone of the Green Sagittarius Tower was nearly blinding white from the direct light. Color flashed in the corner of his eye as the bird flew past the upper levels of the guest tower. Before his thoughts had fully registered the familiar shade of nearly black indigo, Sinbad was guiding the bird to investigate. He landed on the railing of one of the windows and looked at the young woman resting against that same window's frame.

Mori looked just as surprised to see a bird land right in front of her as he was to be there. Sinbad had purposely been avoiding using Zepar to spy on Mori since she somehow knew that he had eavesdropped on her before. It had been days since he last saw her, so when she was suddenly an option-

"Heh hehe"

Mori's chuckle and smile took his full attention. He didn't know what had made her laugh, but he hoped she'd do it again.

"Sir, are you aware you are a bird?” After the words passed her lips she was struck by a giggle fit.

Sinbad had no idea what she was thinking or why she had said that to a bird, but he was hearing her voice for the first time in nearly a week so he'd worry about figuring it out later.

When Mori finished laughing at her own joke she leaned her head to the side and watched him. Her hair shifted and another lock spilled over her shoulder. The sight brought attention to the low neckline of the dress she was wearing. If Sinbad was there in person he would have brushed her hair out of the way just to have an excuse to touch her.

"Did you miss me that much?" Her voice was soft and a bit playful. "You didn't have to use Zepar to visit me."

Mori knew it was him! Sinbad jolted and his head hit the back of his chair in his office. How could she tell? Only magicians could see magoi and Rukh to see the spell active on the bird.

"Sin, is something wrong?-” Ja'far had just entered the room to give his afternoon report.

King Sinbad raised a hand for him to be quiet and tapped Zepar's ring to explain the situation. He didn't want to talk and miss something Mori said or did.

The General's expression turned serious and nodded as he went quiet.

When Mori didn't get a response from the bird she added, "Are you surprised that I knew it was you?" Her smile was warm as the sun. "I have read your Fate many times, so I will always recognize you, my King."

Normally, the idea that someone could see through Zepar's magic would concern him, but this didn't. It strengthened his belief that Fate had guided Mori to him.

And the affectionate way she said "my King" at the end made him smile. The waves had moved like this a few times like the last time he had seen her in person, and when he learned she could also feel the waves. The Great Flow of the Rukh was guiding them to the Fate he could see, the one where she lived the rest of her life by his side.

Ja'far sighed. "Just let me know when I can give you my report."

Mori whipped her head towards the door to her room. "They're here early."

There were the sounds of people walking in the hallway, but no voices to denounce who, or their destination. All the same, Mori got up and walked to the door. She opened it before the doctors had a chance to knock.

"How did you...?" One of the doctors asked.

"I recognized the sound of your footsteps," was her answer.

"I see.... And how are you feeling today?"

Mori walked into her room, and spared a glance at the bird still watching her from the window. "I feel fine. Just like yesterday." She turned back towards the door and sat on the edge of her bed. "So can I finally leave this room?"

The doctors were understanding but they still were going to do a full check up first.

Even without the waves it was obvious that Mori was going to be marked as full health. Sinbad would prefer to go see her immediately and give her a tour of the Palace personally, but he was still a King with responsibilities. "Ja'far, Mori has just been declared healthy. What do you think of everyone having dinner together to get everyone better aquatinted?"

"I didn't hear anything about-” Ja'far started and then cut himself when he realized. "Were you just using Zepar to spy on her??"

"Of course not." Sinbad said with all of the confidence of the King he was. "I flew directly to her and she recognized me instantly. I wasn't spying at all."

"She recognized you??" Of course he'd be shocked.

King Sinbad laughed. "She did. Though she was surprised to see me."

"I bet she was surprised to suddenly see a bird in her room. What made you think to use Zepar instead of visiting her in person? You're already getting regular reports on her condition." Ja'far always acted as a buzz kill.

It didn't stop Sinbad from laughing at the situation before finally asking for that report he postponed earlier -conveniently avoiding answering Ja'far's question.

The magician in Mori's room was talking. "Would you be interested in visiting the Black Libra Tower with us? We can show you how the experiments are going. And if possible, would you be willing to answer some questions?"

That was an understandable request, but it could wear her out.

The Prophet was facing away from the windows so Sinbad couldn't see her expression. "I'd really like that actually." But he could hear the excitement growing in her voice.

"Let me get changed real quick." Mori disappeared behind her folding wall and emerged in the outfit he met her in.

Sinbad did not drop control of the bird, but he also didn't follow Mori out of her room. Instead he waited in the window sill until he saw her enter the courtyard and then had the bird fly to the Black Libra Tower.

---

As soon as he finished whatever last minute things Ja'far was about to add to his pile, Sinbad would go to the Black Libra Tower and surprise his Beautiful Prophet in person.

~POV Mori~

In the manga and in the anime the only areas shown of the Black Libra Tower were Yamuraiha's office/lab and one of the libraries. I was more than curious about the rest of the facilities.

The first room seemed to be a reception area and had a map of the tower. I only got to glance at the separations between the libraries, offices and class rooms before a tall and lanky magician walked up to us.

"Is this her??” Her short ponytail bounced as she looked between me and my guides.

Isa, the magician who had been taking care of me the past few days, introduced me. "This is Lady Mori, the Prophet!” He acted like he was showing off the coolest toy on the playground.

The tall woman got right up in my face. "I knew she had to be the Prophet! The Rukh don't normally move this way around people."

Before I got to respond she started rambling comments and questions that covered everything in maroon and peacock blue getting sponged across a cream canvas. I stepped back and Isa cut her off. "Lady Mori will be answering everyone's questions in time. We were just on our way to see Yamuraiha so I can show her how everything has been coming along. You are welcome to join us."

She definitely joined us. As did many others who spotted us or were called over by others in our procession.

We walked through a few library areas, and up a few flights of stairs. As we passed various rooms and areas I was told what or who would be inside, but I wouldn't remember any of the specifics until I had a chance to use the space and explore on my own. What did stick was that most of the classrooms were next to the libraries and the labs were near the offices.

Yamuraiha must have heard our group from down the hall because her head popped out from one of the rooms ahead of us. "What is going on out here??” Then she made eye contact with me. "It's you!!"

That made me smile. I fought back responding 'it's me!' like I would with my friends. "I'm Mori. I'm glad I'm finally getting the chance to meet you, Yamuraiha!” I stopped walking when I got 3 yards/meters away.

She immediately pulled her staff against her chest with both hands. Her shoulders tensed but she had an enthusiastic smile. "The pleasure is all mine!"

Yamuraiha was amazing, smart, and endearing. I really wanted to be friends with her.

I out stretched my hand to shake hers. "I'm really excited to work with you, and learn more about magic even though I'm not a magician."

"The feeling is mutual!” She took my hand more than matching my excitement. And when she released it said, "Since you're here, would you like to see what we've been working on from the scrolls you gave us?"

"Yes please!”

---

The lab she lead us to was a little down the hall. All of my scrolls were spread out on one table and a bunch of notes and different materials were on an other.

Yamuraiha pulled out parchment that had a complicated magic circle written on it. "We can't do much yet, and it still takes a catalyst and many magicians at once to control the amount of magoi safely but our alchemy magic has made a breakthrough from your writing."

She asked a few of the magicians that came with me to join her. They pointed their staffs and wands at the magic cycle. A large crystal in the room started glowing, and the Rukh lit up the space from within the circle. Specks were pulled out of the pile of ingredients nearby -dirt, scraps paper, a small potted plant- and gathered at the center of the circle. The light got too bright for me to look straight at it and when it faded there was a small dark grey cube in the middle of the circle. It looked like a die with no markings.

Yam explained. "After reading about 'atoms' and 'bonds' in your scrolls it was like finding the missing piece. It will still be a long time before we can perfect the process, and we still can't make anything bigger than this yet, but soon we will be able to make anything we want!"

((In the future I intend to: reference more old memes, describe more of my experience with synesthesia, and explain more basic history and science. SO you all have been warned lol))

I had to respond; I couldn't just continue staring in awe. When I tried to answer I ended up gasping since had forgotten to breathe. I chuckled at my own shock as well as the situation. I looked up at them. "You're all amazing to be able to develop this already from the little I wrote!" I looked back at the stone. "I knew I wrote the keys to Yunan's signature alchemy magic in those scrolls, but to think you've already gotten this far with it -its amazing."

With this -when developed farther- we could make certain materials without having to worry about the pollution, and break things down easily so we won't have to worry about garbage piling up everywhere.

"Did you say Yunan? The Magi, Yunan?" Yamuraiha looked at me with wide eyes.

"Yes." It was my turn to explain. "Yunan is able to use alchemy magic like this on a grand scale. In the Fates I read he will have reason to visit Sindria in about 2 years. He creates a cabin and food in the middle of the Palace court yard so he has somewhere comfortable to stay."

The bird in the window ruffled it's feathers.

"Yunan explains the basic concept of how that magic works when asked, and since I know the science of the physical world I know the details to what he was talking about." My smile widened. "I hope my notes were easy to understand. Please let me know if you have any questions."

[dragon-fics]

(The Dragon Prince) A Different Life (Mentor!Aaravos X Apprentice/Reader)

Online classes had me very bored, so I started to think back to my original prologue of HA and here is the basic Idea I had, in first person.

This is partially based on @kurizeria‘s OC Naymora and her story with Aaravos.

Chapter summary: You are Aaravos’ elven apprentice in a time before Dark Magic, the Mage Wars, the division of Xadia and, Aaravos’ imprisonment.

Prologue, Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3 , Pt. 4, Pt. 5, Pt. 6 , Pt. 7, Pt. 8, Pt. 9, Pt. 10, Pt. 11, Pt. 12, Pt. 13, Pt. 14, Pt. 15

Centuries before Aaravos’ imprisonment

“Master? Where are we going?” I whined, chasing after him.

Aaravos sighed. He’d started to do that a lot recently. Was I becoming annoying because I was a teenager?

He spun around, his dark cloak whipping behind him. “(Y/N), we’re going to Elarion. Like I said this morning?” he said, as if he were trying to jog my memory.

I placed my hand on the strap of my satchel. “You didn’t mention anything this morning,” I muttered, “you just said it was time to leave.” He had become very forgetful recently and almost presumed I had telepathic powers like dragons do—and I am not a dragon.

Aaravos pinched the bridge of his nose. “Right... I’m sorry. I’ve just been very busy with Ziard’s project.”

We started walking again. “The ‘project’ he so desperately needs the Archmage to help him with? Why can’t he just do it himself, if he wants the ‘project’ finished so badly?” I was becoming irritated with this human ‘mage’. He visited almost every day and made demands about the project, asking Aaravos to have it done quickly, when he had done all but nothing to aid its completion—whatever it was. And every time he’d visit, he’d eye me disgustedly and insist I leave, even if it was in the middle of a lesson.

He drew in a sharp breath. “(Y/N), you need to calm down. Once the project is finished, Ziard will be out of our lives, I promise.”

Crossing my arms, I said, “I don’t like this, Aaravos. I can see such darkness in him. Whatever this project is, I hope it doesn’t bring more harm than good.”

“That makes two of us.”

I glanced at him. Was that regret in his voice?

“So, what is this project?” It was a question I had been wanting to ask for months.

Aaravos hesitated. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

He glanced at the long object on his back, wrapped in burlap and string. “It’s best you don’t know.”

I looked at the path ahead of us, Elarion was just beyond this hill, I had travelled enough times to the city with Aaravos to know where it was from here.

Aaravos looked up at the hill and reached inside his cloak, pulling out a small bag of coins. “Go to Elarion and find somewhere to eat, I’ll catch up with you later.”

I followed his gaze. “You’re meeting him here?”

“Just take the money, (Y/N). I’ll see you in Elarion.” He placed the coins in my hand and started up the hill.

I frowned and did I was told, tucking away the bag under my cloak.

*-*-*-*

Aaravos’ stead galloped ahead of mine as the moon lit our path dark overgrown forest path.

“Master, what’s happening?” I called out. He had woken me up in the middle of the night in a panic, saying someone was coming and that they knew everything. He muttered about his regret in making something and making something for ‘him’.

He said nothing, just kept moving.

“Aaravos!” I called.

“The Mage Council is hunting me,” he shouted above the steads’ hooves and the sounding his cloak.

“Why?”

He didn’t respond. What had he done?

I reined my mount to a stop. He released a snort of displeasure.

It took Aaravos several moments to notice I was missing. “Why did you stop?!” he demanded, turning his stead around and rejoining me.

“What have you done?!” I retorted. “What have you done that has not only placed you in danger, but me, your apprentice, your child?!”

Aaravos hung his head in shame, something I have never seen him do before. “I’m sorry.”

“What. Did you. Do?” I said, irritated.

“Ziard is dead. Before Sol Regem killed him, he told Sol Regem that I had given him the staff. The staff was his project.” He looked up at me.

“You started all this? The Dark Magic, the humans being banished, the Mage Wars! You...” I paused, unsure what else to say. “You created that... weapon.”

“(Y/N), please... It was supposed to be a gift, and act of equity from us to humanity.”

I held my face in my hands. He had talked of this ‘act’ since I was an elfling and I knew very well he had never meant to hurt anyone or bring such destruction and hate.

I lowered my hands and drew in a breath. “So, what are we going to do now?”

“Hide.”

“They’ll find us, no matter wh—.“

“You. You need to hide,” he said solemnly.

“What about you?” I moved my stead closer to his.

He raised his hood and looked back at the trail, to the sound of heavy paws and shouting coming closer.

“No! I’m not leaving you to them! They won’t hesitate to—,“ I cut myself off, unable to finish my sentence.

Aaravos placed a hand on my cheek and kissed my brow. “I rather you be safe.”

“They won’t stop at you, they’ll think I’ll know something as well.”

He paused and turned his mount around. “You’re right. So,” he turned to face me, “are you with me?”

“Yes, Master,” I breathed.

We started off again, but our steads weren’t as fast as the hunters’. With every second they got closer and our path was getting harder to traverse.

“Can’t we teleport?” I asked over the hoofbeats of our steads.

“No, they’re too close and we’re moving to fast and the search parties are everywhere right now.”

I looked on at the path ahead. There had to be some way to get rid of them.

But then they yanked me from my saddle and pulled to the ground. I yelped and grunted as I hit the ground. I looked at my arm, a metal whip was wrapped around it.

“(Y/N)!” yelled Aaravos.

“Keep going!” I shouted.

He hesitated for a second before his stead ran off.

I was about to draw a rune to cut the wire when they pulled me up onto another stead. I elbowed the rider, but they drew a sleep rune and I fell limply into their hold.

*-*-*-*

It had been centuries since I had last seen Aaravos.

And now he had been captured.

I followed my new master, and Aaravos’ former master, Kalani. An elf so tall and old I was sure he was older than the eldest tree in all of Xadia. He had the most beautiful pale skin and horns that shown like gold that were as large and as detailed as a moose’s, just more curved and elegant looking. A mass of blue robes that faded from pale blue to the darkest night sky, hung on his body with such a long trail that I often tripped on in—and often his hair as well.

We were beside the Moon Nexus, on a full moon, surrounded by dozens of Moonshadow mages.

“Are we ready?” Kalani asked the master Moonshadow mage.

“Yes, Archmage.”

The name he gave him made my hands curl into a fist. How dare he call that arrogant elf that?!

But I stayed as stoic as I could until Kalani turned around. I mimicked his action.

“Bring him here!” he ordered. They pushed a mirror towards us, it was bronze and gold with runes around the glass. Some hunters came forward, their weapons nudging forward... Aaravos.

I looked down, forcing myself away from his bruised and cut face, torn gown and damaged jewellery. He was leaning forward, his hands bound behind him.

“Kalani!” he growled as they pushed him forward. “Why am I here?” His eyes drifted over to me, and I forced myself to look at him. I wanted to rush over to him and heal him, but I couldn’t.

His ears dropped. “(Y/N)!” he forced himself upright and turned to Kalani. “Why is he/she/are they here? He/She/They shouldn’t be punished for my mistakes.”

“I’m perfectly aware of that, and he/she/they have been an excellent student,” he twirled a lock of my hair. “So, he/she/they won’t be joining you in your prison, Stella Carcerem,” he looked to the mirror.

Some mages pushed Aaravos towards it and began chanting, as did Kalani. The runes on the mirror glowed, and the glass looked like it was made of liquid. I forced myself to watch as a yellow hue left Aaravos’ body and was pulled into the mirror. His spirit.

He fought it, standing in a meditative state to keep his spirit inside him. But to no avail. Before the last of his spirit disappeared, he opened his eyes and gave me a small smile. And he was gone.

The runes on the mirror faded, and the glass became solid again. “It is done,” Kalani said.

I stepped forward, looking at the mirror; it was blank. Kneeling by it, I placed my hand on the glass. “I’m sorry, Father.” tears spilled from my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

The mages slowly dispersed and left me with the mirror.

“We’ll meet again, Master,” I whispered. I softly chanted a reincarnation spell, one that would allow to meet up with him again and free him. My skin became luminescent.

“I’m sorry future me, but you need to do this. For Aaravos,” I looked at my reflection, though I thought I could see Aaravos looking at me before my body flashed.

And then—

Darkness

[heyheydidjaknow]

If I bounce my foot, it makes this chair sound like someone is doing unspeakable things. Also, it has been a hot minute, but I have a chapter written now, and that's what matters. Hopefully the next chapter will be out sooner than later.

Chapter 16

You are going to kill him.

“That is absolute fucking horseshit!” You pace back and forth in front of the restaurant. “His ass was the one who invited me!”

You can practically hear his eyes rolling on the other end of the line. “How is it my problem if he flaked?”

“You’re guilty by association!” You cross your arms. “It’s a favor to you! How is it not at least partially your fault?”

“Because he said he’d be there.”

You hang up on him. You have been standing here for half an hour, and only now do you hear that he can’t be there because of something about a movie. While, under different circumstances, you would be relatively understanding, standing outside in a dress in November is making you a bit less amiable.

You sit down on the step, letting your hair down and leaning forward on your knees. ‘What a waste of a perfectly good twilight.’

You pull out your phone. It’s your father’s birthday back home, ironically enough. You smile bitterly. He and your mother told you when you were younger you wouldn’t be allowed to date until you were eighteen— something about them being worried about you getting in a bad situation— and here you were, flouting their rules, sitting alone on the steps of a restaurant with just enough money for food. ‘Does this count as disrespectful?’

Nobody online has said anything about it. No messages hoping he rests in peace, nothing from extended family.

You set the phone down at your side, quietly watching people walk by. You had your cast taken off today. The people at the hospital gave you some sort of weird juice, and now you can walk around with only the occasional ringing in your ears and half-decent handwriting. ‘Not that my handwriting was that great before,’ you muse. ‘Maybe I’ll finally be able to sit in a car without wanting to jump out.’

“Something got you down?”

There is a thing you have noticed about people’s voices thus far that, until now, you have not thought about in detail; people do not sound exactly like their voice actors back in your world. For example, Donatello does not sound like Rob Paulsen, but the way he shapes his words, the tone of his voice, and the general pitch is relatively similar. He sounds like a teenage boy who happens to talk like his character, and it is by this you have been able to identify voices.

Oddly enough, she sounds nothing like Kelly Hi.

Your blood goes cold. “Yeah,” you sigh, desperately keeping your voice steady. “My date bailed on me.”

Karai sits down next to you on the steps, looking out with you. “That sucks.” She chuckled. “Why’s that?”

“No clue.” ‘Why is she trying this?’ You rest your head on your knees, hands clenching and thoughts going a mile a minute. ‘I’m not made by the Kraang, and the guys shouldn’t have messed with her anyways, so she shouldn’t have my— but I did kill— but she doesn’t care about that, and neither does Shredder.’

“Well,” she sighed, “that’s teenagers for you.” She points back at the restaurant. “Can I get you something? My treat.”

You swallow thickly. “Sure.” Your hands are shaking despite your best efforts. You hope you do not look as completely terrified as you feel. “But I can pay for my own food.”

“Are you alright there?”

‘Sadist.’ You nod.

“Are you sure?” She chuckles. “You’ve gone pale.”

You scramble for a plausible excuse. “I’ve been fasting.” That is not a good example of an excuse. “I need to start getting more iron in my diet.”

“I’m sure some food inside will have iron in it.” The smile on her face— she is not a good liar herself— tells you all you need to know, all venom and quiet pleasure. You seem to shrink next to her.

It is not a request. It is a veiled demand.

You get to your feet. You will not make it far if you run. “Have you been here before?” You force yourself up the steps, opening the door for her.

“No,” she admits, nodding thanks, “but it’s supposed to have good reviews.”

“So you were here for the food?”

A shrug. “You could say that.”

The two of you settled in a booth not terribly far from the door, on your insistence. If you are putting yourself in this situation— ‘At least Casey knows where I am. Why did he have to suggest someplace where I know nobody?’— you may as well not make it easy for her. She orders a milkshake— you can not hear her very well over the roaring in your ears, but that is what she gets— and you drink water exclusively from the straw because your hands are currently incapable of holding anything. ‘What was even the point of all those dexterity-based exercises,’ you cannot help but internally whine, ‘if as soon as I need to be coordinated, I get all flinchy and shaky?’

“I didn’t catch your name.”

Your head rises too quickly. “Huh?”

Another smile. You hate her. “Your name,” she repeats herself. “You haven’t given me your name.”

“Y/N.” As soon as you say it, you know you messed up. “Y/N Collins.”

“Collins?” She leaned against her hand, quietly staring you down. “What is that?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, what country is that from?”

‘Great question.’ You strain to smile back. “No clue. My parents haven’t ever brought it up.”

“Really?”

Your face burns at how easy the clinking of her fingernails against the glass puts you on edge. “Is that unusual?”

“I wouldn’t know.” She took a sip from her drink. “I don’t have many friends, you understand, and I’m from overseas to boot. I don’t know much about what’s normal.”

“Yeah?” You follow her example. “What’re you here for?”

A shrug. “My father’s here on business. Cutlery.”

“For restaurants or?”

“Sure.”

‘If I call Casey, he— but then I’d have to be in his van.’ You clear your throat. ‘Bathroom. Maybe the bathroom has a window.’ “Do you mind if I step out for a sec?” You stand up. “I have to use the restroom.”

“Not at all.” She looks up at you through her eyelashes. “Want me to come with?”

You shake your head, trying not to trip over yourself as you make it to the back of the restaurant, purse over your shoulder. ‘Maybe she won’t think anything of it.’ You lock the door behind you, exhaling as you look around the small room. As is typical of your luck these days— though, you suppose, fighting back tears, it’s not so much these days if it’s been going on for months; you miss your mother— there is none. Graffiti, sharpie illustrations, no toilet paper, and no window. No plan for if the date went badly in the first place— you kick yourself for having forgotten that essential step— and no ride home. You have money for the ticket home— he said he would pay— and a phone and a charger and it is at times like these where you wish you valued your life more. The only chance you now have, as far as you’re concerned, is to either run or fake a phone call at the table.

You just got out of a cast.

You take a deep breath, walking back onto the floor, thanking her for her patience. She nods, waves it off as no trouble, and starts talking again as she drains her drink. You listen, you try to keep the conversation going the best you can, drink right alongside her.

You do not remember when you start having fun, when you start laughing along with her at something or other, but you are now.

“So,” she sighed, lacing her fingers together under her chin. “Who was the lucky guy?”

You blink. “Huh?”

“The guys you were here to meet.”

“Kid from Bio,” you answer. “Can’t remember his name.”

She nods. “Do you have many guy friends?”

“A couple, I guess.”

“What’re they like?”

“Busy.” You smile slightly. “Most of them are, anyway. The guy that set me up is free most of the time.”

“What about the others?”

“They’re into martial arts.” You glance down at your glass, and for a moment, you swear it looks slightly blue. “Their dad’s into it.”

“What’re their names?”

You blink, picking the glass up and placing it on top of your hand. “Reese and Donnie and Legoshi and the other one.” ‘Why is my drink blue?’

“The other one?”

You nod, eyes drooping slightly as you struggle to rationalize the color change. “Can’t remember his name.”

“Michelangelo, maybe?”

“Maybe.” You take another sip, trying to taste what it is. “That name sounds familiar, but I can’t remember from what.” Something with salt.

“You said your name was Y/N?”

You nod again. ‘Water isn’t blue, right?’

“Then, Y/N,” she smiles again, eyes slowly drilling holes into your skull, “do you know who I am?”

“Legoshi’s sis, right?” You look up at her. “You’re Karai Hamato.”

Your eyes are too blurry to tell exactly what is happening with her face. “What?”

“Your name.” You take another sip. “Karai Hamato. Or Missy. It’s one of the two.”

“I’m not a Hamato.”

“Yeah, you are.” You giggle before the words slip out of your mouth. “You’re fucking— well, not fucking— you let stepbrother, right? Half brother?” You are forgetting something important. “Are you two blood-related?”

“We aren’t.”

“You sound angry.”

A blink. “I do not.”

“Do too.” ‘I don’t like her for some reason.’ “You’re getting all red in the face.”

“Because you’re accusing me of something I’m not.”

“Fuckin…” you grin. “If you’re into that shit, I’m not gonna fuckin judge you or nothin, but at least fuckin… uh… own up to it.” Your eyes drag across the table lazily.

“I’m no Hamato.”

“You are too.”

They land on a plastic bag.

‘Oh. That’s why.’

“Who told you I was?”

“Your stepdad.” You get to your feet, holding your bag. “Or dad, I guess? I dunno, whichever one didn’t kill your mom.”

There’s something else in her voice as she gets up, following you out. “How do you know that?”

“I just said how.” The cold air outside hits you like a brick. ‘Run.’

“So you know where—“ You shove your weight back on her, slamming her body and in turn her into the brick wall and run.

She grabs your something. You fall, head slamming painfully against the ground. You kick her, she grabs your hair. In what you might later describe as a drunken effort, you reach your hands up towards her face. You feel something squishy, a cry, and she’s facing you now, dragging you into somewhere considerably darker than outside at night. You feel something in the back of your head, she covers your mouth as you cry out, and you do the only thing you can think of.

You taste something again. Something is in your mouth. She stumbles back. You trip up to your feet, and you fall in the direction of the nearest subway tunnel.

The things happening around that time are swirling around in your head, now, face held in your hands as you quietly curl up on the subway. You do not remember entering a train car, or buying a ticket, or even what happened to the object in your mouth, but the crying you remember. You remember someone touching your shoulder with a soft voice, looking up with your mouth covered in sticky, dried stuff and fingers covered in red and clear goo, and that being enough to have them get off at the next stop.

You do not know how long you are on the train. When you finally feel yourself again, your phone is almost dead. Hours must have passed. You do not remember leaving, but you remember the ringing in your ears again as you dial someone, sitting on the sidewalk in what used to be the only dress you owned. You are reasonably sure you are going to burn it.

—

“Is this okay?”

“What?”

“This.” Mikey gestures around himself. “What we’re doing.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“They’re people, right?” He looks over at his brother, currently skimming the same magazine again. “The Kraang, I mean.”

It takes a second for him to process the question, but Donnie does not have to look up from his sewing to know his brother’s reaction.

“It’s just a question.”

“A fuckin— do you hear yourself?”

“I’m just—“

“Leo,” he turns to his older brother, “is killing the threat to all of humanity wrong?”

“But we just blew up a giant ship of them though.” He crisscrosses his legs. “Aren't we killing a ton of people, then?”

“Mikey,” Leo sighs, not looking up from the TV, “there are more people in New York than there are Kraang that we could ever kill.”

“Eight million.” He sincerely hopes the gloves are not too large. “For number's sake, it’s eight million.”

Leo shoots his brother a thumbs up, glancing over at his brother’s project curiously. “Thanks, Donnie.”

“Even if we were actively going on a killing spree and mowing them down that way, there is no way in hell any of us could kill two million Kraang per person even if we wanted to. That’s not even talking about the number of people who would be fucked once they were done with New York.” Raphael punctuates this with a pointed and aggressive flip to the next page. “End of story.”

“But—“

“And even if they stopped at New York,” he continues, cutting him off, “that would still be eight million people dead because of us getting cold feet.”

Mikey opens his mouth again, sighs, and closes it. “Fine, okay.” He leans back against the concrete, eyes going back to his phone. “Anyways, why do you keep getting water on your thing?”

“Hm? Oh, you mean the gloves.” His taller brother looks up. “It’s easier to get the needle through it when it’s warm and wet. Plus, it makes the— stop laughing!”

“Then you thought it too.”

Heat rushes to his face. “You’re so immature.”

“But you thought it too. That's hypothetical.”

“You mean hypocritical.”

“I said what I said.”

Michelangelo’s phone rings.

He puts a finger, bringing it to his face. “Hel— hey, slow down.” His brow furrowed, the other three leaning towards him. “No, wait, what— who’s she?”

There’s a pause.

“She did— wait, hold on.” He tosses the phone to Donatello. “It’s for you.”

He catches it. “Hello?”

“Could you pick me up?”

He blinks. “What, with the Shellraiser?”

Your voice is paper. “Yup.”

“You hate the Shellraiser.”

“She wants to go in the Shellraiser?”

Donatello waves his younger brother off, letting you talk. “I hate Karai more, currently. Please pick me up.”

Leo pipes up. “What happened?”

He ignores him. “Where are you?”

There is a pause as she checks, his brothers watching for his reactions. “One-oh-three Saint Corona Plaza.”

“Got it.”

“What happened?” Raphael, this time.

“Need me to stay on the line?” With a pointed glare at his siblings, he climbs into the ‘raiser.

“Please.”

He calls behind him at his brothers. “I’ll be back before two.” The phone is brought back up to his face as they moan about a lack of info. The machine is spurred into motion. “What are you doing in Queens so late?”

“No idea.” He can hear your strained smile. “Ask Karai.”

His heart stops. “What happened with Karai?”

You repeat your statement.

“She didn’t—“

You cut him off. “I’m not back in the hospital, no.”

He resists the urge to sigh in relief. “Did she follow you?”

“I’ve yet to be hit over the head, so I’ll hasten to say no.” There is something off about your voice, a certain quality about it that he cannot quite pin down. “I’ve been essentially useless the whole time, what with her drugging me and all.”

“She what?”

“I think she did, anyway.” It is incredibly disturbing to him how calm you sound. “Unless water’s blue and kinda tastes salty now. I don’t imagine it would be though,” you ponder, chilling years off of his life, “even if you guys messed up the mission. It would be green, since that’s the color of the acid, right?”

He mumbles something out about indicators, head reeling as he tries to not hit a street lamp.

“That’s what I thought.” You sigh. “Say, have you got any hydrogen peroxide at your place? No, wait, scratch that, I’m burning the dress anyways.”

“Dress?”

“Yeah.” You huff. “Last time I’m letting Jones set me up on a date. Last time I’m going on a date period until all this gets worked out, actually.”

‘It is not okay to feel happy that she had a bad date.’ Still, he tries to steer the conversation away from the horrifying for a minute. “What happened?”

“I got stood up.”

“Why?”

“I forget. Where are you?”

He glances up at the street sign. “Still pretty far.”

A pause.

“You know,” you swallow, “I should really stop doing this. It’s not exactly great of me to have to ask for your help all the time.”

“None of us mind.”

“That’s not the point.” He hears a car on your end whizz by. “I should be able to go a week without making you go out of your way for me. You guys manage.”

“We’ve also been training in ninjutsu since we could walk.”

Tired, he decided. You sound tired. “Other normal people manage.”

“You’re not a normal person, though.”

“Sure I am.” Your words sound slow to him. “I keep interesting company is all.”

“That’s a word for it.”

“What, don’t count yourself as interesting?”

He turns a corner. “Not the first word I’d use, no.”

Another long silence. Occasionally, he notes, you will him something into the phone, say a quiet, unintelligible word of phrase he cannot quite make out, presumably in an effort to continue looking like you are on the phone to passers by. The streets, like most nights nowadays, are mostly empty, save for the occasional cop car or kid, making the commute a relatively uneventful one. It gives him time to think, anyways, and after a while of quiet contemplation and forced slow breaths so he did not look quite as panicked as he felt once he picked you up, a question quietly surfaces.

He would have come in a heartbeat. He was not exactly sure what he would have done, but he would have come running, regardless of if he could help. Why would you not call? Why would you try and deal with that sort of situation alone? Did you not trust he would come?

His fingers tighten around the wheel. What had you been thinking going out alone, anyway? After all that was happening, you thought it was a good idea to go on a date without a plan for if it went south?

Another sharp turn. If nothing else, he thinks, he can not say you are no longer naive or lacking in innocence. Maybe you are just incredibly prideful. Regardless, it will get you in more trouble than you had to be in.

What would he do if you got yourself irreparably damaged?

—

You are not having a good time.

You have managed to convince yourself that this is not, in fact, anything like the car. For starters, it is less aerodynamic; it is a metal box on wheels, designed for subway travel and is, therefore, not designed for optimum wind resistance, meaning it cannot go as fast with the same amount of energy. The inside of the vehicle is also distinctly dissimilar to a car, its origins blatantly obvious, and was entirely lacking in windows. While this is enough to convince you currently that climbing into the machine is not as serious a death sentence, the fact of the matter is that, yes, it is a metal monster on four wheels that drives on roads. If you keep your eyes shut, maybe you will not vomit as soon as you stumble out of the door.

Your stomach hurts. A lot of your body hurts, actually. You do not remember the “fight” with much clarity, but you do understand your head hurrying. You have yet to get a good look at yourself, but if you had to guess by the stains on your fingers that you can now identify as blood, the bad taste in your mouth that you are fairly sure is vomit and the flaky stuff on your face that also looks suspiciously blood-like, you would hasten to guess the answer is “not great”. You certainly do not feel great, if that is indicative of anything.

He has not said a word so far.

You do not force conversation, now. You would prefer not to talk about the ordeal, anyways.

There are monitors that he is staring at in order to steer. Why he would not just get an actual steering wheel or the old hull of a car from a junkyard is beyond you, though you guess a hippie van would not offer the same armored protection as a subway car.

“We got molested by a sea monster today.”

You look over at him, eyes half lidded. You want to sleep. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His eyes are focused on the screens. “Apparently it liked my submarine.”

“That’s… a thing.” You rub your hands on your thighs absentmindedly. “How did that work out?”

“Fine. It wasn’t all that strong.”

Your lips curl up into a weak smile. “That’s good, then. The mission went alright?”

He nods. “Without a hitch, funny enough.”

“That’s cool.”

The conversation dies as quickly as it starts.

The drive from that point on is an uncomfortably quiet one. You pick blood from under your nails, thumbs occasionally tracing the scars on your fingers— you are still not used to the difference in texture— as the hum or an engine rumbles underneath you. You are reminded of a memory from when you were younger, driving down the hallway, basking in the warmth of your own body heat with your arms tucked to your chest from under your top layer. The machine you were in now was colder, staler, but the hum of the engine, the time, all reminded you quietly of simpler times.

You swallow thickly. ‘I’m such a coward.’ You shut your eyes gently, stomach churning. ‘I’m going to get the people I care about hurt, aren’t I?’

Donnie says something.

The Shellraiser is stopped. You look up at him. “Huh?”

When he was younger, he and his brothers did not know the limits of their own strength. When they were first learning to fight, when they were first sent to spar against one another when their sensei was asleep, they would often go a step or three too far. He was never one to get involved— his brothers were stronger, more enthusiastic fighters— but he remembered distinctly what they would look like the morning after a fight, cheeks and eyes various shades of purples and blues and blacks. They would ask him, on occasion, after particularly brutal brawls, for him to paint over whichever brother’s face— usually Raphael or Leo— to hide them from their father. He got used to the sight, got better at understanding their anatomy, which chemicals mixed together would do which things.

He is getting sufficiently tired of seeing you hurt the worst he has ever seen.

You look so small in the seat, face black and blue, hands shaking. Your skin is paler than when you two first met, less healthy, a thin coat of sweat coating your skin and hair stuck to the back of your neck. Your dress— he has never seen you in one— is stained with rust, hidden poorly from under your jacket. He can tell already which bruises will take a while to disperse, where she had busted your nose and slammed your head against something hard. You need a shower and water and a blood test to make sure you do not die from whatever Karai gave you.

He clears his throat again. “I don’t want to be rude.”

“You’re doing me a favor. You have a right.”

He does not look you in the eyes. “It’s just… can I ask a question?”

You sigh. Even your voice sounds tired. “Shoot.”

His fingers trace the rim of the steering wheel. He takes a slow breath. “Why didn’t you call?”

“When she cornered me, you mean?”

A nod.

He glances over at you, staring down at your hands, turning them over. “You were on a mission. I didn’t want to mess it up.”

“I would’ve come, you know.”

“I know.” You smile ruefully. “That’s why I didn’t.”

His fingers grip the wheel again, trying to not openly overreact. “Y/N,” he says carefully, “if a mission fails because we need to come save you from Karai, then we fail the mission.”

“How many people in New York would die if you guys did fail?”

“That’s not the point.”

“It is.” You look up at him. “You get yourself in a lot of trouble because of me. You have to make sure I don’t kill myself all the time. Think logically, Donnie.”

He snorts, heart pounding in suppressed, almost overwhelming frustration. “Are you going to say something about thinking logically?”

“Fair point. But you get mine, right?”

“I don’t, actually.” He leans back in his chair, fingers gripping tighter still. “The only reason we’re messing with the Kraang at all, the only reason we started all this, is because I saw you and wanted to help you.” He counts on his fingers. “The only people I really, honestly care about this much are my family and you, and I know that, if I had never met you,” and he looks you dead in the eyes now, “I would just make a filtration system for my family and that would be the end of it.”

Your eyes are still gorgeous. Behind the bruises and the blood, you really are stunning.

“Sure,” he concedes, “maybe Leo would’ve gotten involved because he’s that selfless. I would’ve gone along with it, since he’s my brother and all, but if that were the case…” He takes a slow breath to calm down. He never thought it would come out right now at all times. “If that were the case, I would’ve never tried red velvet cupcakes. Mikey wouldn’t have a friend outside of the family. I never would’ve learned about crime movies, or had talks about science with anyone but myself, or any of the thousand other things you’ve given us.” He does not know exactly when he grabs your hands, but he is now, and you are so warm and alive right now. “I care about you. We care about you. You have to know that. For fuck’s sake,” he laughs, “I’ve told you outright, before!”

You open your mouth to say something. No words come out, for once.

He squeezes your hands. He cannot tell if your heart feels like his does, the straining against his chest, the aching feeling. He was never good at reading people or emotions or any of that.

But it’s time now. He can barely think. If he does not now, he might not ever.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Table of Contents

Chapter 15

Chapter 17

[nitannichionne]

If He Was Your Fan, Chapter 53: Three Words (A Henry Cavill Fan Fic)

Chapter 53: Three Words

(Henry POV)

I was quickly becoming a beast, as my trainer said.

I have to admit it was partially because I was working out my frustration…my sexual frustration, emotional frustration. I never realized how spoiled I was, having her like I did all the time. Now she is in the same house, same bed, and all we’d done so far was cuddle and kiss, but she always kept herself in check somehow, she was guarded. I was afraid to make a move. It had only been a couple of weeks since the end of filming, and I was doing some voice work, but it all felt like dog years now.

But hope drove me. She had not left. The night we came back from the party made me realize we really had a chance to move past my lapse in judgment:

We came back to the house talking about the party and everyone there. Somehow there was no discussion that involved the names Brock or Emma.

“I was really surprised when Stuart showed up,” she said softly as I played fetch with Kal. “The scream Stella let out! Good thing the party was already over and she dropped paper plates instead of real ones. She really missed him.”

“Yeah,” I nodded following her as she held on to Luna’s leash, moving with her. “You can tell he really missed her. Did they leave after the party?”

“I think so,” she smiled.

“I guess he couldn’t stand to be away from her a moment longer.” I stayed near her, wanting to keep the conversation going.

“I’d like to figure out how he got onto the grounds,” She shrugged up at me as Luna found her favorite tree and climbed it. “We were a closed set.”

“Ah, when there’s a will, there’s a way, darling,” I smiled, looking at her meaningfully as I closed the distance between us. “Stuart has no intention of letting her go. I’ll bet there is a reason he was out of touch for a bit.”

“Maybe, but that could be good or bad,” she nodded and swallowed harder than usual.

“Or maybe the time apart made him realize how much he missed her, isn’t that good?”

“But it hurt, Henry,” She whispered, leaning so close to me that it was painful not to reach out and hold her just then. “drove her a little crazy, too.”

I suddenly wasn’t sure if we were talking about Stella and Stuart anymore. “I’m sure he’ll make up for it. I think they love each other, it’ll work out.”

“You do?”

“Yes, I do.”

We got ready for bed and we stood on opposite sides. The plan is usually to have sex, and fall asleep curled in each other’s arms, but she didn’t look like she wanted that or didn’t. She still sported that confused look.

I swallowed hard. “Should I sleep on the couch?” I have never slept on the couch! I couldn’t believe I offered it, but if staying on the couch meant she stayed, I was alright with it. I just didn’t want her packing and calling a cab.

“No,” she said quickly.

“You’re not going to—”

She laughed, “No, Henry, I’m not going to sleep on the couch. Let Kal have it.”

My heart sank when she got in bed and turned her back to me. I laid on my back staring at the ceiling. “Darling?”

“Yes?”

I sighed, realizing I had to be patient. I turned away, and my chest constricted. “Good night, love.”

“Good night.”

In the middle of the night, I awakened, warmth at my back. I stayed still, feeling her arms around me, her nose and cheek at my back, her legs and hips aligned with mine. She spooned me, warming me from head to toe, and giving me hope. I turned to her slowly and pulled her close, watching her sleepily get into her snuggle spot on my chest and shoulder and move her arm around me. I wasn’t sure how long I stayed awake, just watching her, but I knew it would be a matter of time before things got right again.

I was outside doing t-drills. I could smell food cooking and it made me get intense. I was hungry in more ways than one, stealing glances at her in the house wearing a gown and moving about, cooking and working in the kitchen. I could tell by the way she moved that she still wasn’t wearing underwear, another gift of hope to me. I had worked to get her, but I also had to work to keep her. I was running out of ideas. I knew gifts wouldn’t work, she told me that once. She once said that I’m sorry gifts are like asking to pretend something didn’t happen.

It was starting to get dark outside.  I went in and washed up for supper. Once again, she served supper, but didn’t sit down. This time I sat and waited. I was hungry, but I sat and waited.

“Henry, it’s curry,” she tells me.

“I know.”

“Go ahead and eat.”

I gave a small smile. “I’ll wait.”

“For what?”

“For you.”

“Henry—”

“Please sit and eat with me.”

She made herself a plate and sat next to me, to my right.

I was at the head of the table, as always. God, I loved that. There is a big difference between sitting at the head of a table alone and sitting with someone there, especially to your right. “Thank you.”

She smiled, raising an eyebrow at me as she got her first forkful.

I chuckled softly. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“C’mon,” I mirrored her expression. “What is it?”

“I would like to work out with you soon.”

“I was hoping you would,” I said with a sigh. “Outside? Inside? I have the cones and ladders—”

“How about the exercises we did before together, or something like it?”

I brightened at that. Oh, not only were those fun, but they led to… “I really enjoyed those, love, I’d love to.”

“Would you like to try some stretches tonight?” she asked.

“I’m game,” I tried to sound casual, but I wasn’t sure if I was pulling it off.

“I saw some stuff online and…you don’t pay enough attention to your flexibility, Henry.”

“Kind of a strong guy, sweetheart.”

“You need to balance, babe.”

Babe. Now when she did that, called me pet names, I took notice. She called me those all the time, but lately it was sparingly, almost like when she forgot not to. But now I had hope, more than I did before.

We went to our exercise area and she had laid out not only our mats but a comforter or two. I still didn’t make assumptions. This is stretching, not so much working out, which required more space. She put on some leggings and a t-shirt, and I felt teased.

“Okay…” she says, extending her hands to me. I took them and she held tight. “Now, go into a squat…”

We did that, and stared at each other. “Whoa…” I realized that we were both kind of depending on each other here. One of us could fall. I kept the hold tight.

“Breathe in your nose, out of your mouth?” She did so, and I joined her. “Up now.” We were close again and she said, “Cross hands.” We did. “Let go of your left and squat back.” We held each other by our right hands and slowly squatted, looking at each other. We laughed. “Ready to switch?”

I nodded and we brought our left hands together to let go of our rights. We stayed there for about eight breaths and we both silently brought our hands together. I smiled. We both kind of felt it, knew. “What now?”

“Back to back?”

We locked arms and I lifted her. To my surprise she was also able to get me off the ground a few inches. We did this a few times, and I actually walked with her that way.

“My feet are straight up, babe!” She cheered. “Wow!”

“Workouts are paying off,” I panted. I slowly let her down. “I liked that. You’re a great weight to work out with.”

“Uh, thanks?” she chuckled, quirking her eyebrow at me. “Okay, now take my forearm, I’ll take yours.” She was a foot or so in front but facing me. “Good. Now lean forward, and left the inside leg out behind you…”

“We look like ice skaters,” I chuckled.

“Very strong and trusting couples,” she says softly. You hold for awhile. “Alright, other side.”

We did the other side and I looked over at her. She was looking at me, a small smile on her lips. We released and I looked at down at her. “What now?”

“Kneel.”

I obeyed.

She knelt in front of me, facing the same direction, our bodies inches apart. She extended her hands out. “Okay, hold my hands.”

I took them gently, inhaling her scent. “Alright.” My voice sounded deep, even to me.

She leaned forward and stretched, relying on me completely to keep her from falling forward. I did not fail her. She arched her back, looking as if she could take flight, her head falling back. I could hear her take deeper breaths, her chest expanded and more open and she gave a huge sigh. “Alright, pull me back.”

I pulled gently and made no secret of sniffing her hair, brushing my lips at her temple.

“Curl forward.”

I was basically spooning her on my knees, much the way I remember our first time. I folded my arms around her and she leaned forward, stretching my back but also giving me the luxury of being so close. We breathed this way. I could have stayed like this.

“Alright, you can—” She gasped softly as I cradled her hips against mine, keeping my hands holding hers and my arms around her.

“Sorry,” I whispered in her hair.

“Oh, that’s okay—"

“No,” I whispered again. “I am sorry I let that happen. I don’t ever want that to happen again.” I felt her draw a shaky breath. I wish I could see her face. “I love you, and I am sorry I hurt you.”

She turned in my arms and looked up at me, sitting cross-legged. “I have been waiting for that.”

“For what?”

“For you to show responsibility and regret,” She whispered. “I couldn’t trust you if you didn’t.”

“Why didn’t you say that?” I felt a lump in my throat. “I would have—”

“But then I wouldn’t be sure if you were sincere, or if you are apologizing because of being caught, not what happened.” Her eyes were bright with emotion. I could still see some sadness and pain, but how I saw hope and love unhidden and unrestrained.

“Am I forgiven then?” I asked hopefully.

“Yes, but even though I love you, I don’t forget easily,” she said with a small smile. “At least we can move forward now, really try?”

“We can?” I got on my hands and knees in front of her, leaning forward and rubbing her cheek with my own. I nuzzled her neck. “Can we?” I whispered, my lips brushing her skin, inhaling honey and almost tasting it.

“Y-yes, I suppose—”

All I needed to hear. I kissed her hungrily, my lips nibbling and nipping hers, my arms squeezing her tight as my fingers raked her back. I felt like I was starving. And when she returned the kiss, when I felt her hands rest on my shoulder blades and squeeze, I trembled slightly for control…

@mistress-of-ward @nuggsmum  @messyinsomnimaniac @jencanbeyouryengeralt  @sweetdreamsofgelato  @mary-ann84  @omgkatinka  @the-soot-sprite  @viking-raider  @keanureevesisbae  @henryobsessed  @summersong69   @sunshine96love  @michelehansel    @thelastsock   @tumblnewby  @tenaciousneckpartypainter  @rn7rocks  @daydreamin83  @ruthoakenshield  @musicartmayheminmyheart @kaatelyynn-blog-blog@forallthebrokenheartedthings @alphacancrii  @liquorlaughslove @designerwriterchic   @tamychm  @nikkilynn303  @circesgirl1   @xoxohannahlee  @pixie88@fckdeusername @maan24  @kaatelyyynn​  @october505​ @absentmindr​ @introvertedmouse​  @sassy-pelican

[generous1ty]

Hi! Can I request the #31 angst prompt with Hajime and with she or they prounouns? I'm a sucker for angst lol <D

hihi!

aaaasgsjdkkd i am also a sucker for angst and love producing it-- and you chose Hajime so this is going to hurt. :)

update on the Prompt Event: sadly, i couldn’t get all the requests done today(i was busy getting the house ready to move). but, i’ll be slowly working on them until they’re done! apologies to anyone sending requests, as i’m currently prioritizing prompt requests right now.

thank you for requesting! lots of love. </3

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Bullet to the Heart

Angst Prompt 31 with Hajime!

link to the prompt list!

genre: comfort angst warnings: swearing, yelling, affair/cheating accusations, just angst in general </3 word count: 1.5k

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the house you stayed in felt more like a “living space” than a “home”.

Hajime Hinata was partially the reason why things were so different; late nights out, drinking with friends, the silent treatments, the cold shoulders... but even so, you could hardly complain-- avoiding any contact with him, leaving packaged foods you cooked on the table, locking yourself in a different room than the one you both slept in.

it was so different from when you both first moved into the house.

you could reminisce about the times when you were both deeply in love-- trying so desperately to make things work, even though the odds were against you both. you could remember his smile, the way he’d longingly stare at you and reach for your hand, whispering in your ear,

“we will make a future for ourselves.”

oh, how you wished those words still played now.

currently, you and your partner were at the dining table, eating in silence. it had been days since you had last talked-- you don’t even remember the last conversation you had.

despite how rough things were, he had still decided to come home early. it was definitely a good thing, right? improvement in your relationship, a sign that he wanted things to get better, right?

Hajime’s pale-green eyes had looked at you, his hardened stare softening at just the sight of you. he had missed you, but was going through things all wrong-- he knew that. he knew that yet his actions still continued-

why was he doing this? he’d often ask himself that. was he looking for excitement? adrenaline? the rush he had felt back in college? he had settled down with you, but things just never felt right anymore.

his frown was apparent-- not that you noticed-- and he had swallowed his food to speak, “i... decided to come home earlier today.”

god damn it, Hajime.

his act of communication had startled you, but your gaze did not meet his, “yeah...”

talking to him seemed hard now. although you longed for his touch, his voice, the loving stare he’d give you even if you were doing nothing, you couldn’t even manage talking to him-- something you’ve wanted to do for so long.

“....i’ve been stalling at work, lately. i’m currently picking up coding to manage online affairs,” he continued, trying to ease the unnecessary tension and get a conversation going.

you peeked up at him, finally looking him in the eyes, “coding..?” you had managed to push out, “isn’t it complicated?”

you had given a soft chuckle, something he missed hearing. his mouth perked up into a small smile, happy to contribute to the discussion.

“it is,” he admitted, feeling comfortable to complain and expose a weaker side to you that he hadn’t been able to do in a long, long time, “it makes my head pound most of the time.”

ah, his smile. it had widened as he talked, and made your heart flutter uncontrollably. yes, this was it. this was what you needed. a heart-to-heart, a simple talk.

the smile that had made its way on to your face had subtly died down, sighing, “...what went wrong? why are we like this now, Hajime?”

your focus had been on your hands, gently cupping the empty plate in front of you. what had gone wrong? what in the world happened that you felt the need to isolate yourself from him? ignore him? avoid him? why did you feel like this interaction would be the only conversation you’d have with him until the routine started over again?

“i... don’t know,” his voice had interrupted your thoughts, painfully reminding you that you had initiated this conversation. whatever happened next was your fault, “but, why don’t you know? you’ve been contributing to this-- this stupid charade ever since it started!”

your eyes squinted, brows furrowing, “what-- what the hell, Hajime?! if you hadn’t started drinking with your coworkers or going out at night without me knowing, maybe i’d feel more comfortable around you!”

you just raised you voice at him-- you just raised your voice at him. you hadn’t done that before.

your heart beat loudly in your chest, hands trembling as your vision started to blur. what? what? was this your fault?

“you never even came to check up on me, where else am i supposed to go?!” he raised his voice, throat burning from the friction.

he never once though that he needed to-- not around you, at least. why was he yelling? why did he feel hurt?

“fuck, [Y/n]! how do you expect me to talk to you when you’re never there for me?!” he stood up, the chair behind him screeching against the marble floor, “i obviously needed to go somewhere else, right?”

you grit your teeth, letting out a shaky breath, “how is this my fault?! if you had just talked to me then maybe things would have been alright-- but now we’re in deep shit because your actions-- not mine!”

Hajime made a sharp inhale, his heart practically jumping out of his chest. him? this wasn’t because of him, was it? his actions, things he did-- it couldn’t have been just him, it was-

“if i’m so unbearable and uncomfortable, maybe you should just go to your mistress-- fuck her until 2am, why don’t you?” your voice trembled with your hands, standing from your seat and leaving the kitchen.

the room, you needed to go to the room. you promised yourself you’d bring that up when you both were better. you promised that you’d talk about it in full detail once you and Hajime had fixed things. not now. not now.

“what--” Hajime’s eyes had peered at your back-- and you could feel it.

was he glaring at you? angry that you had found out about him and his affair? was he balling his fists in anger, waiting to blame it on you as well?

“you heard me,” you growled, “if i’m so hard to deal with, just move out an-and live with the woman you’ve been so intimate with every fucking weekend!” you couldn’t help the stutter in your voice, your breathing so erratic that it hurt your chest.

you couldn’t stop the tears that dropped down your cheeks-- almost as much as when you found the shirt with someone’s perfume and smudged lipstick on the collar.

it hurt. it hurt knowing the man you moved in with to start something amazing had suddenly found something amazing with someone else-- behind your back, at that.

"look me in the eyes and repeat what you just said." his voice rumbled, your eyes that avoided his gaze had finally looked at your lover, eyes shut as if he were thinking, “go on, i’ll listen.”

“the woman you’ve been sleeping with,” you repeated, “just go live with her since i’m so despicable.” you muffled the sob that threatened to spill out, stuck on the stairs because of this conversation.

as he opened his eyes and started to walk towards you, your heart had dropped.

was he going to pack his things? was he finally leaving? you were so surprised he dealt with you for so long-- so if what you were thinking of was really what he was going to do, you couldn’t help but agree.

but instead, his arms wrapped around you; tight, loving, longingly. he was upset, you could feel it in his embrace. but, he still loved you. despite your harmful words, your accusations, he was holding you as if you were leaving-- not him.

he let out a shaky breath, “i don’t have a mistress.”

“but-”

“that night, this woman from my company tried to hit on me-- she was really close to me that night and tried to initiate something by kissing my neck. we didn’t do anything, i stopped her before she could touch me anywhere else,” he sounded so sure, his hold on you tightening, “i promise this is the truth-- so please... if i don’t leave, please don’t go.”

you both had fallen on to the floor beneath you, arms around each other, thankful for the other’s embrace.

you had never felt such anxiety-- such shock before that night, and you never wanted to experience it again. you were apologetic for avoiding him, accusing him, belittling him. you had never once thought of listening to him or greeting him to see what was wrong. you had been wallowing in your own self-pity that it was embarrassing, but he felt the same.

it was heartbreaking you’d accuse him of something that shallow, but he couldn’t blame you. he was wrong for not talking to you and taking another way out, simply going out to drink and letting the alcohol carry his worries away. he was sorry for going out and coming home late, leaving without notice, drowning himself in self-pity as well.

you both weren’t perfect, that was a fact. you were both human, imperfections that still needed to grow and make decisions. those decisions will be hard, and it’ll feel as if you’d be backed away into a corner.

but at least you wouldn’t do it alone anymore.

[ilikemesometaetaes]

Don’t Hold Your Breath ~ jjk

Prologue

•••> Author: @ilikemesometaetaes​

•••> Summary: As the CEO of an international government security company, you have the world at your fingertips. Living life lavishly and extravagantly has become the norm. Behind closed doors, however, you host a past that renders you lonely and, quite frankly, miserable. It’s only a matter of time before your past comes back to bite you right in the ass.

•••> Pairing(s): Jungkook/Reader

•••> Inspo: This fic is inspired by the song “SAVAGE ANTHEM” by PARTYNEXTDOOR. Thank you to @btssmutgalore​ for everything you’ve done to help me! You’re amazing!

•••> Word Count: 2.3k

•••> Rating: 18+ • Please do not read if you are below the age of 18. I do not condone minors reading my work. Of course, I cannot stop you.

•••> Tags: angst | ceo!au | rockstar!au | CEO!Reader | Rockstar!Jungkook | AU!BTS | Exes to Lovers

•••> Warnings: a boatload of angst, heartbreak, cursing, pining, kissing, depression. Warnings are written specifically to chapter. Refer to the DHYB Main Page for the full rundown.

Note: I don’t have a beta reader so please forgive any mistakes I may have missed. Also, if you are confused by the italics, refer to the DHYB Main Page for info on that.

Copyright © 2020 ilikemesometaetaes. All Rights Reserved.

Taglist: @apurpledheart​

If you’d like to be added to the taglist, add a comment to this chapter or the DHYB Main Page!

NAVIGATION: | > Chapter One (M) –> Mini-Masterlist -> Series Masterlist

~#~

NOW.

The bed was cold around you.

You felt yourself breathe. You felt your heart beating in your chest. You felt the evidence of physical life within your body.

But you couldn’t help the withdrawn and frigid feeling of death laced into your mind.

You felt alone. You felt longing. You felt numb yet riddled with too many emotions to comprehend all at once.

Overwhelmed with confusion, you went to the moment that brought you calm. It brought you peace and happiness despite the things lost.

The beautiful dream-like vision of butterflies and a certain meadow filled your memory as you laid in the darkness. Sighing with content, you let yourself remember.

“Fuck Jimin and his girlfriend. We can have all the fun on our own.” He sneered in his Satoori accent. After years of knowing you, Jungkook slipped from his proper accent whenever the two of you were alone. All you could do was chuckle at his harsh words.

The blanket laid out before you was a pristine sky blue. Jungkook had gathered small stones to hold it down at the corners.

“What have you been up to today?” You asked with a hint of breathlessness due to the trek the two of you had made to get to the peak of the large hill. Turning your head to look at him while you spoke, you noticed that his head was craned upwards, gaze locked on the sky.

In response to your query, he collapsed back onto the blanket, allowing his white t-shirt to slightly ride up, revealing a small sliver of the skin on his stomach in the process. The white reflected the sun in your eyes almost painfully, but not enough to take away from the angel-like glow that it gave him.

“Nothing much. Played video games for an hour or so. Cooked and made breakfast.” He angled his head slightly to look at you. "Finished up my essay for my philosophy class. You?”

“Oh, just the usual. Didn’t finish my calc assignment by noon so I’m only going to get partial credit for that.”

Your reply reminded you of how different the two of you were when it came to school. His alone time spent in his dorms went one of two ways; he either played video games with Taehyung or studied- there was no other. His scoff broke you out of your brief thoughts.

“You know, you’re going to end up falling behind this semester, and then we won’t have the same class for our last semester as college students.” His pout that accompanied his statement had your eyes flicking to his bottom lip which shined with a slight sheen of saliva, accentuating the plumpness of it.

It was no secret that you found Jungkook attractive. Hell, even Yoongi found him attractive and Yoongi was quite impassive. Even now, with his eyes squinting under the light of the sun, his hair messy, and a thin layer of sweat covering his skin, you found him absolutely breathtaking.

You remembered how the two of you met.

Shared classes brought you closer together. Ever since you had first met him during your sophomore year when you became part of a foreign exchange program in South Korea, the two of you clicked. Realizing that he spoke English- rough English- had you giddy and eager to teach him to perfect his language skills in return for helping you with your Korean. Needless to say, you learned Korean a bit quicker than he learned English seeing as one of your majors was dedicated to the language learning.

After you decided to stay in Korea and finish the requirements for one of your degrees at your other university online, the two of you grew close in the process of mutual education. When you decided to stay was when you actually got to know him.

He was pursuing a degree in music, specializing in vocal performance, while you were working towards a double major in political science and language studies with a minor in business. Although you were packed full of classes, your work ethic was definitely capable of improvement despite having helped you survive to senior year.

“I know, Kook, but I honestly don’t know why math is required for my major anyway. I just want to be done with it.” You grumbled and adjusted your clothes before laying beside him.

He sighed wistfully, signifying his state of relaxation and calm, which you found yourself fighting a smile for. Of all of the time you had been around Jungkook, he was always emotionally charged or stressed. There was never a time you knew him to be absolutely at peace or silent in the way he acted. To hear him decompress was still a relatively new concept to you and had you giddy to relax with him in hopes that he would open up to you.

A few moments of silence rested between you both, effectively ending the previous conversation.

“Do you think about him anymore?” He voiced, distracting you from eyeing a cloud as it covered the sun. The break from sunlight was welcome on your straining brows.

It took you a moment to respond, caught off guard by the loaded question. He knew of your situation because you were open with him. But why did he care? “Sometimes. I know that he wasn’t good for me. I know that I gave him too much slack and that’s why he lied to me.” You sighed.

“Yeah,” He chuckled dryly. “That dude was an asshole.”

“I still don’t get it. I told him that everything he did was okay. I told him all he had to be was honest and that I wouldn’t be mad at him.” The frustration of your breakup with your ex-boyfriend was nowhere close to being gone. Eleven months of lies and deceit despite the good memories was difficult to remove from your conscience.

He had used drugs, something you weren’t a fan of. Despite this, on top of the fact that it was illegal, you knew that it helped his depression and you loved him throughout his questionable choices on how to treat himself. All you had asked for was his honesty; all you wanted was for him to tell you when he used.

Jungkook sat up to look at you. He frowned and then reached towards you to brush away some of the hair that fell over your forehead.

“I get that he did you wrong. Believe me. I get it. But the fact that you still think about it is irritating. It’s been a year, right?” His scowl made him look adorable.

“Something like that.” You sighed.

“And you haven’t moved on?” He asked, concerned. You were about to reply in defense before he cut in again. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I know you don’t have those types of feelings for him anymore, but you haven’t moved on from the situation?”

Your reply was curt. “I’ve moved on. I’m just annoyed.”

He sighed and looked down at his hand that he wasn’t leaning on, toying with the fabric of the blanket, before laying back down with an elongated exhale. He knew this conversation was over.

After a while of laying down in the sun in comfortable silence, you noticed that the clouds were starting to roll in more frequently, accompanied by a cooler breeze. When you craned your head back to look upwind, you saw the darkness of a storm system crawling across the sky.

“Hey Jungkook. I think we-“ Snore.

You cut yourself off at the sound, quickly snapping your head to survey the sleeping boy beside you. Eyebrows completely relaxed and lips slightly parted, he was a sight to behold. His hair had fallen over his eyes slightly, urging you to return the favor in brushing it out of the way. He stirred slightly before settling back down and sighing. What a sight to behold indeed.

The deep rumbling of thunder is what caused you both to jump and look at the sky. “Jesus.” He croaked while abruptly sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. “How long was I out?”

“I’m not sure. I only realized you were sleeping a few seconds ago.” You began picking up your things whilst he picked up the blanket, draping it over his arm.

The first few raindrops of the storm had only just begun; a light pitter-patter at random places in the grass began slowly at first, gradually picking up pace as you and Jungkook were packing up the last of your things.

You giggled as the rain started hitting your face. It reminded you of tiny, cold kisses. Jungkook, on the other hand, used the blanket to shield his head after slinging his backpack onto one shoulder. His face was scrunched up in an unconscious attempt to keep the rain out of his eyes.

“Let’s get out of here.” He huffed tiredly.

“Good idea.” You laughed.

The trek down the hill and back to Jungkook’s old truck accelerated to a jog following the increased pattern of raindrops hitting the ground. Before long, even you were seeking shelter under the blanket he was holding over his head. After a few minutes of laughing breathlessly and bumping into each other on the path back to the truck, you had decided to hold the other end of the blanket since he wasn’t really holding it over your head effectively. His free arm consequently ended up slung over your shoulders while your free arm draped over his.

The tan truck came into view after your twenty-minute journey back. By this point, the blanket had soaked through and both of you were drenched. Making quick work of the passenger side door, he slid in first to cross the seat while you followed suit with a huff.

“Well…” Jungkook trailed off, placing his bag and the wet blanket between you before running his fingers through his long and very wet hair in order to push it away from his eyes. “Shit.” He looked at you with finality and a small grin gracing his face.

You gazed at his beauty, glancing at his lips as he spoke, before meeting his chocolate brown gaze. Want filled your body as the adrenaline from the past few minutes surged through your veins, rendering you mute. Heartbeat running absolutely erratic and breath suddenly short, you became acutely aware of how tight of a space the two of you were in and how quiet the cabin of the truck became.

Oh, how you wanted to kiss him.

The seconds seemed to pass like hours. The mood in the truck morphed from playful and light to something else. Something thicker. Headier. Heavier.

The pressure of the moments passing by bristled you with tremors as your previous levels of adrenaline spiked almost uncontrollably. You didn’t miss the way his bottom lip twitched in the slightest of movement.

His eyes glanced at your lips for a split second, giving you no time to adjust to the quick movement, before his hand was on the back of your neck to usher you to him in a messy kiss. Heat flooded your body as the taste of his breath caressed your tongue.

“Y/N.” He breathed after momentarily pulling away. His dark eyes were filled with passionate fire, pupils dilated almost scarily. “You-” His lips reattached to yours before he could finish speaking, illuminating just how shocked and pleased he was with your kiss.

His lips were as soft as silk as they glid against your own, slotting perfectly in shape. His warm breath tasted mildly of morning breath- not that you minded- but mostly blueberry as you came to discover that he had slipped a jolly rancher into his mouth sometime during your journey back to the truck. You giggled at the thought of how much he loved candy, earning a smile from him as he continued to press his lips to your own.

There was no way you’d be able to pull away just to speak. Speaking was so unnecessary. Words were irrelevant in that moment. 

Why speak when you could kiss him? When you could feel the way his lips moved against yours in ways they could never move when speaking? When they conveyed more emotions than any word could ever express? Why would you even bother ever speaking anymore when you could spend the rest of your life kissing Jeon Jungkook?

You answered your own questions as his arm lopped around your waist to pull your body closer to his: you wouldn’t.

Of course, those were thoughts in the heat of the moment. Simpler times called for simpler feelings. The pure and innocent ardor of love and adoration paired with the excitement of new attraction was a welcome sensation in contrast to the empty and cold feeling of your everyday life. You were sick of feeling numb.

Too many years were spent in emotional solitary confinement. Keeping your emotions at bay began affecting your health, causing your hair to thin and your skin to wither like paper. It took looking at yourself in the mirror after mulling over a photo of you and Jungkook before you noticed the difference. You hadn’t even noticed that you lost a considerable amount of weight.

Therapy had helped for a little while, but it didn’t assist you when you began seeing his face on news articles and TV once your sessions ended.

Even after the things that he had done, you were no stranger to the feeling of longing that you had for him- for the echoes of what used to be.

In your cold, companionless room, tears ran down your cheeks in mourning.

Of course, it was too good to last.

[standingonborderline]

We have philosophy and theft

rating: teen and up audiences

shipps: janus + patton (moceit) 

word count: ~12.2k

summary: Soulmates share the same birthday. That is a fact. The hard part is finding the one who really is your match among so many others. Patton has never met anyone who has the same birthday as him, and when Virgil mentions that he knows someone, Patton insists that he set up a date. Except that things take a turn and crimes are commited.

warnings: there is a scene where a dog is locked inside a hot car but he turns out fine ok, i promise

author’s note: this is a general content submission for @moceit-appreciation-week . i originally wrote this in my native language, brazillian portuguese (that if you happen to know you can read it here) and then i translated it and made some adaptations, so... i don’t know, just keep that in mind

[Read it on AO3]

"When is your birthday again?'' Virgil asked calmly, raising his gaze from the computer screen before him. He was sloppy sitting on the padded bench near the cafeteria wall. Above him, hanging on a brick wall, was a huge blackboard displaying a weekly menu written in chalk.

"On the first day." Patton answered, leaning over the square table positioned between him and his friend. He placed his head in one hand, holding the cappuccino glass with the other near him.

"May?''

''Yeah.''

Virgil turned to the computer screen, and Patton could hear the press of keys amid the buzz of the other customers.

"Why is that?''

"So I can write it down." He clarified, and in front of him, there was a huge monthly calendar filled with all the things he needed to do and what was the deadline to accomplish them. Virgil struggled to keep his life organized as much as possible. He was also ignoring the fact that the day was April 13, which meant that the month had begun two weeks ago. The small floating arrow sailed to the bottom of the screen, and he selected the day in question, marked with a letter ''S'' above it. "It's on a Saturday.''

Patton sighed, staring at the marks of deterioration on the wooden table on which they were.

''Yes, it is.''

Virgil turned to him again, raising his head and watching him beneath the purple locks of hair. He stretched his fingers above the keyboard, causing the black nail polish to camouflage between the keys.

"What?"

''I'm going to be twenty-nine, and I haven't met my soulmate yet!" Patton was pitiful. He opened his arms cautiously on the table, lying on it and avoiding reaching the glass that was near him and his friend's computer.

Virgil sighed briefly. Every year the same thing happened, and by that time, he already had a mental list of arguments to offer Patton.

"Well... You know... sometimes people have to try more than once." He shrugged. "Everyone thinks that as soon as they meet someone who has a birthday on the same day they will be perfect. It's a great way to delude yourself. Like it's fate or something." He smiled ironically.

''Yes, I know, but I've never MET anyone who has a birthday on the same day as me!'' Patton stretched both hands, next to Virgil's computer, leaning his chin on the table. ''It's complicated.''

Virgil rolled his eyes and lowered the notebook screen, watching Patton and his honey-colored curls. He knew this was something that bothered Patton, though he couldn't say the same about himself. His expression turned into a grimace, and he lifted the computer screen again, placing it between him and Patton so that it would prevent eye contact.

"I may... know someone who has a birthday on the same day as you."

''What?" Patton rose from the surface immediately, unable to see Virgil's face due to the grayish plaque in front of him. ''Virgil?"

''Um?''

''Who is it?'' He rose from the seat, leaning part of his body over the table, and positioning his face above the screen. He pressed his fingertips next to the camera of the device.

"Who's what?'' Virgil asked, staring at the calendar to avoid Patton's supplicant gaze.

"The person you know who has a birthday on the same day as me.'' Patton clarified, and fought against his instincts that resembled that of a feline wanting attention: were it not for Virgil's fingers on the keyboard, he would have already closed the computer that created an obstacle between them. "I'm down for anyone. You know that."

''Yes, I know, it's not that, it's... is that... You know what, never mind, you're not going to like him." He spoke, denying with his head.

"No, I want to know!" Patton insisted. "Please?"

''Oh, it's just... he's kind of...'' Virgil began, seeking a justification, and finally looked at Patton, who kept all his concentration on him. I don't know, I don't trust him.''

"Why not?" Patton frowned delicately.

''I don't know. It's just... a feeling, I guess.''

''Okay... what do you know about him?"

''That he is a lawyer and that his name is Janus."

''Oh, cool!'' Patton leaned his head on the back of his hands, above the computer monitor. "What else?"

''That's all, actually."

''That's all?''

''Yeah. I told you, I don't trust him. Besides, I think he hides stuff.''

''What kind of stuff?''

Virgil grumbled, gesturing vaguely, and tried:

"About himself?''

Patton contemplated briefly and then shrugged.

"Maybe he's only reserved. Like you.''

Virgil made a face and returned his concentration to the computer.

"So... Are you going to give me his number?"

''Patton... "

''Please?" He smiled, and quickly added, "I'm the one who has to like him, not you. Pretty please?''

Virgil and Patton stared at each other and Virgil remembered why he wanted to avoid eye contact. No one could say no to Patton with bright brown eyes and wavy hair as adorable as a puppy asking for your food. Finally, he gave in.

"Ugh, all right. I'll talk to him. I'll see what I can do.''

''Yay!" Patton clapped his hands. "Thank you!''

''Of course. Whatever.''

With the online calendar still open in front of him, Virgil added a note to remember talking to Janus about the situation.

Outside the Museum of the Classical Age was a large, wide staircase made of whitish marble. At both ends, above the steps, were the handrails leading to the museum's small entrance platform. In the center of it, a third handrail was installed, standing out due to its contrast in relation to the rest of the façade. It had a smaller thickness, being made of iron in black color, and was used much more often by visitors of the daily.

Patton used the first of the steps as a seat, next to the entrance door and next to the left handrail. The shadow of the architecture spread to the pavement ahead, partially taking the path to the staircase and the outdoor parking lot, distributed on the sides of the entrance. The sun shone fervently, but that did not prevent the low temperature or the icy breeze that accompanied it. People would come in and leave the establishment, and Patton was waiting for a face that wasn't familiar to him. The high sound of a tire caught his eye, and he — like other visitors outside — turned to the right, in time to watch the driver of a red pickup truck suddenly stop, too close to a man crossing the parking lot. Immediately, the driver threw several offensive words at the man, who stopped where he was and stared at him for a moment, before walking again and heading to the museum's staircases. With this, the focus of the others also dispersed. Patton followed the man with his gaze as he approached and climbed the steps quickly. The print on his clothing became a blur, being possible to identify only the figure of two wavy things crossed one over the other. He went into the museum, while the driver had been lost sight of, and the situation that had barely begun had already been finished.

Patton waited a few more seconds, preventing his thoughts from focusing on the movement outside that dramatically diminished, and on how no one had addressed him. Hearing a delicate tinkling, he exuded, picking up the cell phone that had the screen facing down in his lap.

''date janus!!'' it read as the contact name at the top of the screen. It was from two minutes ago,  at 11:12 am.

''I'm here'', one of the messages said.

''I believe in a section just about the coliseum,'' said another message then.

Below these two, there was an attached photo that appeared to have been taken at a certain distance. It showed the end of a corridor that contained a passage to another room ahead, wider. The walls were of a clear beige tone, and instead of works referring to the time, they were decorated with documents extended and protected by glass. On the sides of the entrance to the next room were two chandeliers, each lifting a small transparent lamp. And among them... there was a woman who spoke and over-gesticulated, actions easy to detect due to the smudges that her face and arms had become. In front of her and with her back to the camera, was a group of teenage students, occupying fully the entrance. On the right, near one of the chandeliers, was a second woman who was also partially with her back to the camera.

Patton stretched his legs, rising from the smooth marble surface and turned around. With a few steps, he walked through the huge double door that was completely extended to the inside, as if with open arms awaiting the visitors.

To the left of the lobby was a large circular reception. From where he was, Patton could see at least three different employees serving people. He thought about joining them and the small line that formed — which he would do on other occasions — but this would probably take several minutes. He analyzed the rest of the environment, the gaze floating over other individuals who walked around the room, the most distant velvety benches leaning against the wall, the huge staircase that stood both to the left and to the right, by the large arches that indicated the entrance to other corridors near where he was. Uncertain, he crossed the room toward the corridor on the right, and came across the same beige walls with chandeliers and the class of students who occupied the passage. However, there did not seem to be anyone else present besides those who were previously in the photo. Patton glanced at his cell phone, which remained with the same three messages, and turned distractedly to look around.

"Boo!" In front of him, a man arose, leaning toward him.

Patton jumped back, giving a sharp scream and taking both hands to his chest reflexively.

The man laughed, and Patton did the same, embarrassed.

''I'm sorry." He said by mere formality, in a drawn tone of voice.

''Of course." Patton sighed, relaxing his shoulders and straightening his jacket with one hand, while the other held the phone. He laughed one more time. "Very... sneaky, aren't you?''

''Yes.'' The man agreed, and he analyzed the boy in front of him from head to toe.

The first thing to be noted in Patton was the huge colored jacket he wore. The colors of the piece alternated between red, blue, green and yellow, and its fabric was soft and comfortable, preventing the wind from passing through it. Underneath it, he wore a white shirt that contained two bottoms above the right side of the collarbone, both of which were composed of colored stripes. One of them had a pink stripe followed by a yellow and a blue one. The other, a little further down, had a black stripe followed by a gray, a white and a purple one. The shirt bar was placed inside the high-waisted style jeans, in a shade of grayish blue. He wore yellow all-star sneakers that covered his ankles, but even so, the man was almost certain that he wore different socks. One of Patton's hands still held one side of the jacket tightly, and he noticed his nails painted in different colors: dark blue, light blue, purple, and black. The hand that held the phone was partially hidden for him, so that it was only possible to see the fingernail of the thumb painted red.

He had brown eyes, protected by the glass and aluminum skeleton that was his rounded glasses and long eyelashes. Beside the nose, the upper part of the cheeks was decorated with small brown dots scattered horizontally. His skin was clear, his lips pink, and on his face fell wavy locks in a shade of faded brown. Apparently, the numerous decorative fruit hair clips were not enough to contain them in place.

The man blinked repeatedly, his face inexpressible. Patton seemed to have come straight from a children's show in which he was the host and had chosen his own costume, resulting, surprisingly, in a beautiful outfit being worn by an even more beautiful person. Lovely, perhaps, was the most appropriate word. ''Cute'' would also work.

But instead of saying any of these things, he remained silent, until finally asking:

"It's Patton, right?"

''Oh... Yes, it is." Patton gulped and held out his hand to him, looking at the other man before him.

His skin was clear, but not as much as his. This was obvious when one noticed the spots on the right side of his face, whose tone was closer to pink than beige. Above them, his hair was partially shaved on the side, and the dark brown locks were reserving on the left side, long enough to reach the length of the cheeks. At the height of the neck, it was possible to see the white collar of a shirt, hidden by the black sweater he wore on top. His hands were involved by the pockets of black pants with pleats, and he wore brown combat boots.

"Janus." He said, shaking Patton's hand and revealing the yellow glove he used.

Patton alternated glances between the three things that most intrigued him in the person in front of him: the eyes, the stains on his face and the gloves. Before he could decide which one to ask first, another detail stood out for looking familiar to him, and he meticulously observed the pattern of two dark green snakes crossing one over the other in Janus' sweater.

"Hey, weren't you in the parking lot earlier?"

''What?" He asked, slightly confused, before remembering. "Oh, yes, I was. I love the experience of almost getting hit first thing in the morning." He mocked, and Patton noticed it was the same lazy tone of voice he had used to apologize moments before.

"Yeah... there are people who get very angry in traffic anyway." Patton changed the subject and stood beside Janus, only to discover that he was reasonably short compared to the other man. In front of them, the student class was gone. ''Shall we?''

That said, the two walked down the rest of the corridor and entered the next room.

By the next thirty minutes, Patton had already made two puns about them being in a museum.

He maybe got confused during a third attempt that resulted in comparing Janus to a work of art. Maybe.

Either way, Janus tried his best to hide his laughter and apparent redness on his face. He failed miserably in both.

Janus had the impression that Patton was looking too much at him, specifically at his face. He decided to clarify that the spots on the right side were the main symptom of a skin disease called vitiligo.

Patton said he had freckles on his face, though this was evident.

Janus mentioned having a pet snake named Ophelia. Patton assumed he was joking. Two factors made him realize that he was not: Janus' expression and tone of voice remained the same throughout the conversation, and Patton's suspicion that he had a forked tongue.

Not that he was looking at Janus' mouth or anything.

Patton was a high school philosophy teacher.

He liked plants. He talked about the collection of succulents that stood on the window sill of his room, and their names: Angela, Ashley, Audrey, Alice, Amelia, Aurora, and a few others. The latter was in reference to the Disney princess.

Janus was pretty sure he'd mentioned an Ariel too.

Janus liked the Marvel movies.

Patton preferred DC movies. His favorite was Shazam.

They talked about how Tony Stark and Bruce Wayne were alike.

Patton told about how his students appeared with the so-called new ''memes'' every week, and that he didn't quite understand how they worked. This did not prevent him from using them the wrong way through his attempts. Sometimes these same students spent most of their class with their heads down, and Patton knew they were having a bad day. So he didn't bother them.

Janus told of the questionable things his colleagues in the legal field did. Among them, having love affairs with clients who were in divorce proceedings, and obtaining evidence by illegal means. He wouldn't admit it, but it was fun to be able to tell these things to someone who wasn't part of the business —and who therefore couldn't use them against someone he knew. Patton seemed shocked by the reports, but also interested.

An hour and a half later, the number of people visiting the historic facility decreased considerably as most went out to eat.

Patton stopped in the lobby, away from the doors. He had taken off his colorful jacket and now held it over his forearms, gathered near his body. He turned to Janus, not far from him. "There's a diner down the street." He remarked, drawing the attention of the other young man who looked up at him. "Do you want to go eat? We can get there by foot.''

''Yes." He said without thinking. But who could say no to Patton? Patton who had his nails painted in different colors, Patton who had chosen an outfit that seemed to have come out of an eighties themed movie, Patton who had named his plants, Patton who laughed at the very puns he made at any opportunity, Patton who cared for the wellbeing of his students, although it was not his responsibility. Patton.

He was so sweet. So lovely. Optimistic. Polite. That wouldn't work. Janus had to make something about that. He just didn't know what yet.

They went down the street, heading for the establishment. The silver clouds hid the sun, and the winds remained sharp enough to cause chills. They walked side by side, most of the time in silence, and Patton pointed to some birds that were landed on the electric wire across the street. They arrived at the site and outside the gravel floor formed an outdoor parking lot, similar to what the museum also had. Further away from the entrance, Janus noticed a red pickup truck, too much like the one he had seen earlier when he arrived at the museum. Ahead of him, Patton entered and held the door for him, and the two took slow steps as they entered the venue, searching for an empty table amid the crowd of customers. Quietly, they went to the service desk to place their orders, infiltrating amid the lines that were mixing due to being side by side. Patton raised his arm to fix the sleeve of his shirt, but in doing so, he accidentally hit someone next to him who was coming in the opposite direction.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" He spoke immediately, gathering his arm close to him and placing his hand on his opposite shoulder.

''Yeah, yeah, whatever." The man in the plaid shirt grumbled. Getting as close as he could to the service desk, he sneaked through the thick line. Still, he wasn't far from the couple. "Lady! Hey, lady!''

Patton took a step to the left, approaching Janus who now stared at the intruder with his eyes half-closed.

The man began to call out for the attendant at the counter a little further from him, saying something about having received the wrong order. The attendant politely asked him to go to the end of the line, but the same could not be said of the other people around who were waiting to place their orders. Unidentified voices were startled in the buzz, complaining about the man and also asking — demanding — that he go to the end of the line. The man ignored the claims, insisting that he was paying for an order he had not made, while the attendant reiterated that they had delivered exactly what he had requested. Janus and Patton watched the situation unfold attentively.

Looking at the man, Janus recognized him as the same one he had seen earlier, the same driver of the truck who had almost run him over in the morning. And with that, he had an idea.

"I can make a new order for you. " He volunteered, and the man finally turned to him, analyzing him from head to toe.

"Aren't you that guy who was at the museum?''

Janus blinked repeatedly, giving a fake smile.

"I was... Oh, my God, you were the guy in the pickup truck, weren't you? I'm so sorry, I wasn't seeing where I was going!" He explained, taking one hand to his chest dramatically.

Patton looked at the two, confused, but paying more attention to janus' tone of voice, which had suddenly changed. It was completely different from the dragged tone he had used during the time they were in the museum, as if he were an actor playing a role.

"Yeah... you should pay more attention anyway."

''Oh, I will for sure, sir...?'' Janus asked, offering his hand to him.

''John." He greeted.

"Is that short for Jonathan?''

''No. Just John. And you're...?"

''Oh... I'm...'' Janus kept his forced smile, and looked away. Through the big window in the back, on the other side of the room, you could see the street outside. A large bus stopped at a traffic light, the ad on the side displaying Louis Vuitton's new fall-winter collection. Quickly, he added: ''Louis."

''Um. " John made a grimace and examined him again. ''Such a cocky name, huh?''

Janus' smile was slowly becoming terrifying.

"What's wrong with your order?" He asked, changing the subject, and felt Patton gently pulling the sleeve of his sweater.

"I had ordered a large burger and a medium Coke, and they gave me the opposite.'' John offered the receipt to Janus, who checked it superficially.

''Do you know what? I'll make this order for you again, and then it's all settled. You don't have to pay anything else.

"Um. Alright." John agreed with the same angry expression that Janus had seen all day, and walked away, ending the conflict in line.

Janus watched as he disappeared into the crowd, and his fake smile turned into an expression of repulsion. He disguised it before turning to Patton, who called him:

"What are you doing?" He had furrowed eyebrows, looking between Janus and the path John had taken before he disappeared. "Your name's not Louis."

''Well... Maybe he's just having a bad day." Janus shrugged, turning his eyes. "Maybe he just needs... a good deed.''

Patton made a grimace, uncomfortable, and the two moved forward as the line progressed.

"I didn't like him. He almost ran you over."

''Pff, don't worry.'' Janus guided, gesticulating vaguely. "We're not going to be in his company for long anyway.''

Arriving at the service desk, Janus only made John's order. Patton barely paid attention to his, ordering quickly. Leaving the line with the orders, the two met the man at a table. Janus and Patton sat side by side, while John stood at the opposite end. When he began to eat, his manners towards the two changed, and he magically became more polite. He began to chatter, for the most part, complaining about his work that neither Patton nor Janus had paid enough attention to know what it was. Janus stayed as far away from the table as possible, strategically holding one of the menus raised in front of him. Patton ate only half of his order, looking out the window most of the time. About half an hour passed with Janus presenting a friendly personality.

"Well, the chat is fine, but if you'll excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom.'' John informed as he rested his hands on the table and stood up.

"Oh, is it?" Janus looked up at him, as did Patton. "Don't you want to leave your stuff here? I'll take care of it.''

John frowned and looked at Janus and Patton.

"My stuff?''

"Yes," Janus shrugged. "It's going to be quick anyways.''

John hesitated, but gave in. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he left his wallet, cell phone and car keys on the table. Janus glanced at the belongings.

"Five minutes." John said, moving away from the table.

"Five minutes." Janus echoed, following him with his gaze.

John went to the back of the diner and walked through a door, disappearing from view.

Janus turned to the table and, with one hand, took the cell phone and keys. With the other one, he held Patton's.

''Let's go.'' Janus stood up quickly from the table, taking with him a Patton who intertwined his own legs due to the rush.

"What?! Where?!

''Let's go!'' Janus insisted as they passed through the cafeteria's front door, practically running.

They crossed part of the parking lot until they stopped near a red pickup truck. Up close, it  was brighter, cleaner. Janus placed the keys into the lock and turned them, unlocking the car with a muffled sound. He opened the door and walked in, and Patton, on the passenger side, did the same without thinking. With the two inside the car and with their respective doors closed, Janus put the key in the ignition and turned on the car, immediately backing up and leaving the cafeteria parking lot. In a matter of seconds, the establishment was left behind.

The road followed mostly straight, with both Janus and Patton silent. As they stopped at a traffic light, Janus turned to Patton, who analyzed the inside of the car. He could practically see the gears spinning on his head as he absorbed what had just happened. Janus put on his seat belt, and they started walking again. Patton blinked repeatedly, lowering his head.

''Janus?'

''Um?''

''Did you stole a car?'' Patton asked slowly, turning to the man next to him.

''Huh... it's not stealing, actually. Robbery committed without violence is theft.'' He glanced at Patton, and he looked both angry and confused.

''This is no time for word games!'' Patton protested, and fixed his glasses in place. ''Stealing is a crime!''

Janus rolled his eyes.

''Yes, I know.''

''Then why did you do it?''

''Why not do it?'' Janus asked, smiling.

Patton stammered.

''Because it's wrong!''

''Well, 'John' kinda deserved it.'' He sneered, throwing the man's cell phone on the dashboard in front of Patton.

''What? No!''

''We both saw how he almost ran me over. Honestly, we are doing society a favor by taking this car away from him. Who knows who else he might hit?''

''No! This isn't - we shouldn't - he - you can't just go around stealing people's stuff!''

''I just did.'' Janus shrugged, and glared at Patton. ''Put on your seat belt.''

Patton huffed and did as requested, frustrated. He wanted to protest, to get out of the car. But of the many thoughts swirling around in his mind, none of them could turn into a coherent verbal sentence. And the car was moving, and he had just put on his seat belt.  Janus' reassurance that he had just committed a crime did not improve the feeling he had of anger and shock.  Janus smiled, opening the window on his side, realizing how his plan to push Patton away was working. Patton crossed his arms, turning his attention to his window.

''I don't like this.'' He grumbled, and Janus didn't answer.

A few minutes passed, and they continued their journey in silence, as Janus pondered where they were going now.

Slowly, Patton turned to the center of the car and took a closer look. Next to the steering wheel was a small glass display accompanied by several buttons and a few square holes below. He blinked repeatedly, bringing his hand to one of the round buttons. He carefully turned it and a low noise sounded.

''There's a radio.'' He pointed distractedly.

Janus alternated glances between the road and Patton who was playing with the buttons on the device. Patton turned one of them, and a man began to talk about how the city government used the money it received from the citizens. He turned the same knob one more time. A female voice sang a song that, from the instruments, seemed to be from the 1950s. He switched to another button, and a host announced that the guest about to give an interview was a female singer he had never heard of. He did this with the other three buttons, until the stations ended and the radio returned to its initial silence. Patton held up a long white cable that was plugged into one of the radio's inputs near the buttons. It had electrical tape on the end that was loose. Patton leaned back in his seat again, holding the cable close to him.

''I wonder if it's supposed to connect to the cell phone.''

''You can try it if you like.'' Janus said, not caring much.

With some difficulty Patton took his cell phone from the back pocket of his jeans and plugged in the long cable. Immediately, the small squared-shaped radio display showed the words "music library". Patton glided his fingers across the screen, searching for something. He gently touched the surface with his index finger, and seconds later the sounds of a drum and a guitar began to sound from the radio. Janus frowned as another guitar solo followed and a man began to sing.

Life's like the road that you travel on,

when there's one day here and the next day gone

Sometimes you bend and sometimes you stand

sometimes you turn your back to the wind

He looked at the radio display, which named the song as 'Life is a Highway' by Rascal Flatts. Next to him, Patton began to do what he deduced was a dance from the unusual movements. A few more seconds passed, and more and more of the music seemed familiar, until Janus ventured to ask:

''Isn't that the music from Cars? The Disney movie?''

''Yes, it is!''

''Oh, my goodness.'' Janus rolled his eyes and then turned his attention back to the road.

''Do you like it?'' Patton asked, smiling broadly and leaning back in his seat.

''Not exactly. But it doesn't bother me either.''

''It's pretty good!'' Patton said, doing random dance steps, as far as his belt would allow.

Janus sighed, choosing to let Patton have some fun.

The song ended, and before it could start again, Patton picked up his cell phone and selected a different one. It started with a soft piano and a female voice singing, until the rhythm changed drastically, becoming more agile.

''What is that?''

''Holding Out For a Hero!'' Patton replied, smiling.

''But that's not Bonnie Tyler's voice.'' Janus pointed out.

''Oh, no, it's Shrek's version.'' Patton explained, looking at his cell phone and at Janus.

''Oh...''

Patton watched Janus as he exhibited no reaction to the music. Instead, he kept his attention on the cars passing in front of him, trying to join them.  When the song ended, Patton selected a different song. And another. And another. And another. And in none of them did Janus show any interest. Nor did Janus mention the fact that they were all part of the soundtrack, themes, or created specifically for film or television animation work. At one point, Patton sank down on the bench he was on, his knees pressed against each other.

''What kind of music do you like?'' He asked, brushing a strand of hair out of his face and with anticipation, since it was a topic that had not been discussed during their date at the museum.

Janus turned towards him and watched Patton with his cell phone on one leg, still connected to the car radio.

''Oh, you're not going to like it.''

''Oh, c'mon, I wanna know!'' Patton insisted, and bowing his head he muttered: ''I didn't like that you stole a car either, but we're here.''

Janus sighed, and as they approached a traffic light, he held out his hand toward Patton, who handed him his cell phone. He tapped the screen a few times, and without saying anything, handed the phone back to Patton as the melody started to play and the car started moving again.

The music started with a piano and violin, and soon a woman's voice began to sound, singing lazily. Patton glanced at the radio display, which read "Black Hole Sun" by Haley Reinhart. The drive went on, with the music being the only noise between them, and Patton turned his attention to the man next to him.

The sun swayed distantly behind him as they passed different buildings and residences. The open window gave way to a strong breeze, which made the long strands of his brown hair frame his well-defined face. He kept only one hand wrapped tightly around the black leather steering wheel, while his left elbow rested above the window sill and the white sleeves of his shirt swung gently in the wind. The elastic band ran across his chest, sinking down and camouflaging itself to the black sweater, cutting through the snake print. He had a look of serenity, fixed on the road ahead. He was not bothered by the fact that he had stolen a car, Patton noticed. Not only that, but he was confident. And that was enough to create a charm. Patton mentally listed the things he knew Janus was, for sure, by now. Lawyer. Thief. Charming. He smiled softly, and Janus turned to him, somewhat embarrassed to catch Patton studying him.

''What?'' he asked, frowning.

''You have one eye of each color.'' Patton pointed calmly.

He really did. Patton had already noticed that Janus had different eyes when they were at the museum, but he couldn't say specifically how. Now he had found out: one of them was brown, while the other was green.

''Oh... yes, I do.'' Janus touched his hair, making a failed attempt to get it out of his face. ''It's called heterochromia. It's the only hetero thing about me.''

Patton's smile widened twice as much, and he leaned toward Janus.

''You made a pun.'' he said, holding back his happiness.

''What? No, I didn't.'' Janus staggered, alternating his attention between the road and Patton beside him.

''Yes, you did.''

''No, I didn't.''

''Yes, you did!'' Patton started to laugh, grabbing Janus' arm with both hands and squeezing gently.

Oh, no, Janus thought, watching Patton with wide eyes. He had made a mistake.

Patton kept laughing for the next five minutes, and slowly calmed down. When he stopped completely, he was leaning against the window beside him, which remained closed. He sniffled, taking a deep breath as he pulled himself together and some random song played at a low volume on the radio. There was a brief silence. Suddenly something caught both boys' attention: from the cell phone lying on the dashboard of the car, which previously belonged to John, came an alarm. Except that it was no ordinary alarm clock alarm, whose purpose was to wake people up, but the sound was more like radar. Patton reached out and grabbed the device, and with it closer, the two of them could see the blinking red dot in the center of the screen. Around it, circular waves were forming, and at the top of the screen, there was the phrase ''Find my phone''.

''Oh my God! Oh my God, it's tracking us! Now what?'' Patton asked, looking around frantically for a solution.

''Give it to me.'' Janus asked, switching hands on the steering wheel and extending one of them to Patton. He handed him the cell phone and Janus glanced at the screen.

''Dammit. I thought it would take him longer to do something about it.'' He spoke before tossing the device out the open window without hesitation.

In shock, Patton looked at Janus and the outside of the car, which had turned into a straight deserted road. He gulped.

''You threw the phone out of the window.''

''I did. Problem solved.'' He smiled sarcastically, looking at Patton. Patton sighed and leaned back in his seat.

''Right.''

The drive went on without any major problems.

About fifteen minutes later, Patton turned to Janus after spending most of the time looking out the window.

''Are we going somewhere?''

Janus stammered, being taken aback.

''Why?''

''Because... there is a mall nearby.'' Patton said, pressing his index finger against the glass of the window.

''You want to go to the mall?''

''Oh... yes.''

''With a stolen car?''

''But-it's just-there's-'' Patton sighed. ''I planned on doing more after the date, I didn't know it was going to last all day. And I didn't know you were going to steal a car!''

Janus looked at Patton and outside the window behind him. Not far away was a large building that was expanding horizontally.

''Fine, whatever.'' Janus turned his attention back to the road and turned on the right turn signal.

As they drove out of the parking lot, inside the building, and towards the stores, Patton told that he had gardening as a hobby — something that Janus had already noticed when he mentioned all the succulent plants that had names beginning with A. He wanted to plant a vegetable garden, but didn't know much about how to do that yet. And for that, he would need the proper tools and clothes. The first place they went was a clothing store. Once there, they eventually drifted off as Patton looked for something specific and Janus just didn't care to keep up.

He wandered distractedly around the store, looking at the clothes on display. There was a wall filled only with women's suits, starting with neutral colors of gray and dark blue. Then a red one appeared. A pink one. After that followed several that had their lapels and pockets printed for some reason. On the other side of the store, a large table displayed themed shirts with Star Wars character prints. Next to it was a second table that was almost identical, but this one contained Harry Potter themed clothes. A long rack had colorful bomber jackets, alternating between one color until it got to the jeans jackets with kitten prints and pieces of pizza on the back. Hanging high above it was a section of long trench coats in solid colors. Most were beige or gray, and investigating to the back of the rack, Janus came across a yellow one. Not a neon, vibrant, strong yellow, but a more subdued, darker, a shade of ''mustard yellow,'' as some palettes named it, considering that the color was closer to brown. Stretching out his arm, he removed the hanger and examined the overcoat. Its fabric was dense, warm, and it had small strips to be buttoned on each sleeve. At waist height there was also a long belt in the same color, which was tied at the back with a bow. He pulled it over his forearm and walked back through the store to a section that contained several long-sleeved blouses. Some had a high collar, others had zippers on the back. Apart from these details, they didn't vary much. He looked through the pieces, and finally decided on a light gray one with a turtleneck. He held both the jacket and the blouse together, stretching them out in front of him, observing how they would look together.

''Boo!'' said a voice behind him, at the same time as a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders and immediately released them.

Janus hissed, making a sort of high-pitched animal-like sound, and gathered his arms closer to himself. Beside him, Patton appeared, laughing with one hand in front of his mouth and holding clothes with the other arm.

''What was that? It sounded like...'' Patton sniffled, catching his breath. ''One of those little snakes! With a rattle!''

''Oh, it's you.'' Janus sighed and rolled his eyes, ignoring Patton's comment and the fact that he felt his cheeks warming up.

''That was payback for the museum.'' Patton said, and crossed his arms over his chest. ''Listen, I'm going to try on these clothes, so...''

They looked at each other in silence.

''...You're staying here, right? In the store?''

''No, Patton, I'm strategically waiting that you're busy so that I can run off and leave you alone like I did with a stranger in the diner.'' Janus spoke ironically, and in silence, Patton watched him with big eyes, worthy of a Japanese animation. ''I'm not leaving without you, okay? If that's what you want to know.''

Janus looked at the small set of clothes he had in hand and at Patton beside him, before stretching out his arm and offering them to him.

''Try these on too.''

Slowly, Patton took both pieces and examined them.

''Why?''

''Just try them on.'' Janus shrugged.

''Okay...'' Patton added them to the clothes he already had with him. ''But then I'll choose an outfit for you too!''

''What? No.'' He grimaced.

''Yes! It'll be fun, come on!''

''We're not going to play dress-up.''

''Why not?''

''Because!''

''You picked out a little outfit for me.''

Janus grumbled, stuffing both hands in his pockets.

''Fine.''

''Yay! Come on, come on!'' Patton jumped up and down and gestured for the young man to follow him. Grudgingly, Janus did so.

The two of them walked through the different sections of the store, as Patton analyzed the most diverse items. A light green shirt with buttons down the front and a pineapple print caught his eye, but after one more look at Janus, he returned it to the rack. It was so easy to find something Patton liked; as long as it looked colorful or fun it was more than enough. He also resisted the temptation to pick up a salmon colored t-shirt, whose right side pocket had a flamingo design, so that it looked like the animal was stored in the small compartment.

''Oh, what do you like to do?'' Patton asked suddenly.

''What do you mean?'' Janus frowned, intrigued.

''Sort of like a hobby. I like gardening," he exemplified what he had said before. ''What's your hobby?''

''Oh... uh...''

Patton stopped by another booth where long-sleeved shirts were spread out.

''I play the piano.'' Janus finally answered. Not that it wasn't true, but it was more of a... half-truth.

''Really?'' Patton turned to him, smiling and holding one of the shirts from the exhibit close to him.

''Yes, really.''

Yes, he could play the piano. And yes, in terms of personal interests, he was busier producing an outfit identical to that of Marvel's Doctor Stephen Strange. His fingers had seen more needle points than piano keys in recent years, but that was not relevant.

''Oh, that's so cool! I kind of started to learn how to play the ukulele, but...''

''...But?'' -He arched one eyebrow.

''I don't know, I'm not very good at it. I guess it's just lack of practice.'' Patton remarked as he watched a mannequin a little taller than he, wearing a scarf and unfurl the cloth from around his neck.

Janus squinted his eyes and made a mental note of the fact.

They walked around the store for a few more minutes until Patton chose a hat. He held up three of the pieces he had with him and held them out to Janus.

''There! Oh, we can play catwalk too!''

''No, no... no...'' Janus shook his head, holding the clothes that Patton had handed him, and the two of them headed for the fitting rooms. ''No, we'll see about that after we've tried them on, okay?''

''Okay!'' Patton agreed, and, getting out in front of them, took the first fitting room he saw with the door open, closing it behind him.

Janus stopped where he was and sighed, coming to the conclusion that living with Patton was like living with a child. He didn't know exactly what opinion to form of this, but he chose to put the thought aside and walked into one of the fitting rooms.

A few minutes passed before Janus heard Patton coming out of his fitting room, sounding surprised. Wearing the clothes Patton had chosen for him, he opened the door and stepped out of the booth. With his back to him, Patton stood in front of a large mirror that took up the wall at the end of the fitting room aisle. His new light gray turtleneck blouse was tucked into his jeans, and over that, he wore a large dark yellow trench coat, the length of which extended just below the knee. The pants left a small part of his legs showing, so that the yellow all-star sneakers that went down to his ankles drew attention.

''I look like someone...'' Patton thought to himself, moving from side to side and letting the bar of his jacket swing. With a jump, he turned to Janus behind him. ''The tenth Doctor! From Doctor Who!''

Janus looked him up and down, and the only similarities to the character in question were the coat and the sneakers. Even though part of the outfit had been chosen by someone else, Patton still looked like the host of a children's show.

Patton also looked at him, bringing both hands to his chest, below the collarbone.

''You look so pretty! And stylish!''

Janus didn't answer, and instead crossed his arms, cutting off eye contact. His clothes still had dark shades. Like Patton, he was still wearing the same pants and shoes that he had chosen for the date at the museum — a black pair of pleated pants and brown boots - and like Patton, he had also tucked the dark gray long-sleeved shirt into his pants. The difference was that Janus had two extra accessories: a plaid scarf, in beige and black, and a black straight-brimmed hat, large enough to partially cover his face. Janus hoped that it was doing its job, and he put it on, pretending that his face was not getting a blush.

Excitedly, Patton stood next to him, and then the two of them were standing facing the mirror, where the critical difference in height was noticeable.

''It's such a serious outfit... but I like it!'' Patton spoke up, with both hands in his jacket pockets. ''Why did you choose this?''

''I thought it was something you could wear to class.''

''Oh!'' Patton wiggled again, smiling. ''I hadn't even thought of that, but it's a good idea.''

Patton turned to him.

''How about you? Do you like your outfit?''

''No, it's hideous.'' Janus answered lazily, rolling his eyes.

''Oh, really?'' Fearful, Patton leaned back, analyzing his choices. ''I thought it was nice... I tried to pick something that would go with you. I can try again if you like.''

Next to him, Patton looked genuinely upset, and a wave of panic rose in his throat.

''It was irony.'' Janus clarified. ''I liked it.''

''You liked it?'' Patton asked again, and he nodded. ''Yay! I'm going to go change, and then we can go, okay?''

''Sure.'' Janus agreed as Patton returned to the fitting room.

But when Patton left the booth for the last time, wearing his normal clothes — the ones he had chosen for the date at the museum — Janus was still wearing the clothes he had chosen. He was leaning close to the door of his fitting room, now open, looking distractedly at the yellow gloves he was wearing. Patton stopped next to him, in silence, until he asked:

''Aren't you going to change your clothes?''

''Oh, no, not really.'' Janus said, picking up the shirt and sweater he had been wearing. Before Patton could say anything, he added while smiling charmingly: ''Shall we?''

Patton frowned, but agreed, and they walked back to the store. Janus was further ahead, while Patton looked for the cashier, and he almost bumped into Janus when he stopped abruptly.

''Excuse me, sir," a young man started to say, approaching Janus and looking at him. He wore a badge hanging around his neck. ''Are these the clothes from the store?''

Janus turned his face slowly in the opposite direction. Next to him was a stand of sunglasses, and he looked at them closely.

''Look, sir, it is against store policy to wear the clothes outside the fitting room without paying first.''

Silently, Patton looked between Janus and the store employee. Janus took a pair of white, black and gray sunglasses, whose lenses prevented others from seeing his eyes, and put them on.

''I'm going to need you to go back to the fitting room and change, otherwise it will be characterized as theft, and I'll have to call security.'' The boy explained calmly, and Patton's eyes widened.

Janus wove the plaid scarf around his neck and adjusted his hat, so that it hid the part of his face that was closest to the employee.

''Is that so?'' Janus asked, with a heavy foreign accent.

''Yes.'' The boy confirmed, holding both hands in front of his body.

Janus grumbled, turning his attention back to the sunglasses stand.

''If I had known that I would be treated like this I wouldn't even have come here. But please, call security.''

The employee blinked repeatedly and leaned toward Janus.

''Excuse me?''

''It's just that where I come from it is very normal for customers to wear the clothes they are going to buy while they are in the store.'' Janus continued sarcastically and with his accent. ''I personally think it is absurd to be called a thief when I have done nothing wrong!''

Behind him, Patton was starting to make faces due to his confusion. From the stand, Janus picked up a pair of sunglasses whose lenses were blue hearts, and offered them to Patton.

''Try this one on, honey, it suits you.''

Hesitantly, Patton took the glasses and held them out in front of him.

''You’re still violating store policy.'' The employee repeated.

''Are you really going to call security on me?''

''I'm sorry, and you would be...?''

''Alfred Hitchcoppolucas," Janus announced, sliding his index finger and thumb along the brim of his hat. ''Director of Psycho Godfather Wars.''

In shock, Patton approached Janus and the clerk.

''Excuse me...'' He started to say, but Janus purposely put himself between him and the other boy.

''Please, do call security. So this could end up in a lawsuit against your store, it will be so much fun!'' Janus, Alfred said, gesturing and smiling exaggeratedly, pretending.

''Oh... oh.'' The employee was flabbergasted and started stammering, trying to fix the situation. ''No, no, that won't be necessary, sir. I am so sorry for the inconvenience, actually, you know what? You don't have to pay for anything. I'll turn off the alarms in the store, so you can go, okay?''

Patton watched as the scene unfolded before him, and of all the absurd things to question, he wondered if Alfred Hitchcoppolucas was a real person.

''Oh, really?'' Alfred asked with a strong accent and a drawling tone of voice.

''Yes, really. I'm very serious.'' The employee started to walk away, almost tripping over his own feet. ''I'll do it now, okay?'' He said, and with that, disappeared from sight.

Immediately, Janus broke off his fake smile and turned to Patton. With one hand he lowered his sunglasses minimally, looking Patton over them.

''You were saying?''

For the second time that day, Patton had more than one thought swirling around in his head, and there was a certain difficulty in turning them into comprehensible sentences.

''Who is Alfred Hitchcoppolucas?''

''A director.''

''No, no, you're not Alfred something, you're Janus...'' Patton interrupted himself when he realized that he didn't know his last name. ''Why did you lie to him?''

Janus shrugged and smiled.

''Because I can.''

''No! No, you can't just go around tricking people!''

''Why not?''

''Because it's wrong!'' Patton justified, and at the same time Janus repeated the exact same thing, but as if it were a question in a debauched tone.

''Think through the bright side,'' One by one, Janus removed the paper labels from the pieces he was using. ''You're saving money.''

With a few steps, he stepped aside and picked up two ecobags that were displayed on a low hanger. He put the tags and his original clothes in one of them, and offered the other to Patton.

''Shall we go?''

Hesitant and a little upset, Patton held up the bag and put all the products he was holding into it. He considered heading to the cashier and paying for them anyway, but before he could find his location in the place, Janus started walking again, heading toward the store doors. Patton followed him a reasonable distance, and as they walked through the silent detectors, Patton updated the list he had in mind.

Lawyer.

Thief.

Charming.

Liar.

And despite the questionable attributes, his indecision about what opinion to form of Janus remained haunting him.

Hours later, they left the mall, and the sun had given way to the moon and the stars that kept it company.

The outside was cold enough to give it goose bumps, and as they made their way to the pickup truck, Patton gripped the ends of his windbreaker jacket, ready to zip it up. But before he could do that, something else caught his eye. He stopped where he was, noticing how on the other side of the outdoor parking lot, a little way off, there was an enclosed car with a large dog inside. He stood there for a few seconds, watching the scene and walked hurriedly towards the car, not even noticing that Janus was walking steps ahead of him.

''... And that is why carrots are the worst vegetables.'' He concluded a monologue, and immediately looked both ways, noticing Patton's absence. Janus spun around in time to see him walking away toward an unfamiliar car. ''Patton?''

The young man continued walking.

''Patton!'' he called, and walked quickly in the same direction.

''Hi.'' Patton greeted the animal in as calm a voice as he could while resting his hands against the closed windows of the car. The dog inside, a golden retriever, turned to him, panting and blinking. ''Are you stuck in there?''

Patton touched different places on the car door, as if it would magically open for him. He reached for the handle and pulled, but nothing happened. It was locked. Of course it was locked.

Janus caught up with him and stopped beside him.

''What are you doing?'' he asked exasperated.

''There's a dog in here.'' Patton said, turning briefly to him, his eyebrows raised together. ''He's hot.''

Janus looked over to the side of the car, seeing the dog sitting in the back seats.

''And?''

''We have to get him out of here!'' Patton again touched random parts of the door. ''But there's no way, it's locked!''

Patton considered his options. He could try to go back to the mall and find the owner of the car — and the dog. But how could he do this? The person could be anywhere, in any store. What if it was an employee? He could have been working by now. There was no personal information on the outside of the car, and trying to find the owner by blindly searching for him could take hours.

Janus frowned and looked at Patton and the golden retriever inside, his pink tongue falling out of his mouth.

''It's not our dog,'' He thought about saying, which meant it wasn't their problem. But neither was the red pickup truck parked a short distance away, and that hadn't stopped him.

Besides, Patton remained with the same expression of sadness and concern on his face, touching the car door.

Janus bowed his head and thought about what they had. The keys to the pickup truck. Cell phones. Eyeglasses. A hat. Some gardening tools, small but firm, just like the car keys. A jacket. An overcoat, long and dense. Belts. Sneakers... Sneakers. His gaze hovered over Patton's pair of all-star sneakers at ankle height, the yellow glowing against the darkness of the concrete floor at night.

''Take off the shoelace.''

''What?'' Patton turned to him, confused.

''Take off your shoelace.'' Janus ordered, raising his head and looking at him.

Patton hesitated briefly before leaning against the car door, bending forward and raising one of his legs to chest height. After a few seconds of struggling, he pulled out the long line and held it out in front of Janus.

''Keep an eye out for anyone coming.'' He said casually, taking the shoelace.

''What do you mean?'' Patton muttered, standing on tiptoe and looking around, not knowing exactly how to warn him if anyone approached.

Janus glanced down at Patton's feet, interlacing the shoelace, noticing how one of his socks was green, and the other, red.

The thread now had a small knot with an opening in the center, which could be closed by pulling on one side. He slipped the shoelace through the doorway, and luckily the rubber didn't stop it. The dog, noticing the narrow line above him, raised his long nose and sniffed it briefly, not caring about it. Janus crouched down, facing the door and moving his arms carefully as he lowered the wire. Standing next to him, Patton alternated glances between what Janus was doing — which Patton didn't understand anyways — and his surroundings, nervously. He couldn't see any people outside, but entering the parking lot, a car sped up the path behind them, and Patton's eyes widened.

''A car just drove by.''

''Was it a police car?''

''No.''

''Then it doesn't matter.''

Janus kept his gaze fixed on the inside of the car. The dog sniffed the shoelace once more as it hovered over the door latch pin between them. He closed the knot around the latch tightly and pulled both ends up, causing the small latch to lift.

The door was open.

He exhaled and stood, and Patton smiled at him, hopefully. Janus pulled the handle and the door opened, and immediately, the golden retriever jumped out of the car, but he couldn't get very far: strapped to the headrest of the seat, a leash held him down. Janus leaned forward, looking for the clasp on the dog's collar, but before he could find it, Patton moved in front of him and rested one knee on the car seat.

''Patton!''

''Wait!'' He brought both hands to the piece of steel supporting the headrest. It took a few seconds for his vision to adjust to the pitch inside the vehicle, and meanwhile he was digging his nails into the leash, pulling it in different directions. Eventually, it began to loosen, and written in blue on the red fabric was a name: Steve.

With the leash in one hand, Patton got out of the car and took a few steps back. Once he had moved far away enough, Janus took the shoelace and lowered the pin again, closing the door and locking it. The two, now three, crossed the parking lot quickly, avoiding running. They opened the back of the truck, and with a few finger snaps above the compartment, the dog jumped in. Now almost at his height and with better lighting, Patton noticed that the collar around his neck also had the colors blue and red. Its pendant consisted of circles in those colors with the addition of white, and in the center, there was the silhouette of a dog's paw.

Steve, he thought. Blue, red and white. The yellowish fur. Steve in reference to Steve Rogers. Captain America.

They turned around, getting into the cab of the car, and with the same agility they had left the diner hours earlier, they were now leaving the parking lot behind.

Janus drove in silence, without a destination in mind.

Patton bowed his head, looking at his white shirt that now contained gray stains that he didn't know how he had gotten.

The drive went on for a few minutes, until, looking out the window, Patton recognized the road they were passing by.

''There's a bridge up ahead.'' he pointed out. ''We could stop and let Steve drink some water.''

Janus frowned, glancing at the back of the car.

''Steve?''

Patton nodded.

''It's on his leash.''

They arrived at the mostly deserted spot. Janus stopped the pickup truck above the bridge, and Patton was the first to get out, pushing his sneakers against the cold, polished stone floor. He went to the back of the car, opening the cargo bed and letting the dog out. With the leash in hand, they went around the bridge and down a small slope beside the architectural support that consisted of sand and brush, approaching the river of running water below. Steve immediately went towards the water and, as expected, began to drink. Patton let go of his leash and sat down on the ground, putting the laces back on his sneakers, listening to the engine of the truck still running.

The wind echoed in his ears, and he regretted not having zipped up his jacket when he first thought of it. The bridge, as well as its edges, were lit only by the weak grayish light of the moon above them. In the navy blue sky, tiny dots flickered and a few clouds were lurking. Patton watched the surrounding flora, high enough to be at his knee height, and hoped that no animals would appear. Most people would worry about snakes in an environment like this, maybe frogs because it was near water, but Patton's biggest concern was spiders. To his right, at a higher level, the rocky bridge cast a shadow over him.

The roar of the engine stopped and footsteps approached.

''Partners in crime?'' he asked in a drawling tone of voice.

Patton let out a sharp cry and turned back, seeing Janus standing a little above him, arms crossed. He stood erect, and his plaid scarf swayed gently in the wind, which in the poor lighting made him look more like a mysterious silhouette than a human being.

''What?''

''Partners in crime. '' He repeated and shrugged. ''You stole a dog.''

''I didn't steal a dog.'' Patton defended himself, standing up and brushing the sand out of his pants. ''I just... took it for a walk.''

''Without asking the owner or even knowing him?'' Janus squinted his eyes.

''I just...'' he stammered. ''Yes!''

''No, you stole a dog.''

''You stole a dog!''

''I stole a car, that's different.'' Janus waved one hand. ''It was your idea.''

''You opened the car.''

''Okay, we did it together, whatever. It's still a crime just the same.''

''No, it was for a good reason! He was in the heat, I just wanted to get him out of there!'' Patton slurred his words, pointing at Steve behind him.

''I never said it wasn't for a good reason. That's not my point.'' Janus looked at Patton and smiled briefly. ''We're alike. Isn't that what you wanted?''

Patton looked at him and remembered the two questionable attributes that were on his mental list of things he knew for sure about Janus. Thief. Liar.

''No, we're not. We have nothing in common!''

''Wrong. We have philosophy and theft.'' Janus went down the small sand hill, stopping in front of Patton.

''No, only bad people steal!''

Janus brought one hand to his chest, pretending to be offended.

''Patton! What about the people who live on the street and steal to survive?''

He opened his mouth, ready to retort, but no words came. After a moment, he resumed, denying with his head:

''No. No, that's not what I meant. No, that's enough.'' Patton moved his arms from side to side in front of him. ''We'll come back, we'll return the dog, and we'll return the car, okay?''

''Oh, please...'' Janus started, but Patton turned his back on him, approaching the riverbank and stopping near Steve.

Patton's idea of going back and returning the collected belongings without permission was ridiculous, to say the least. Especially considering that they had managed to leave the situations behind without major consequences. There was no point in denying the obvious — that crimes had been committed — and Janus didn't really understand why Patton insisted on doing that. With his eyes half-closed, he watched Patton and thought. Patton also insisted on the statement that stealing made you a bad person; committing crimes made you a bad person. Janus knew that things were not that easy, as black and white. And it suddenly occurred to him that maybe Patton didn't know that.

The icy evening wind ruffled their ears and crickets began to echo around them, and Janus let the room be filled with the sounds of nature as he thought.

''Would you agree with Jean-Jacques Rousseau when he said that man is good and society corrupts him?'' He asked, pronouncing the words slowly and clearly.

Patton looked at him over his shoulder.

''I don't know. Maybe?''

After a moment, he continued:

''And would you agree with Thomas Hobbes when he said that man is essentially evil?''

''Would you?'' Patton asked him, his worried look gradually softening.

Janus took a few steps and stopped beside Patton, staring at Steve as he drank the water.

''No, not with either of them.'' Janus turned to him, his colorful eyes in a state of serenity. ''Psychology, philosophy, anthropology, all these fields have the human being and its existence as their focus of study. Ever since we existed, we have been trying to find the answers to these same questions. Are we good? Are we bad? Why are we here? And these areas are still relevant today because we don't have a yes or no answer. Because after centuries of investigation, we have come to the conclusion that humanity is complex. It is to be expected that these questions will have complicated answers, if such answers ever exist. No one is inherently good or bad entirely, Patton. You can steal and still be a good person. It just depends on how you see yourself.''

Patton nodded, muttering something incomprehensible. Quickly, Janus continued:

''But you know... if you really want to know if you're a ''bad'' person...'' Janus offered his hand to him, the yellow glove standing out in the darkness. ''We can find out together.''

Silently, Patton smiled softly and took Janus's hand.

On the floor, Steve turned toward them. He shook himself, causing water splashing from his beard to hit the two men next to him. Janus protested, complaining, but Patton didn't much care.

''Can we go now?''

Patton leaned forward, taking Steve's leash, and the trio returned to the bridge and the car above them.

''What is the next stop?'' Patton asked.

''I don't know," Janus shrugged. ''Do you want me to drive you home?''

''I'd like to, but...'' Patton glanced at the back of the car. Behind Janus, Steve's mouth was open and the wind was against his golden hair. ''I'm not sure how I'm going to get in with a dog that size.''

Of course, getting home was not exactly the problem. The problem would be how to justify to the neighbors why he had an adult golden retriever with him, in case someone saw him.

Janus remained silent, searching for a solution. Patton picked up his cell phone, pressed his fingers against the screen a few times, and moments later, announced:

''There is a hotel nearby that accepts dogs. The Sandman Inn.''

''Yes, but do they accept large dogs?''

Patton swiped at the cell phone screen.

''Yes, they do. It's not too far away.''

Janus agreed, ready to follow the GPS directions, when Patton grabbed his arm.

''Wait!''

''What?''

''There's a supermarket here!'' Patton pointed, and across the street, a large sign with its lights on indicated the store was open.  ''Let's stop here. It's gonna be just a minute.''

''What for?'' Janus asked, already turning the car around.

''To buy things!'' Patton simply said. When they pulled into the parking lot, Patton got out of the car, but Janus didn't move. ''Aren't you coming?''

''No. You can go.''

''Okay.'' Patton agreed and quickly drove away, approaching the doors that opened automatically for him.

Patton took a basket from the stack next to the door, and walked through the aisles occupied only by merchandise. The cleaning products section was the closest, and he walked through an aisle that contained fabric softeners and clothes nails.

Lawyer. Thief. Charming. Liar, it echoed through his mind, and Patton wondered what answer he would provide when Virgil asked him if he liked Janus.

He turned right, now passing through a corridor that contained brooms and insecticides.

Technically, their date had been extended for the rest of the day. Technically.

Patton glanced at the products in other aisles as he walked in front of them. Pasta. Canned goods and seasonings. Dairy products. Frozen foods.

Would he want a second date? Assuming they didn't get caught for the thefts, of course.

Patton entered an aisle of children's birthday party supplies.

But as Janus himself had said, not all people who did things that were considered bad were really bad. The case of the homeless people was a good example.

He took a card with colored candles and put it in the basket.

This line of reasoning would work for Janus as well as for him.

Patton took a few steps forward and picked up plastic plates and cutlery, adding them to the basket so that they would keep the candles company.

So... it was all relative, really. Janus had kind of explained that too.

Patton returned to the frozen food aisle. He ignored the large transparent doors that displayed ice cream of the most diverse brands and flavors. He stopped in front of a large booth displaying ready-made cakes, and chose one whose frosting consisted of granules and cherries, and placed it in the basket.

There was a decision to be made.

When Patton came out of the supermarket with a shopping bag in his hand, Janus was leaning outside the car, petting Steve.

''Ready?''

''Ready. We're good to go.'' Patton confirmed, smiling.

Once again, they returned to the cab of the truck and went on their way.

The Sandman Inn was open twenty-four hours a day.

It was a clean and quiet place, and the carpeting in the lobby was red and gold.

They checked in, and the employee handed them the key to Room 9E, with two beds.

Janus and Patton stepped into the elevator. Steve's leash in one hand, the keys to pickup the truck in the other, the shopping ecobags on their shoulders, and the grocery bag in the other hand.

Arriving in the bedroom, they left both bags with clothes on the bed. Janus removed Steve's leash, and Steve began sniffing around the room. Patton approached a small table that was in front of the beds and put his bag on top of it, removing the groceries one by one. He removed the plastic cover from the cake and placed it in the center of the table, opening the carton of colorful candles.

''Can you turn off the light?'' he asked, and a little hesitantly, Janus did so. Outside, the grayish moon produced a faint beam of light that invaded the room through the window, preventing them from being completely in the dark.

Patton sat down in one of the chairs, and Janus removed his hat and joined him on the other side. Steve also joined them, lying down at Patton's feet.

At the cashier, Patton had picked up a box of matches at the last minute. He had spread four of the colorful candles on the edge closest to Janus, and was now lighting them.

''So,'' Janus began, with a terrible posture in his seat. Strands of his dark brown hair fell over one of his eyes. ''I suppose we'll be saying goodbye to each other in the morning?''

Patton smiled quietly, placing the rest of the candles at the end closest to him.

''No, I don't think so.''

Janus squinted his eyes. He leaned forward and, with one breath, blew out the candles that were lit. Immediately, Patton began to light the ones he had positioned last.

''I'm down for a second date, actually.'' He explained, his gaze focused on the wax and the fire. ''I think there's more about you that I don't know.''

''I do cosplay, if that's what you want to know.'' Janus looked away, crossing one leg over the other.

Patton stopped where he was and laughed, making a mental note to return to this subject later.

''It was you who suggested that we find out if we are bad people together.'' he said, finishing lighting the candles.

They both stared at each other for a brief moment, before Janus asked, in his usual lazy tone:

''I'm stuck with you now, aren't I?''

Patton propped both elbows horizontally on the table. He looked at his cell phone beside him, and the 11:59 on the lock screen turned into 00:00, accompanied by the date May 1.

It was midnight.

It was his birthday.

It was their birthday.

''Happy birthday, Janus.''

Janus lifted the corners of his mouth minimally, just enough to go unnoticed.

''Happy birthday, Patton.''

And Patton blew out the candles, leaving them in the dark.

[rina-writes]

Mom and Dad

Summary: In the same way that Grayson jokes about being the dad, you are the “mom” friend.  It never occurred to you how strange this was until you and your close friend Grayson are babysitting your cousin and someone actually mistakes you for a family.

Genre/Warnings: Fluffy, Secret Crush, Baby Fever

A/N:  This is a concept I thought of that I forced into a fic.  I’ve been obsessed with 90s aesthetic (particularly film and media and the “grainy” filters) so I am also adding some pictures that inspired me. I don’t own any rights to these pictures and thank you to these beautiful people for inspiring this fic! 

You first met the twins on one of their trips back home to Jersey.  You were visiting a family friend who happened to live near their house.  It was super early in their YouTube careers, so you only knew from your family friend that the boys had dropped out school, moved to LA, and made videos online.  Like most people hearing this, you assumed the Dolans were a privileged family with spoiled kids that only worried about when their next trust fund payment would hit their account.  You were pleasantly surprised when, upon hearing that you were visiting, the Dolan family welcomed you into their home and threw a little barbecue for you and your folks.  Not only were the boys down-to-earth, but they were also kind and easy to be around.  You became fast friends and often spent time together when they came to visit.

It would be a lie to say that they didn’t play a role in you deciding to move to LA for college.  They talked about LA so much, that you always wanted to live there.  The couple times you visited, the twins showed you how much fun sunshine could be, even if you missed the four seasons of the northeast. 

It would also be a lie to say that BOTH the twins were your motivation for wanting to move to the sunny state.  You were a bit partial to the younger, but larger twin, Grayson.  The way you would describe your connection was that you and Ethan were similar, but you and Grayson were compatible. You agreed on the things that mattered, but you and Grayson balanced each other out. Where he was impulsive, you were calculated.  Where you came off aloof, he was gregarious.  You liked to think you brought out the best in each other.  You had a small crush on Grayson, but it was one of those crushes you only felt when you were near to him.  When you were back in school, you didn’t think about him that much.  However, when you hung out at their house or went out to grab a bite, you were completely consumed by him. His hair, his eyes, his laugh, his large hands...everything about him seemed to be crafted by the heavens.  

You didn’t want your feelings to get in the way of your friendship, so you never told anyone how you felt.  Of course, some people figured it out.  Most girls around the Dolan twins fell for either of them. They had that effect on people because they would make you seem like the most important person in the world.  Grayson definitely catered to you more than Ethan. It didn’t help your feelings for him, as you often spent time together doing menial tasks.  That’s why you weren’t entirely surprised when Grayson offered to help you babysit your cousin.  It was a combination of two things Grayson enjoyed: helping people and pretending to be a dad.

Your cousins were visiting you in LA from Jersey.  Your first cousin and his husband recently adopted a toddler named Monica.  While they were excited to have her in their life, you knew that your cousins needed some alone time.  You encouraged them to build a couple’s day full of activities from the spa to dining at an exclusive restaurant.  To ensure they could some of alone time, you would watch Monica for a few hours.  It took quite a bit of convincing, like most new parents, they were attached to their kid. After multiple conversations, and almost begging, you finally convinced them to let you take her out for a fun day in Los Angeles.

You mentioned it casually the night before you were going to pick her up.  You were at dinner with the twins and a few of their friends.  Grayson’s eyes sparkled instantly.

“I can help you with Monica.” He grinned widely.  “We can take her to this new museum for kids.  It’s free entry on Saturday mornings.”

“Why do you know that?” Ethan asked, yelling at his brother despite sitting next to him.

“I saw an article about it...” Grayson yelled back. “Some people read about the news Ethan.”

“O-kay” Ethan put up his hands as he rolled his eyes.  “Trying to show off for Y/N because she’s in college or whatever.  I see you.”

“I’m not...” Grayson said, his voice getting softer as he glanced at you. 

“Well, it works out.” Ethan shrugged.  “You’re such a mom, Y/N.  I can’t get over that Snap! The one where you were tipsy, but still  putting all the girls in your sorority to bed.  You braided that one girl’s hair!”

You blushed as there was a chorus of laughter from the table. “Oh come, on! I’m not a mom, I’m just responsible.”

“It’s okay, Y/N.” Grayson reassured you.  “I have to take care of Ethan all the time.”

Ethan narrowed his eyes at Grayson. “You don’t take care of me...”

Grayson opened his mouth to argue, but you put up a hand to stop him.  Once those two got started, nothing could get them to shut up.

“Tomorrow then?” You smiled, nodding at Grayson.

“Tomorrow!” Grayson confirmed nodding back.  There was a moment where you locked eyes like there was some weird secret between you too, but neither of you seemed to know what it was.  Blushing, you both awkwardly sipped your beverages until someone changed the subject.

When you went to pick Monica up the next morning, you were greeted by big hugs from your cousins. 

“Oh my goodness, Y/N” Your cousin said, looking at you while picking up Monica. In the background, his husband put the final items in Monica’s travel bag.  “Is that your mom’s shirt? I remember her wearing something similar back in the day.”

You laughed and nodded, looking down at the thin, emerald green sweater with four adjacent squares in red, yellow, blue and pink going across the bust. You pulled it down to cover your leggings that stopped at your ankles above your dark slip on shoes. 

“I stole it from the attic.  It’s kind of my style right now.” You grinned.  “Do you like the hat?”

“The beret.” Your cousin’s husband corrected as he leaned over to tilt it to the side. “I believe that was your mother’s too.”

Your cousin and his husband had dated for a long time before getting married.  They practically grew up together, so naturally, your cousin’s husband also knew your family too.  It reminded you a bit of you and Grayson. Except, the dating and married part, of course.

“You got me!” You shrugged, laughing again.  “The lady has great style what can I say?”

“Alright,” Your cousin sighed as he gave Monica a final hug. His husband kissed Monica’s cheek before your cousin handed her to you. 

You took the little girl in your arms.  She had a bit of weight to her, but she was still quite small.  She was close to your complexion, with large eyes and a tiny mouth. She was quiet, constantly observing and didn’t seem to react to anything, not even being handed off to an almost complete stranger.  You made a mental note to make sure she was by your side at all times. 

“You have your pull-ups, your snacks, your wash cloths, your bandaids....” Your cousin tapped the bag on his husband’s shoulder.  “You have it all! Anything you need, do not hesitate to call us.”

“Don’t worry!” You comforted them.  “It’s only six hours.  I’ve babysat for 12 hours and that was for three very....not nice children.  Monica has veteran babysitter with her today.”

“You know we trust you!” Your cousin smiled.  “We just know how much of a doozy it can be to take care of a toddler.  Besides, I think we’re getting a bit of parent separation anxiety.”

You shifted Monica to your hip and reached out for the travel bag. “And she will be back in your arms in six hours! Make sure you are rejuvenated and relaxed when you meet her.”

“Well if you insist...” Your cousin joked, not without taking another longing look at his daughter

“Are you sure you can take both?” Your cousin’s husband asked as he prepared to hand you the travel the bag.  “While she may try to trick you into carrying her everywhere, she can walk.” He added a laugh.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”  You nodded.  Just as you were about to take the bag, you heard a knock on the door.

Given that it was a hotel, the three adults looked at each other with confusion.  Your cousin opened the door to see a nervously smiling Grayson waving at you.

“Sorry I’m late.” Grayson apologized stepping in.  “I didn’t want to take the Porsche so I borrowed a car from one of my editors.  It took longer than I expected.”

“No worries.” You smiled, “But I thought we would meet at the museum?”

“I figured you would need some help.” Grayson grinned. “No sense taking a Uber if I have a car.”

Grayson looked around and upon seeing the travel bag made a soft ‘oh’ sound as he took it from your cousin. 

“Oh, this is Grayson.” You introduced Grayson to your family.

“Is this your boyfriend?” Your cousin’s husband asked after shaking Grayson’s hand.

“No,” You laughed softly, hoping it sounded natural and not panicked/secretly thrilled, “He’s a family friend who lives out here in LA.”

“I’m family, and I don’t remember him being a friend.” Your cousin quirked a brow.

You could see Grayson’s face turning red and you cleared your throat. 

“I think we should get going before the museum is no longer free, huh?” You said, changing the subject before the interrogation continued.

“Ha, good idea!” Grayson said, catching on quickly.

“Be safe you two!” Your cousin called as Grayson held the door for you.  

You smiled as Grayson led you to the car.  He was a little dressed up with a long sleeved white shirt, tucked into his dark jeans with a designer belt.  You were so used to seeing him fully casual with no shirt and the tiniest shorts.  It made your heart melt that he had gotten dressed up for Monica.  

Grayson put Monica’s travel bag in the trunk of the black sedan, before running over to open the door for you.

“Take your time.” You told him.  “We’re in no rush, right Mo?” You asked Monica, who was sucking her thumb and taking in her surroundings.

You eyebrows went up in surprise when you saw a car seat in the back seat.

“Ace Family...” Grayson explained, blushing softly.  “I read that young kids should always have a car seat and I wasn’t sure if your cousin had one.”

“I think she usually just sits in someone’s lap.” You bit your lip.  “But, I’m sure this is way safer.  This is so thoughtful, Grayson!”

Grayson beamed at your words. It warmed your heart when he gave you the large goofy smile.  It was his natural one when he wasn’t posing for pictures or trying to look hot.  The smile that only came out when he was really happy.

You watched as Monica fidgeted in the car seat, making it almost impossible for Grayson to buckle her in.  He started to sweat, the stains appearing under his armpits and you fought back a chuckle.

“Let me try?” You offered.

“Uh sure...” Grayson bashfully moved away, watching you as you distracted Monica with the jingling bracelet on your left wrist while you used your right hand to buckle the first clip.  Monica reached for one of your charms and you took the opportunity to clasp the other belt that finished the part on her waist.

“Hands up!” You said, excitedly, secretly surprised that Monica followed your direction, but also happy she did since Grayson looked so impressed.

You buckled the seat belt that went over her body and leaned back to look at her.

“Feeling good, Monica?” You asked.

She nodded softly, looking off in the distance.

“Give me a wiggle.” And you shook your shoulders.

She glanced at you and mimicked you with the same emotionless expression.

Grayson laughed. “She is actually the cutuest.”

“I know right?” You said, looking at him with your lower lip jutted out, a pout in reaction to her cuteness.

Monica looked between the two of you before turning her attention back to whatever outside the window seemed to be so interesting.  She was probably the most laid back toddler you ever met.  This was going to be easy.

“Should I introduce myself?” Grayson asked nervously.

“Honestly, I should probably introduce myself too.” You laughed.  “She was just kinda handed to me.”

You leaned over to be in front of Monica and she turned slightly to give you her attention.

“Now, I’m Y/N.” You said, putting a hand on your chest.  “We met last year, but you probably don’t remember.”

You put a hand on Grayson’s shoulder.  “This is Grayson.”

Grayson stuck out his hand for a handshake and you sputtered laughter.

“Grayson, she’s three she won’t...”

Monica took Grayson’s hand and he shook, giving you a smug expression.

“You were saying?” Grayson asked making you roll your eyes.

“Okay, okay...” You put your hands up. “You’re pretty good with kids...so far!”

You pointed at him, to emphasize that he hadn’t won you over just yet.  

“You just wait, Y/N.” Grayson said, walking to the driver’s seat. You followed suit, and walked to the passenger seat.

“I’ll be such a good a dad, you’ll be calling me Daddy.” Grayson winked, and glanced at you to see your shocked expression. “Oh good god, not like that.”

You laughed, punching him lightly. “I’m just kidding, Gray. I know what you meant.” 

“Oh sure laugh it up.” Grayson said, rolling his eyes as he started to drive. You glanced at him and the tips of his ears were still red from blushing.  So cute...

When you arrived at the museum, Monica’s personality busted out. She loved the exhibits where she could touch stuff, enjoying the slime the most.  You spent about 45 minutes just watching her sticking her hand in goop.  You and Grayson took turns holding her and helping her make shapes with the material.  You took pictures of Grayson, your heart melting seeing his genuine happiness playing with Monica. Every time she made her little toddler giggle, Grayson’s smile double in size.  You were going to treasure these photos forever.  

“I’m going to the bathroom.” You said to Grayson, who gave a quick nod.

You smiled and walked to the bathroom.  After doing your business, you inspected your face.  You dug into your bag and went to apply lip gloss.  You fixed your hat a few times, still not sure if it really went with your hairstyle.

“Uhm, excuse me?” A woman about your mom’s age alerted you.

“Hi?” You turned around and you eyes widened to see Monica holding the woman’s hand, sucking her thumb.

“Monica...what...” You reached down to pick Monica up and the lady smiled softly. You were about to ask for an explanation, but the lady quickly provided one.

“Your husband said you were in here and your daughter wanted to use the bathroom.  He said you would be the girl fixing her beret in the mirror.”

You blushed and laughed softly.  “My husband, huh?” You shook your head.”Well thank you...”

“Come on, Monica.” You said to Monica who was holding on to your shoulder with her free hand.  “Let’s go potty.”

You helped Monica use the bathroom, realizing that Grayson did not provide you with the travel bag, so you had to clean her up without the fancy wipes and creams you cousins packed. 

With both of your hands washed, you escorted Monica out the bathroom who, the moment she was out, ran to Grayson who was waiting across the hall.  He picked her up and she held on to him, resuming sucking on her finger.

“I forgot you would need this.” Grayson said, gesturing to the bag on his shoulder, while he shifted Monica’s weight to your hip.

“I know, my husband is so silly.” You narrowed your eyes.

“What did you want me to say?” Grayson said, looking around embarrassed.  “Monica started crying all of a sudden saying she couldn’t hold it.  I ran with her to the bathroom, but I couldn’t walk in and I wasn’t going to take her into the guy’s room.  So, I started to explain that you were in there and she was like “Oh I’ll take her to your wife.” I didn’t want to correct her...it felt like a bad time.”

“I’m just relieved that Monica didn’t announce she had two dads.” You laughed.  “Might have been a little awkward to explain with my husband waiting outside the door.”

“Yikes,” Grayson said, making a face. “Though, I am sorry. I didn’t realize it would put you in such a predicament.”

“It’s fine!” You tried to assuage his worries, laughing. “I mean, we’re like 20...it’s her fault for thinking this was our kid. And that we were married. She’s the weirdo”

“I dunno...” Grayson said, looking at the three of you in the reflection of one of the displays. “It’s not the weirdest thing in the world. Being assumed to be married to me?”

You noticed a bit of bite in his tone and you frowned.  “You’re not the problem, Gray.  I’m just saying we are a little young.”

Grayson didn’t say anything to you in response. Instead, he asked Monica if she wanted to go to the dinosaur exhibit again, another favorite of hers.  She started bouncing up and down, and Grayson carried her toward the exhibit.  You scurried to keep up, confused at what you said to tick him off.  When you arrived, you saw there was a show for the kids.  It was one of those shows where there was a “dinosaur expert” and some people in dinosaur costumes explaining each of the species.

Grayson put Monica down in front and went to stand in the back with the other parents.  He was staring straight ahead, pretending to be very invested.  You could tell he was pretending because his eyes were glazing over. 

“G-Gra--” You started to say, but then his phone started to vibrate.

Grayson glanced down and ignored the spam call, showing his background. The background was of you playing with Monica in the slime.  You blushed and pretended not to notice. Suddenly, it made sense why Grayson was so huffy.  You didn’t want to get too excited, because you were still not 100% sure it was true.

“Hey,” You nudged him. “You’re going to be a great dad one day.”

Grayson glanced at you before looking forward. “Thanks...”

“While, I’m not ready to be a 20 year old mom,” You bit your lip, “I would be down to date one of my best friends...”

Grayson whipped his head to stare at you and you smiled. You unlocked your phone to show your wallpaper, a picture of him playing with Monica.

“Huh,” Grayson smirked. “I didn’t realize how creepy that is until I see it on someone else’s phone.”

“It’s only creepy if you’re not dating the person.” You smiled.

Grayson bit his lip and chuckled. “Thank goodness we’re changing that.”

Your eyes widened.  “Are you asking me out?”

“At the dinosaur musical...” Grayson said, gesturing to the stage.  “Of course, the only place where mom friends and dad friends can truly be ourselves.”

You laughed and Grayson continued to scold himself out loud for being the lamest person ever.

“Would it be weird to kiss someone at a dinosaur musical?” You asked, glancing down at the floor.

Grayson tried to hide his smile, but it was stretching across his face too quickly. He cupped your cheek and pecked your lips softly. As he began to pull away, you started to kiss back, keeping you two connected for a few more seconds.

“That was nice...” You said, smiling. “Really nice.”

Grayson put his arm around you and kissed your forehead lightly.  You both turned toward the show and watched for a bit before Grayson leaned in and asked,

“Can we tell E we started dating tomorrow?” He looked away as he continued to speak forcing you to lean in to hear him. “I don’t want him to know I finally made a move at a freaking dinosaur musical.”

You laughed and grabbed the sides of his jaw to turn him to face you. “Maybe, but you’ll have to make it worth my while.”

Grayson gave you a mischievous grin as he leaned down to rest his forehead on yours. His eyes bore into yours causing the heat to rise to your cheeks. You blushed more as Grayson’s voice, suddenly deepening to whisper said,

“Remember that conversation about you calling me Daddy...”

[atinymonster]

deep talks

ateez 9th member.

when jiyu finally manages to talk to wooyoung.

➴ masterlist

taglist ➴ @galacticstxrdust, @jiyeons-closet, @banhmi07

Talking to Wooyoung proved to be harder than Jiyu expected. On top of their busy comeback schedule, Wooyoung would also not talk to her unless it was absolutely necessary. No matter how many times Jiyu attempted to talk to him, he would find a way to escape. 

And it hurt her. Wooyoung one of the people closest to her—and to have him pretend as if she doesn’t exist was like a stab to her heart. Although she may not be able to reciprocate how he feels towards her, she didn’t want to lose him as a friend.

Even the other members noticed how distant he was acting towards Jiyu. After countless interrogations, Wooyoung finally spilled the beans. It was like a slap in the face to them—they knew something was wrong, but they never would’ve thought it was a love triangle. 

Slowly, weeks passed—their days filled with endless practicing and preparing for their online comeback concert, Air Con. Which meant less chances for Jiyu to talk to Wooyoung since the minute they come back to their dorm, they all crash from exhaustion. 

Jiyu smiled less and less everyday. Seeing how he treated the others the same as if nothing happened made her heart wrench. She knew he was hurt, and she didn’t want to be selfish about the situation, so she let him be for a while. Even with Yeosang’s encouragement, she couldn’t bring herself to talk to him. 

They were currently having a group V-LIVE, and even ATINYs noticed how down Jiyu seemed and how it looked like Wooyoung and Jiyu were avoiding each other. They just purposely avoided reading the comments asking what was wrong. 

Reading the comments, Woooyoung glanced at Jiyu and noticed how she was practically hiding in the oversized hoodie as she watched the comments fly by on her phone. Her hood was on, which prevented him from seeing her face, but he knew it probably wasn’t her usual happy one. Seonghwa had an arm wrapped around her shoulder to comfort her. 

“Many ATINY are worried about Jiyu,” Hongjoong commented. 

Jiyu looked up and mustered up the most convincing smile she could while waving her sweater paws. “Don’t worry, ATINY! I’m just a little tired since we just finished practice,” she reassured. She technically wasn’t lying—she was a little exhausted from their dance practices.

Wooyoung furrowed his eyebrows at her white lie. He didn’t realize how much of an impact his behavior had on her. After the V-LIVE, Jiyu excused herself to use the bathroom. Yeosang took this chance to talk some sense into Wooyoung. 

“This can’t go on forever, Wooyoung,” Seonghwa said. “You need to talk to her.”

Wooyoung didn’t say anything and looked down at his lap. “I know...” he mumbled. “But she doesn’t look like she even wants to talk to me right now.”

Yeosang gently smacked the back of his head, making Wooyoung whine. “Are you kidding me, Wooyoung? She’s been trying to talk to you for the past two weeks and you blew her off every single time!” he said.

Wooyoung winced as he remembered all of the times Jiyu tried approaching him. But every time, he made an excuse to leave the room.

Their phones went off, indicating someone texted their group chat.

[baby monster 🐥] i’m going to be in the vocal practice room if anyone needs me. @ jongho come help with with the high note for thanxx ㅠㅠ

“This is your chance, hyung!” Jongho piped up.

Wooyoung panicked. He wasn’t expecting the chance to come so quickly. “B–But—”

“No buts,” Yeosang said as he stood up, pulling Wooyoung along with him. “It’s weird walking on eggshells around the two of you. Plus if ATINY noticed your weird behaviors, then it’s seriously affecting the both of you,” he said before practically tossing Wooyoung out of the room.

“Good luck!” he cheered before closing the door.

Wooyoung was stunned. “Yah! Did you just kick me out?!”

The others watched with surprise at Yeosang’s action. “A–Are you sure they’ll be fine?” Hongjoong asked.

Yeosang calmly sat back down. “If it doesn’t work, I’ll lock them in a room myself until they talk it out.”

Wooyoung nervously stood in front of the vocal cubicle Jiyu was in. He’d been standing there for a while now, too nervous to knock.

He took a deep breath. “Man up, Wooyoung. It’s just Baby Monster,” he reassured before softly knocking.

“It’s unlocked, Jongho,” Jiyu said from the other side of the door.

Wooyoung gently opened the door. Luckily, the table was positioned so that Jiyu’s back was to the door. She didn’t seem to realize that it was Wooyoung instead of Jongho.

She shuffled through her lyrics paper. “I don’t know how you manage to hit the high note so easily when I can barely—”

“Jiyu–ah.”

Jiyu froze hearing Wooyoung’s voice. Thinking she was hallucinating, she whipped around and indeed, it was Wooyoung. “O–Oh...hi. Sorry, I thought you were Jongho,” she meekly said before turning back around. “I think the other cubicles are open if you wanted to—”

Wooyoung took a deep breath before coming in and closing the door. “I came to talk to you,” he interrupted.

Jiyu pressed her lip into a thin line. She played with her hoodie strings, a habit of her’s that Wooyoung noticed when she’s anxious. Silence engulfed the small room. 

“What changed?” Jiyu asked after a long pause. “You suddenly avoided me like the plague for the past two weeks,” she added. 

Wooyoung felt a twinge of guilt at her small voice. “That’s because...” he trailed off. He was scared. Scared to reveal his feelings to her.

But her next words threw him off guard.

“Yeosang told me,” she revealed. “He told me during filming.”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened. “Kang Yeosang—”

“He had good intentions,” she quickly added. “And you know that, too. He didn’t want you to be hurting because of an untold secret. Heck, you would’ve done the same thing if this scenario was switched around.”

Wooyoung sat in the chair next to her’s and leaned forward so that his arms were resting on his knees. “...I’m sorry.”

Jiyu looked up to the ceiling and sighed. “For avoiding me or your feelings?”

“...Both.”

Jiyu suddenly went silent, scaring Wooyoung. Looking up, he noticed her blank face as she leaned back in the chair to look at the ceiling. “Don’t apologize for your feelings, Woo. While we have some control over them, we never have complete control,” she mumbled. “In other words, it’s not your fault.”

She finally looked at him for the first time since he came in. “I get that you were hurt, and I know it was my fault, so I gave you space. But as selfish as it may sound, it hurt when you treated everyone the same but avoided me as if I didn’t even exist.”

Wooyoung felt guilt wash over him every time Jiyu spoke. 

“But it’s partially my fault, too. I guess I never realized the meanings behind your actions,” she meekly admitted. “I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt you.”

No one said a word after, leaving them silence once again. 

“I was too focused on how I was feeling to see how much it affected you, too,” Wooyoung spoke up. “I didn’t realize me distancing myself hurt you that much. And I’m sorry, Baby Monster.”

With a small smile, she hesitantly opened her arms. “Hug?” she asked.

Wooyoung chuckled before wrapping his own arms around her. They always had a forgiving hug after their arguments. 

"I’ll be mindful of what I say. I’ll try not to mention the relationship while you’re still healing—”

“It’s okay, Baby Monster,” Wooyoung interrupted with a ruffle to her hair—well, hoodie. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be okay. You don’t have to restrict when I’m around.”

Jiyu looked at him with a worried expression. “But—”

“I’m serious, I’ll be fine,” he reassured. “But promise me that this won’t change anything between us.”

Jiyu smiled as she reached up to pat his head. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I kind of missed clingy Wooyoung,” she teased. 

With a mocking scoff, he gently flicked her forehead. “Now tell me about Sunwoo,” he said with a mischevious smile. “Spill the tea.”

Jiyu scoffed. “Why do you sound like those gossiping moms?” she laughed. 

“It’s the hair,” he said, flipping it to play along. 

“I think they made up,” Yunho whispered with one ear pressed against the door. The other six were huddled in a group around Yunho. “I don’t hear anyone screaming at least.”

Yeosang proudly puffed his chest. “See? Nothing to worry—”

The door suddenly opened, causing Yunho to lose balance and fall forward onto Wooyoung, which in turn made them both tumble to the ground. They both grunted from the sudden impact. Jiyu’s eyes just widened from her seat at the sight of everyone by the door.

Before she could get a word out, Wooyoung stood up and scanned the group for his victim. “YAH, KANG YEOSANG!” he screeched, charging at the poor boy. Yeosang immediately made a run for it, the others watching in slight horror and amusement at Wooyoung’s returned enthusiasm. 

Seonghwa rubbed her head. “Are you both okay now?” he asked with a tiny smile. 

Giving a little nod, Jiyu grinned for the first time in two weeks. “Yep!”

“As much as I’m happy that you two made up,” San said, “we should probably go save Yeosang.”

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV: A Synthesis of Aether

#FebHyurary Day 17: Food + Day 18: Music

A/N: So I had too many ideas for yesterday, but knew for today touching on Synnove’s aether synesthesia would work well, and then I said, “DT YOU FOOL YOU CAN COMBINE BOTH DAYS FOR HER AETHER SYNESTHESIA.” And lo: a fic! Mostly dialogue, I haven’t done a dialogue heavy ficlet in a loooong time so I feel a bit rusty, but this was a fun exercise!

RATING: T WORD COUNT: 1455 WARNINGS: None!

---

[Installing SCAEVAN SYSTEMICS operating software.]

[Installation successful, running update cycle.]

[Updates complete. Archive Node Unit 453 now online. Please specify primary user.]

“Synnove Greywolfe.”

[USER: SYNNOVE now registered. How may I assist you today?]

“Please stand by for audio recording.”

[Standing by.]

The node’s lights dimmed from bright grass green to soft seafoam as it partially powered down, its northern and southern hemispheres slowly rotating in opposite directions.

Synnove lowered her hand and glanced over at Rereha. “All right, you can babble now,” the Highlander said.

Rere took her hands off her mouth to tug at her braided pigtails and beamed at her. “Whatcha doing?” she said, in the sing-song tone of someone feeling exceptionally nosy, rocking back on her heels.

Synnove rolled her eyes and set her hands on her hips. “Y’shtola’s working on a compilation of aetheric synesthesic perceptions as a downtime project,” she said. “She asked me if I was willing to contribute, to which I obviously said ‘yes.’ But because I’m not often able to spend much time in Revenant’s Toll that doesn’t devolve into Warrior of Light or Ironworks business—”

“—audio recordings you can send or give her are more convenient.”

“Careful, Rere, or other people will begin realizing you’re smarter than you pretend to be.”

The lalafell gasped. “Madam, you wound me!”

She received a satisfied smirk in reply as Synnove added, “And what better way to create an audio recording than with my new archive node?”

Rere pulled herself up onto Synnove’s desk, sitting on the edge and kicking her feet back and forth as she leaned back to rest on her hands. “Did you liberate it from the Ironworks?”

“I purchased this fair and square, I have a bill of sale from Jessie herself.”

“Nero’s OS?”

“The fact you know that term is vaguely frightening, but the man does have an unparalleled understanding of Allagan technology and if you tell him I said that, I will hang you by your toes from the edge of the Steps of Faith.”

Rere mimed locking her lips.

“Hand me that stack of paper, please.” Synnove pointed to Rere’s right. The lalafell snagged it and dutifully handed it over.

The arcanist shuffled through them, humming tunelessly as she did, before she came across the correct page. “All right,” she said, mostly to herself. “Start with Y’shtola’s list of baseline sensations today and go from there.” Louder now: “Begin recording.”

[Audio recording now live.]

Synnove automatically straightened her spine and rolled down her shoulders in the same way she did before she began a lecture for the fourth-year arcanist students. In a clear, strong voice: “Synnove Greywolfe recording for Y’shtola Rhul on the 18th day of the Second Umbral Moon, 11 Year of the Seventh Astral Era, on the subject of synesthetic perceptions of aether. I personally perceive aether, in addition to visual manifestations, as both taste and sound. Occasionally, one sensation will dominate the other, and certain sounds and tastes aren’t exclusive to one elemental type.

“For this recording, I’ll describe the overall generalities I associate with different elemental aether; variance is high depending on factors such as location or origin, in terms of ambient or crystallized aether, or in the case of spells, if they are being performed correctly or are altered in some capacity.”

“How to spot the catastrophic boom just before the boom becomes catastrophic and it’s too late to do anything about it.”

Synnove sighed. Rere giggled.

“Y’sthola, remind me to recalculate the angle needed to ensure Rere lands in Silvertear if thrown from the highest tower in the Toll.”

“Hey!”

“You’d be fine, Hydaelyn likes you best.”

Rere pouted, lower lip pushed out to the point of exaggeration, which meant she wasn’t actually offended.

“To get back on topic: fire. Fire aether most frequently tastes like hot spices, such as peppers; coffee; red meat, such as buffalo; bitter chocolate; cherries; wine. Sound tends to be uniformly brass instruments such as horns and trumpets; very occasionally it can sound like metal striking metal.

“Earth aether is auditorily simple and gustatorily complex. The sound of earth is always rhythmic and steady, if not outright drumming; the sensation of it echoing follows fairly often, too. Taste runs a huge gamut: savory or sweet seasonings, such as cumin or cinnamon; white meat, such as pork; most vegetables, particularly green or starchy vegetables; certain fruits such as apples and figs; bread; cheeses; stews; whiskeys.”

“I’d call most of those foods ‘homey.’”

Synnove frowned thoughtfully. “That’s a fair assessment,” she said after a moment. “Earth aether tends to ‘taste’ comforting.”

“Does that mean Tyr is the ultimate comfort food?”

“Does that mean you want to go flying out of my office window into the harbor?”

“I’m going to shut up now!”

“See how long that lasts,” Synnove said under her breath while her sister smiled beatifically. “Where was I… Ah, wind.”

The Highlander frowned. “Wind aether is another oddity, taste-wise. Mint tends to present quite frequently, along with sweet chocolate, white grapes, vanilla, white wine, arak, olives, and scallions. Thankfully when it seems to be a combination of flavors, it’s complimentary…” She shook her head. “Sound is similar to flutes, chimes, whistles. Bit stereotypical, honestly.

“Lightning…” Synnove paused, frowning again. “Sound tends to be similar to specific string instruments such as violas and cellos; deeper sounds. Low notes on a piano or harpsichord, sometimes simple humming or vibrations. Taste does not tend to be strong, but most frequently has manifested as berries and/or stonefruits. Alcohols such as gin, palm wine, ouzo, and brandy.”

“That is not the element I’d consider boozy,” Rere said idly. She had lain back on the desk and was staring up at the huge arched ceiling of the tower office, twiddling her thumbs.

Synnove shrugged without further comment, already looking at the next item on the list Krile had transcribed on Y’shtola’s behalf. “Water is what one would think would be boozy but I have legitimately never tasted ‘boozy’ water aether before. Tropical fruits dominate; in terms of savory, as horrifically stereotypical as it is, seafood. But almost never in a way that makes sense, I once found a water cluster in a bluefin tuna’s belly that tasted like Coerthan oyster confit.”

“I remember that, you made the weirdest face.”

“I still can’t find the words to describe just how fucked up that taste versus visual dichotomy was. In any event, water aether also sounds like string instruments, mostly harps, dulcimers, and brighter pianos. Also, a very specific drum… Rere, what’s that staccato-sounding drum the Flames have been using in their parades of late?”

The lalafell picked her head up. “Snare drum?”

“That’s the one. Timpanis on occasion, too. And finally…ice. Sound leans towards woodwind instruments like the clarinet and piccolo, as well as bells. Any bell. Taste…hmm. Slaw, fruits that freezes well, fruit juices, Thavnairian sweet tea—”

“That is not tea, that is an abomination.”

“—some melons, cucumbers, white rum, wintergreen.”

“I still can’t believe you’ve never come across ice aether that tastes like the Bismarck’s root beer float.”

“They introduced it to the menu last year.”

“So?”

Synnove sighed that heavy, gusting sigh everyone who spent longer than thirty minutes with Rereha learned. “Y’shtola, I see a note here about Primordial Light and Dark, but I’ll do that in the next recording along with variations and discrepancies, as first, I need to beat my sister over the head with a grimoire—”

Rereha hopped down from the desk and ran for the office door, shouting BYE Y’SHTOLA I LOVE YOU BEST over her shoulder as she did.

“—and second, I’m hungry and now is a good time to break for lunch. Recording end.”

[End of recording. Is there anything else on which I may provide assistance?]

“No, that will be all for now—ah! Before I forget. Please create new nodal designation of own choice.”

[Clarification requested.]

“Pick a name for yourself.”

[…]

[Accessing imperial Allagan databases for repository of birth certificates. Scanning records.]

[Archive Node Unit 453 rename complete. Archive Node Unit 453 is now Kleio.]

Synnove smiled, pleased. “It’s nice to meet you, Kleio.”

[…Thank you. Database scans are currently inconclusive as relates to instruments in modern usage versus those of Allag. What samples are available to provide edification?]

The Highlander cocked her head, staring at the silver-and-green node for a few long moments, before another smile, this one slow and delighted, crossed her features. “I have a few orchestrion rolls that include solos and chamber music that you could listen to while I have lunch, and I can provide lists of which instruments are used in each piece.”

[That would be satisfactory.]

“Perfect! Let’s get you set up…”

[atheistforhumanity]

Secret Police in America

We have been saying that Trump is a dangerous figure that does not respect democracy from day one, and now we face the worst possible threat. This of course ties closely to the militarization of police, which the right wing has been working on for years. In this post I’m going to break down secret police and how they exist right now. There is a lot to unpack here, so I’m going to break this up into a short Q and A style. 

What are secret police?

What makes a security for secret, and separate from normal police, is chiefly the lack of identity. These actors wear masks, carry no identification, will not respond to questions, and will never be identified to the public. They also will not be identified to local police authorities. This means the public has zero ability to hold them accountable for abuse or misconduct. Secret police are also characterized by lack of oversight. The public usually has no information on who these people take their orders from. 

Why are secret police bad?

The number one reason is that these parties act outside of the scope of the law. That sounds strange, because it’s hard to imagine law enforcement being illegal. However, the key difference is that normal police operate on rules and regulations that have requirements for action, but secret police act solely on whim and have no clear requirements to justify them taking action (more on that further down). Secret police have only ever been maintained in authoritarian/fascist states. It is impossible for a secret police force to be maintained within a true democracy. The reason for this being that democracies are based on the concept of public accountability over government and representative action. Secret police are literally the opposite of this model. Furthermore, the motivation and purpose of secret police is completely anti-democratic. Secret police have never existed to maintain law and order. They are purely enforcers of a leader’s political agenda and meant to strike fear into those who decent. This is why we see them pop up during a major protest and why Trump has threatened to send them to other cities “run by liberal democrats.” Historically, we can clearly see that a leader uses secret police when their policies and actions are in extreme opposition to the people and there is heavy political resistance. These leaders have given up on winning politically or maintaining order and protecting civil rights. They choose control over human rights and democracy. 

Are secret police legal?

Secret police generally start out as an illegal force that violates it’s citizen’s rights and later becomes legalized when an authoritarian gains more power. The secret police’s actions in America are 100% illegal and their very creation is is anti-democratic. Their actions are illegal because they violate the 4th Amendment, which prevents law enforcement from making seizures without probable cause or warrants. Trump’s legal defense of them right now is that they are operating under the rule that can “arrest” anyone if they believe that a felony has happened or will take place. The key here is that they do not require probable cause, only the suspicion of a crime. Also, the Trump admin has stripped away the proviso for this group that their actions cannot be solely on First Amendment activity. This literally means these men are being told they can “arrest” people for protesting. This, of course, is completely illegal. This is why none of the representatives of the people of Portland or Oregon want these forces in their city or state. 

How did Trump create this secret police force?  

The how of this is intertwined with the militarization of police forces. It was ten years ago when I first protested police militarization online and on my college campus. Now we are facing the worst case of police militarization. The core of this creation has to do with the DHS. Over the course of Trump’s presidency, he has fired or pushed out every single Presidential appointed leader in the DHS. As he usually does with other institutions, he only partially filled the gaps and with inexperienced loyalists. The agency has been acting with a shortage of leadership and a lack of oversight for some time now. Trump has made use of this and altered the already broad purview of the DHS to create his Domestic Security Force, or secret police. This secret police force is made up of DHS agents, CBP officers, and DEA agents. Trump also altered the mandates of the DEA to allow them supplement other law enforcement and conduct covert surveillance. This is particularly concerning, because the language used makes it sound if the DEA is combatting some terrorist or drug cartel force, but in actuality the subjects in these new mandates are the American people. Customs and Border Patrol agents have been pulled into this because of Trump’s political ties to the agency and their support for him. In the past, Trump has ordered CBP officers to break the law and turn back asylum seekers, and even said he would use his pardon power to protect them. This is not the only time Trump has urged illegal behavior and promised pardons. He, of course, has pardoned several criminals already. 

So now we have a mixture of DHS, CBP, and DEA agents in non-identifying military fatigues snatching up citizens off the streets without any clear indication a law has been broken, and not going through any of the law enforcement regulations, such as reading of rights, official declaration of arrest, use of warrants, and observing constitutional rights. 

What Comes Next? What is being done?

The ACLU if fighting a legal battle for our democracy. They are suing the federal agents and trying to argue their legality. All of this happens as Democrats are about to reveal their sweeping bill on police reform, in reaction to protests around the country. This bill, however, will not directly effect the secret police situation. For that we need congressional action. What our representatives are doing right is arguing. They are currently locked in debate about the legality of the secret police and about money. Earlier in the year, funding for several agencies connected to domestic security ended, and now congress is trying to decide who should be refunded and how much they should receive. The main argument circles around the DHS, which is the main body of the secret police force. Shockingly, our representatives are failing us in dramatic fashion. There is no consensus rejecting the secret police or against further funding them. If more funding is given to the DHS and other agencies then that will mean Trump gains that much more resources for his secret police force, if something is not done. Furthermore, congress is currently debating giving the DHS powers vastly expand their powers of surveillance and use dragnet tactics with computer data. Basically, this would mean they would track internet activity for anyone in favor of protests and then use these secret police to “arrest” them. It is as scary as it sounds, and people like myself would come under danger.

What Can You Do?  

This is a very critical time because our representatives are about to make decisions that could reign in this illegal power or could strengthen it. They will be making this decision with a presidential election coming up in mere months. The best thing everyone can do is call their house representative and tell them how passionately you are against the creation of this police force and make it clear their decision will effect your vote in November. That’s the power of Democracy, and it’s still the best weapon we have! 

Thank you for reading. If you have any questions just ask.