#realizing that i probably need a tag for this au. just for reference if nothing else

[strawberryfairi]

Synopsis🌹: After discovering a strange yet alluring red book in a boutique bookstore, you find yourself sucked into a strange world, where all of your inner most desires exist…

Pairings: Wakasa Imaushi X Musician! Black Fem 🤎 Reader (ANYONE CAN READ🧚🏾‍♀️) Content: Author AU, scifi, Musician! reader, reader is a talented nerd, smutty (slow burn) romance, tiny doses of angst, adventure, futuristic city, magic?, !!sexual tension!!, etc (just find out the rest, lol)

w.c: 3.4k💠 Released: October 5

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A/N🧚🏾‍♀️: I think this might actually be my favorite chapter I've written so far. I had so much fun writing this part!!

C.W:  None

Tags: @nixalozt

↳ (Let me know via inbox or the comment section if you would also like to be tagged here for this story🩵)

𝟐 || 𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲

(Alternate Reality/First Meeting Theme: Rise From the Ruins - Lost Traveler)

Your eyes snap open, and your heart pounds as a wave of disorientation washes over you. Bright neon lights assault your vision, and you instinctively squint, shielding your face with an arm. You're on your feet, standing in the middle of a sidewalk, but this is no area you recognize. The sounds, the smells, the very air around you—it's all wrong.

Around you, towering skyscrapers reach high into the sky, their surfaces beaming with neon lights and shifting holographic ads. The streets are crowded with people—some with brightly colored hair, others with cybernetic enhancements replacing limbs, eyes, even parts of their faces. Hovering cars zip by overhead, leaving behind jet trails of blue fire where their tires should be, and a low hum of machinery fills the air, blending with the pulse of strange music emanating from hidden sources all around.

Your mouth goes desert dry as you quickly realize you have no idea how you got here. It's like a dream, in the way that they just simply begin directly in the middle of a particular scene. No context, no frame of reference, just there.

"Where am I?" You whisper to yourself, taking a cautious step forward.

People move past you without so much as a side glance, their faces illuminated by the neon lights that flicker from every direction. Your heart races as you try to process the chaos around you, but everything is too much. Every sound, every flash of light, it makes your head spin.

Okay okay, think.You force yourself to take a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment to try and center yourself. You're dreaming. That has to be it. This can't be real. It's just one of those dreams where your mind knows you're in one. A lucid dream, that's it. You've never had a lucid dream before, so it's probably natural your'e freaking out like this.

But when you open your eyes, the world is still there. As real as the ground beneath your feet. And that's when you hear it.

"Unidentified citizen detected."  A cold, mechanical voice announces from behind you.

You turn around abruptly, pulse quickening, and your eyes lock onto a mind boggling scene. A...midsized robot. It's floating off of the ground eye level with you, painted white and navy blue, with a neon red holographic badge that shines above its "chest". The whir of its internal engines barely audible above the noise of the street.

"Please present identification," It states, its robotic voice creepily polite.

Your breath catches in your throat. "Identification? I-I don't—..." You stumble back, mind racing. Identification? What kind of identification? What am I supposed to do?! Your hands instinctively go to the mini purse hanging from your shoulder, but of course, you had nothing. Nothing but a lipstick and lip liner in there. No wallet, no ID, nothing that made sense in this strange, futuristic place.

"Uhhh, I don't have anything," You stammer, panic rising in your chest. "I don't know how I got here, but I need—"

"Failure to present identification will result in detainment." The robot interrupts, its glowing red eyes making you anxious as it hovers closer.

Your heart pounds in your chest. You can feel the eyes of passerby's on you now, the slight glances, and low murmurs. They all seem to know exactly what's happening, but no one's bothering step in and actually help. You're on your own here...

So, you do the only thing you can think to do in this situation: run.

Without another thought, you take off bolting, weaving through people as fast as you can. Your breaths start to become uneven pants, your heels making your feet sting with every hard step.

From behind, you can hear the sound of the robot tailing you, "Halt! Unidentified citizen!"

Yeah, I think the hell not, you think to yourself, dodging a flying car that nearly grazes you as it zooms by. Your lungs begin to burn as you push yourself harder, but you still have no idea where you're actually going. Every street looks the same—slathered in neon lights, holographics, and cluttered with unfamiliar, strange faces. Your mind races, desperate for a solution, but nothing makes sense.

Suddenly, a figure emerges on what looks like a motorcycle from one of the alleys to your left, just a bit ahead of you. They pause at the opening of the sidewalk, where the alleyway leads to the main road. Directly in your way.

You let out a small yelp as you clumsily skid to a stop, but end up just crashing right into the person. Reflexively their arm grabs you, catching you by your waist before you can really hurt yourself. You hang there, thrown over his arm.

"Need a hand, sweetheart?" His voice is low, teasing as if the entire situation is amusing to him.

You stare up at him wide eyed and panting. But then, as your eyes meet his, you feel your breath hitch.

The man holding onto you is...impossibly beautiful. His shoulder-length hair is pulled back in a loose half-up, half-down style, the top half dyed a striking shade of purple, while the lower strands gleam blonde in the city's neon glow. His striking lavender-colored eyes are framed by long, dark lashes that gaze down at you with a half-lidded, cool—almost sultry intensity.

Your eyes drift over to the earring dangling from his left ear, catching the light as it sways gently. And damn, he's got tattoos too. They're roses, with pretty intricate designs crawling up both arms and disappearing beneath his shirt, then peeking out around his low collar, hinting at even more ink across his chest.

For a brief moment, you actually forget where you are and your current situation, your mind completely consumed by the strong magnetic pull of this man. You stutter an incoherent sentence, thoughts a jumbled mess while your eyes continue to roam over him, caught in the intensity of the moment. But the distant mechanical whir of the cyber police snaps you back to reality.

"I—I'm being chased! There's a robot—"

"I can see that." He says casually, glancing back where you had been running. The robot is closing in fast, its red eyes glowing brighter as it hones in on you. "Looks like you got yourself in a little trouble."

"A little?!" Your voice cracks with desperation. Ok, he's gorgeous but you don't have time for his chill, cool boy attitude. You need more urgency. "I gotta get up outta here!"

He grins. "I can help you with that." Without another word, he sets you down over his lap, an embarrassing position. His grip is firm but not painful, and his leg raises from the ground to the bike as he starts to rev the engine.

"Wait wait, hold on! I can't—I don't do bikes!" You cry out, shaking your head frantically. Quickly your hands struggle to reach down to the hem of your short, silver dress, trying to pull it down enough to where you don't flash both him and anyone else coming by.

"You don't have a choice." He says before the bike shoots forward past the robot officer. The roar of the engine drowns out the high pitched scream you let out.

The chase begins.

The city is a blur around you, neon signs, holographs, and towering buildings fly by as the motorcycle rockets through the busy streets. You grip tightly on the man's shirt, heart pounding in your chest as a mix of fear, and admittedly, excitement courses through your veins. You can hear the mechanical sounding police sirens of the cyber cops from behind, but this man doesn't seem even a little bit concerned.

He weaves effortlessly through traffic, cutting sharp corners down narrow alleyways. It's like he's used to this, like he's done this plenty of times before. You have never felt such a rush before—the danger, the thrill, the stranger you're currently clinging to with no idea where he's headed.

The robotic voice of the cyber police bots echoes behind you again. "Unidentified citizen, halt immediately. You are in violation of city law 375-B. Submit for processing."

You look behind you, letting out a deep gasp as you spot not just the one, but six other cyber-police bots dashing after you two, their red lights flashing ominously in the night. "We're gonna get caught!" You holler anxiously.

The man scoffs out a laugh, his voice steady and unbothered. "We're fine."

He revs the engine again, picking up speed as he tears down the street, dodging past hover-cars and otherworldly pedestrians who barely have enough time to jump out of the way. You feel your heart pounding wildly in your ears as he jets down a long, open road that starts to lead out of the heart of the city.

The cyber cops, however, are relentless. They summon for reinforcements, and more drones whir loudly from above, scanning the streets below for the both of you with beaming night suns. (Night sun: High intensity search light).

Just then, the commanding voices of the cyber police bots change its targeted focus, speaking in creepily perfect unison, "Citizen 0843-77, you are wanted for multiple offenses. Including illegal racing, tampering with city surveillance systems, and evading arrest. Pull over immediately!"

"What?!" Your eyes widen, jaw nearly hitting the floor. First of all, not only did they just put his business on straight blast with his citizen number, but they even went and aired out a whole entire list of criminal offenses! That's why he's so unbothered! And that's why he's zooming through these streets like he's used to running from cops!

The man chuckles, the kind of reckless laughter that makes your heart skip a beat. "What, you think you're the only one who's good at gettin' into trouble?"

Despite the seriousness of the situation, your body can't help the surging rush of adrenaline—and honestly attraction—that came with his carefree attitude. It's like he thrives on chaos. And now, crazily enough, it's starting to rub off on you.

You let out a loud "Oh shit!" as he turns around a tight corner, the bike tipping dangerously close to the ground before he righted it again, speeding down a dimly lit alley. Your stomach flips as the narrow walls flew by your face in a colorful blur.

You look out again. The cyber cops are still chasing behind, but their movements have slowed. Then, they hesitate at the edge of the city, their glowing red eyes flickering as if unsure how to proceed. The night suns, after a couple of seconds, turn off as well, and it feels strangely symbolic of a battle victory.

"They stopped following us." You breathe out in disbelief.

The man nods, finally easing off the throttle as the city lights fade into the distance behind you. "They can't follow us out here. 'S outside their jurisdiction."

After what feels like an eternity, the bike slows, and he comes to a stop at the edge of a long-abandoned overpass. The once-bustling infrastructure now crumbling and overtaken by unfamiliar nature. The neon glow of the city still lit the sky behind you, casting an eerie light over the desolate area. All kinds of plants crawl up the sides of ruined buildings, and what's left of the streets are eerily silent. Dead.

Your heart is still racing as he turns the vehicle off, and you stumble off the bike, legs visibly shaking.

You turn towards the man, who's already chilled out leaning against his bike, watching you with that same unserious grin. "You okay?" He asks as he holds back a chuckle, amusement dancing in his eyes.

You narrow your eyes at him, chest heaving. "It's not funny; hell no I'm not ok! I have no idea where the hell I'm at, or how I got here, and we were just chased by a bunch of freakin' robots like it's the damn apocalypse! And who even are you?! Are you, like, deadass a criminal?!"

Finally, he chuckles, running a hand through his wind tousled hair. "A thanks would'a been nice. I'm Wakasa. By the city's standards I'm definitely a criminal, and as for where you are...well, that's a little more complicated."

You cross your arms, narrowing your eyes at him. "What do you mean complicated?"

Wakasa shrugs with a grin. "You're in Neon City, sweetheart. It's a small planet in galaxy KE-411. Not exactly your usual vacation spot, I'm guessing."

You stared at him, jaw dropped and mind reeling. "A pla-...it's a what?! This city is a whole planet?!"

"Yep." He popped the 'p' with a smirk. "All this is Neon City." He says, gesturing around lazily with a hand.

You let out a disbelieving laugh, hands shaking as you rub them along your temples. "Hell no. No no no, that—this can't be real. I gotta be dreaming! I'm dreaming for sure, you're-...you're not real—"

"Trust me Doll, I'm very real." He muses. "But hey, look on the bright side. You're here now. Might as well enjoy it." He adds with an infuriatingly nonchalant shrug.

"Enjoy it?!" You gape at him. "I'm a fugitive on a whole 'nother freaking planet! The only thing I'm trynna enjoy is me getting the hell up outta here!"

"Hey, suit yourself." He raises his hands in surrender, pushing off of his bike and swinging one leg over it, "Good luck gettin' home."

"Wait!" You call out instantly. "W-Where're you going?! You just gon' leave me out here?!" You scrunch your face up in appall.

"Thought you said you don't do bikes?" He raises a brow teasingly. Your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

"Well...I'm willing to do bikes if it means I'm not alone." You reply sheepishly.

"Come on." He nods his head towards the bike. Your face lights up with relief, quickly scurrying over and hopping on the black motorcycle behind him.

"You know, you still haven't told me your name yet."  He says, just as he starts the engine of his bike. 

"Oh yeah, you're right. My mind's all over the place, sorry. I'm Y/N." You ramble, shaking your head at yourself.

He repeats your name, nodding a little before he says, "That was kind'a a cool way to meet, huh?" 

You think it over for a second, replaying the extremely hectic, action-packed way in which the two of you happened to meet each other just a bit ago. "Yeah, I-..I guess that was kinda cool." You shrug, chuckling lightly. 

The motorcycle slows to a stop once again, and you look around at the deserted area in mild confusion.

"We're here," He announces, cutting the engine.

You blink, still a little disoriented. "Here...?"

It's like a field of nothingness out here. There's small patches of grass scattered all around, but other than that it's just debris from old buildings, roads, and such.

Wakasa smirks as he gets off the bike, holding out a hand to help you down. "This is the underground. No one'll find you out here—not the drones, or the city officials. We're completely off the grid."

You hesitate for a moment before taking his hand, your fingers still trembling from the adrenaline of the night, stepping off of the bike and looking around once more at the ghostly surroundings.

Wakasa guides you over to what looks like a run-down bunker, hidden from view by the tall, overgrown greenery. A single, faintly glowing neon red sign hangs above the heavy, rusted door: "The Underground".

You swallow hard, mind racing. You had been running on sheer panic this whole time, but now...now there's a strange allure to all the danger, the unpredictability of this place. The neon city had felt overwhelming and suffocating, but here in the shadows—or the underground rather—everything feels raw. Real.

Wakasa leads you to the door and knocks in a rhythmic pattern—three short knocks, a pause, then two more. A small, mechanical green eye slides open above the door, scanning them both before letting out a low whir. The door creaks open, and the two of you step inside.

The interior of The Underground is nothing like you could have ever imagined. The nightclub is dark, save for the faint glow of scattered, mismatched neon lights, casting all kinds of shadows across the cavernous space. A low, synthetic beat murmurs from deep within the walls, vibrating through the floor beneath your feet. Smoke hangs in the air, swirling lazily like fog as the dim lights catch it in neon pinks and purples, and greens. The room has an ethereal quality, like something out of a dream.

The bodies packed tightly on the dance floor move together as if they share some kind of secret knowledge you'll never know. Lost in the foreign music and flashing lights. Everyone looks so confident, so sure of themselves, and here you are—spending the whole night... just shook, for lack of better words. You find yourself oddly fascinated.

Everything about this place—from the gritty, broken-down aesthetic outside to the futuristic, slight boho-meets-retro feel of the inside, to the people who seem to fully embody the space, calls to you. It's the complete opposite of everything you've ever known. But instead of feeling lost, left out, or even intimidated, you rather feel...invited.

Wakasa smirks down at you, noticing your awestruck reaction. "A little different from your usual night out, huh?"

You scoff out a laugh, "Very different."

"Come on." He says, leading you further into the club with a hand on your lower back. "Let's grab a drink. The more relaxed you are, the better."

You approach the bar—a long, marble-like counter, behind which stood a half human male bartender with mechanical arms and glowing lime green eyes. Wakasa calmly orders you both drinks as you blatantly stare from the bartender to the other "people" in the vicinity. For some of them, it's hard to tell wether they're actually human, half human, or just a straight up robot.

For other's, like the bartender, it's obvious. The people here didn't really match the look of Neon City's citizens. They're edgy, harder, rebel-like people who maybe don't actually belong to the city above ground. And yet, they have this je ne sais quoi about them, a quiet confidence that draws you in like a moth to a flame.

Wakasa smirks as the bartender comes back and sets two glowing drinks before you two, giving him a short "Thanks". The liquid inside shimmers a bright, electric blue, casting a faint glow that dances across the metal bar.

"This one's for you," He says, pushing the glass toward you. "'S called Bliss."

You raise an eyebrow, eyeing the drink with both curiosity and hesitation. "Bliss?"

"Yeah," Wakasa nods, amusement flickering in his eyes. "It's...well, let's just say it makes things more simple."

When your drinks arrived, you can't help furrowing your brows at the glass, your gaze scrutinizing as you swish it around. "Ok, but like...what is it? Why is it glowing?" You ask skeptically.

"Just try it. It's good; goes down real easy. Promise." He assures cooly.

You immediately note the way he deliberately did not answer the actual question, being what the drink is. You watch him take a long sip of his own, waiting for any crazy reactions. Yet it never comes.

If this were any other situation, you wouldn't dare take a drink from a man you didn't know, but this entire situation is different, technically. The memories of this wild evening flicker through your mind as you continue to slowly swirl the blue liquid around in the glass.

Wether you remember exactly how you got here or not, you're here now, and maybe this really is exactly what you need. A nice break from the constant, monotonous grind of working on music and slaving away at your officially finished record label internship.

From the endless rejection emails, the constant cycle of disappointment after someone you put your trust in fails you, from the pressure you constantly put on yourself. This nightclub, this scene—it's so far removed from your world. Removed from your cramped bedroom that you've made into your home studio, electric keyboards taking up way too much space, notes app filled with unfinished lyrics, and neighbors arguments picking up through your studio quality mic you saved two and a half months just to afford.

So, fuck it. You allow the glow of the blue liquid to lure you into temptation.

Hesitating for only a moment, you take a tiny little sip, bracing yourself for some kind of strong burn or sour taste. But that proves to be for nothing. The drink is cool and sweet—floral almost, and it sends a sensual shiver down your spine. Warmth blooms in your chest, spreading outwards like liquid sunshine. Instantly you feel your nerves begin to relax, your racing thoughts slowing down as the pulse of the club's music seeps into your bones.

You feel good. Really, really good.

[beepersteeper]

I Will Always Find You -- Astarion x Tav-- One Day Maybe | Part 9

Astarion and F!Tav live happily together for the remaining years she has, she refuses to be turned into a vampire because her faith says that her soul isn’t finished with its work yet. Tav dies of old age and leaves Astarion to put together the pieces of his broken heart. AN: Lord of Light lore taken and changed to fit the story's means. Not canonically accurate. TLDR story line stuff. This is an AU where Astarion ascends but isn't a power hungry bastard and Tav is able to help him continue healing. Wyll is immortal and the Duke. Karlach in my mind, if given a new engine would be able to live a lot longer than the usual tiefling. Another AN: idk if anyone wants tagged in this WIP but let me know. 

“Well, that is certainly one way to start a morning” Vira giggles curling into Astarions bare chest, holding her towel to hers from her morning bath. 

Astarion smiles and pushes her damp hair from her face. “I couldn't agree more. Even if it surely is afternoon at this point” he chuckles, taken off guard when she asks him a question.

“What does my blood taste like?” she asks with her eyes closed.

He coughs, startled, clearing his throat “I'm sorry?” he responds unsure how to answer.

“Sorry” she laughs heartily “I'm just curious, you seemed… affected by it.” she nudges his arm.

“I most certainly was.” he sighs “It was like the sweetest, strongest liquor. It- you immediately made my head spin. While I was your first this morning, you were as well mine in that way.” he shrugs at the realization. “You are so sweet and clean. Nothing had tainted your essence, and now that we’ve…” he trails off drawing circles with his finger on her arm “I have to admit I'm eager to try again and compare notes as it were, see how my” his eyebrows raise “rakish behavior has changed that.”

Vira hums accepting that response and giggles when he refers to his actions as rakish. The self-deprecating bastard he is. “I should probably head home sometime soon.” she sighs “I need to find a dress that will come close to meeting the caliber of tonight's dinner.”

“I'll walk you home.” he smiles as if that was even a doubt in her mind. “But there are a few dresses here you can look at,” he points to the wardrobe “Please, help yourself, they haven't been worn in decades and deserve to see the light of day again.”

Curious, she stands and secures the towel around her form before she walks to the wardrobe, and opens its doors. She sees Astarions finer clothes, stitched with gold threads, ones she only sees him wear when matters of state require. Next to those barely familiar clothes she sees opulent clothes that look even more expensive than his own. “Are these Tav’s?” she asks quickly and closes the closet leaning her back against the doors and holding it shut. “I couldn't. I can't!” she urges taking a step back. 

  “She would want you to, darling. You needn't be so polite and modest.” he jokes “Though none of these dresses can make you more beautiful than you already are, I think you will feel more confident if you think you fit in more.” he says opening the doors again to her “even if you would be the most impressive woman in the room if you showed up in a canvas sack.” he whispers into her neck. 

Vira blushes and squeezes her ear to her shoulder, a response from his breath on her skin. She is immediately drawn to a dark green dress. A crushed velvet floor-length gown with extravagant lace bell sleeves and an open ribbon laced closure on the back that still would allow for the skin to be seen, but tastefully. That dress even when hung from a shapeless hanger took her breath away. As if she were intimidated by the dress itself she put it back on the rack and reached for a white and gold dress, one that is impressive in its own right, but one that she thought would let her fade into the background and not draw any attention to her. She pulls it out and holds it over her frame and looks in the mirror. She shrugs and gestures that that was the one she would wear.

Astarion rolls his eyes having watched her choose one she didn't actually want to wear,  and lets out a forced sigh and pulls the green one back out and holds it in front of her body. Gently urging her to imagine herself in the dress. After she takes in the sight in the mirror he hangs both dresses on the door of the wardrobe and walks to the tall backed chair by the door. “If I get a vote I think the green one is perfect for you.” he shrugs, crossing his ankle over his knee. “But like I said, a canvas sack.”  he smiles, putting his hands in the air feigning uncertainty.

“It's beautiful.” she says passively looking at the dress, and at him through the mirror carrying on the conversation.

“It is.” he agrees.

“But it would draw too much attention.” she sucks her teeth, moving her head side to side trying to imagine herself in the dress. “Tonight isn't about me.”

“‘Too much’ is a lot of a word my love.” he shakes his head and chuckles mostly to himself “I don't think you understand just how much attention our little band will have on us just as we are. Myself, Wyll, and Karlach, who by the way is a 6-foot-tall tiefling with one horn and a glowing chest, have never been particularly conspicuous. And that was before we all got our titles of heroes, lord and duke. I mean this is the nicest possible way, anything you choose to wear won't bring more undue attention than we will get regardless.”

She processes what he just said. Understanding that he's right, he and Wyll draw attention to themselves almost anytime they are out on the town. Astarion can go unnoticed a lot of times if he dresses casually, but Wyll, the devil Duke of Baldur’s Gate, cannot go unnoticed. She doesn't know Karlach but from the description Astarion gave, she doesn't seem like she could go unnoticed either. “Fine.” she begrudgingly sighs “The green one it is.” she drapes it gently over her arm, “I do need to go home to get ready though.” she smirks.

He smiles softly and stands and grabs her day clothes to hand to her “Then let's get you home.” He pulls a black and gray suit embroidered with silver applique of pheasants on the breast of the jacket.

She groans to herself and thinks out loud “One day we won't have to go back and forth between two houses.”

He hums “Hm?” shifting his eyes to her, smirking realizing that she isn’t talking to him. He continues to find the rest of his evening outfit. Adding it all to a garment bag and reaching for her dress to add as well. The duo get dressed “Are you ready darling?” She rolls her eyes and nods. “Let me find Wyll to finalize the plan for the night, I’ll meet you in the foyer?” He kisses her on the cheek and leaves the room to ask Wyll to meet them at the bookstore. 

“You're getting ready at the bookstore?” he asks honestly, a little shocked.

Astarion shrugs and nods “All of her… everything is there. And I'm walking her home anyway, there's no use making that walk several times. I looked good getting ready in the woods, I'm confident I can get ready in a bookstore.” he laughs leaning on the door frame and folding his arms across his chest. “Is Karlach able to make it?”

Wyll’s face beams “Yeah, she'll be here within the hour. Complete with a new, cooler engine. We’ll meet you there.”

Astarion nods and waves as he walks to the front of the palace, meeting Vira offering his arm that isn't holding the garment bag. Smiling like he does every time he feels her hands hold onto his arm. They walk quickly to the bookstore and move their way through the oddly loud and crowded room. They share a look before looking for Eyman who is behind the counter frantically packaging books for customers. Without hesitating they find a place in the store to help with the sudden rush. Astarion tosses the garment bag in the curtained room before helping groups of people find what texts they are looking for. Vira takes over for Eyman checking out customers. Letting Eyman step back and just focus on packing the customers' purchases. The three work together quickly to clear out the store. 

“Spirits save me.” Eyman sighs and leans his arms on the counter. “You two couldn't have come at a better time.”

“What brought them all here?” Vira asks while straightening out books that were removed from shelves and left wherever the customers felt like.

“A new Volo book?” Eyman responds with a question. Thoroughly confused. “I honestly didn't get a chance to read the summary. But apparently, all of Baldur's Gate did.” he laughs.

Astrion picks up one of the few remaining books and reads the title. “The Heroes of Baldur's Gate: where are they now.” he groans a stifled laugh “Gods above Volo.” he replaces the book on the shelf rolling his eyes. 

“I wonder where that handsome rogue is.” Eyman laughs hard resting his head on his hand “I hear he's fallen a bit from grace, idling his time away in a little bookstore.” he jests.

“I’m not so sure those are accurate accounts, sir.” Astarion jokes back. “I hear it's not as much a fall from grace as it is a public service.” he catches the cashier's log that was thrown at him. They playfully bicker back and forth while Vira just waits for them to be “quite done.” The men shake each other's hand signaling that they are, in fact, quite done.

“You're lucky I like you so much Little Star.” Eyman jokingly warns wagging a finger at him sitting in the chair behind the counter.

Astarion rolls his eyes and smiles all the way to his eyes as he shakes his head “I am.” 

He and Vira find their way up to her room to begin getting ready. Astarion pulls out both of their evening clothes and lays them on the bed before he begins getting himself dressed. He shimmies the tight slacks up his frame before buttoning the gray shirt over his chest tucking the shirt into his pants and adjusting the fabric after fastening the buttons on his trousers before setting himself on the bed next to his jacket. His eyes open wide as Vira slips herself into the soft green dress pulling her hair to the side and looking over her shoulder “Would you mind tying me up?”

“Well if you're going to ask so nicely.” he answers with a husky sigh “But your father is just downstairs my love.” he jokes holding the fabric between his fingers and threading the dress the same way that he did so many years ago.

“Astarion!” she hisses “You’re so bad.” she shoots him a smirking side-eye.

“I'm not the one asking such leading questions.” he laughs at his joke earning a soft swat to his thigh. He finishes his task and tucks the excess fabric into the dress. He moves her hair from her shoulder to lay flat down her back. He leans around her to grab her brush and starts detangling her hair “What are you doing with this?” he asks, twirling the ends around his slender fingers. “I could braid it for you, it would be a shame to let the details back here go unseen.”

“That sounds like that's what I'm doing with it then. I was just going to leave it as is.” she shrugs, not being one for petty vanity. 

 He pulls out the desk chair for her to sit in as he brushes her hair all to one side, choosing some pieces to frame her face before he braids a thin braid to look like a headband across the top of her head and blending that into a loose dutch braid that falls over her shoulder and past her breast. He ties the end into a knot to keep it together through the night. When he finished he pushed it over her shoulder and pulled some strands to add volume to the braid. 

“How'd you learn to do that?” she asks, sliding her hand over the delicate braid.

“Idle hands are a devil's workshop, darling” he shrugs, admiring his handiwork. “I had a lot of years to find ways to keep my hands busy.” he wiggles his fingers in front of himself.s.

She nods gently as she stands to leave to finish getting ready with makeup and jewelry. She walks past him and bushes a hand across his chest as she leaves. Astarion grabs his jacket and shoes after throwing his clothes into the garment bag and heads downstairs to wait for her to be ready. He smooths a small amount of pomade in his hair making sure that each strand is where he wants it to be. Astarion and Eyman talk idly about the night ahead for a while before Vira comes down the stairs fully made up and ready, but obviously irritated, muttering to herself while she is pulling on her last high heel. “Star, I'm not dainty enough for this.” holding the hem of her dress to make the stairs easier to traverse. “I also couldn't decide on any jewelry. So I'm just going without.” she huffs.

“Daughter.” Eyman audibly gasps a surprise. “My beautiful Vira.” he walks over to her to admire his daughter. “I think I have something that would suit this just right” he tuts and digs into a box under the counter.

Caught off guard, Vira watches her father rifle through the delicate box. Astarion pushes his arms through the sleeves of his embroidered jacket, not yet fastening any of the buttons, and puts his hands into his pants pockets, intrigued by what Eyman is scheming. 

 Eyman pulls a necklace from the box and holds it delicately in his hands. Looking lovingly from the jewelry to Vira and back. He moves to Vira who has now caught onto what her father was doing. He stands behind her and gently puts the gold chain around her neck, a shining square emerald falling tastefully above her cleavage. 

“Daddy? Really?” her eyes light up and shimmer with tears threatening to ruin her makeup. Astarion intervenes with a handkerchief from his pocket. 

“Yes, dear. I think there would be no better time than today.” he smiles and wipes away his tears with the back of his hand. He looks to Astarion and explains “This was Vira’s mother’s. Our little Vira’s had her eye on it for as long as I can remember. I've just been waiting for the right time for her to have it. And I don't know much about fashion in high society, but I think that dress she's got on needs to have this.”

She wraps her arms tightly around her father thanking him profusely before running to the nearest mirror to look at the necklace on her form. She sighs, happily touching the emerald with her fingers. “Mom wore this on their wedding day.” she touts to Astarion who is looking at her from the side.

“The only day I could get her to dress like she didn't belong to the sea.” Eyman laughs reminiscing with her.

“You always said she did.” she turns her eyes to him who just nods.

“She never thought it was worth getting all dressed up. Such a practical workhorse.” he chuckles smirking at Astarion “Remind you of anyone else Little Star?”

“Sir, I have to spend the whole evening with her, I am not about to agree with you.” he chuffs, dodging a swat to the arm from Vira. “Even if you may be right.” he adds, not successfully dodging the second one. 

“I've never had a reason to get this dressed up.'' She tries in vain to defend herself. She stepped in front of Astarion and started buttoning the sides of his jacket together as she continued to talk “It's only been recently that I've had anyone to take me out to fancy dinners.” she finished his buttons and buttoned the tight top buttons of his shirt to annoy him and add pressure to his neck “even though I’m sure he’s passed up on dozens of dinner parties since I've known him because he hates them as much as I do.” she laughs when his hand pushes hers away to fix the shirt buttons.

“If you want fancy dinners we can do fancy dinners, darling. I'd bet you would tap out before me.” he smirks and flicks the tip of her braid causing it to brush her nose. Right when she was going to respond the door to the bookstore opened and Wyll and Karlach walked in.

@zoeloveslotr @silverfangmarks @prudent-nerd

[snootlestheangel]

Cheers to the Unknown Pt.5

Monster/cryptid au ft. Just A Dude!Ghost; canon-divergent, alternate universe. More details here (parts are not a coherent story necessarily just scenarios as they come to me !subject to change!;all tagged under "cheers to the unknown") TW: language; little bit of self-deprecation (again)

Siren!Gaz Helping Ghost Get Some Much Needed Sleep

Ghost and Soap had been dating for almost a month when the sergeant and Captain Price were sent out for an operation that would take roughly a week. Ghost was fine with it, he never put up a fight and helped send them on their way.

But Gaz knew better. Gaz was ready to strangle the human if he didn't fix his sour mood and soon. Ghost had spent the better part of the last five days snapping at everyone and being generally just grumpier than normal. Gaz knew it was a lack of sleep; he had learned through Soap how surprisingly touchy Ghost was, especially at night.

Despite how fed up Gaz was getting, he never dared to intervene. Sure, he possessed the ability to easily put the lieutenant to sleep, but he never dreamed of using his abilities on Ghost. He knew Ghost had been betrayed by people he trusted, had been hurt in horrible ways by those very people, and Gaz never wanted to be the same. He stayed back, kept his distance and waited for Soap to get back so he could convince the human that he still very much needs to sleep.

What Gaz was not expecting was for Ghost to approach him on the sixth night of Soap's absence. He was not expecting Ghost to ask to speak to him, and so Gaz maintained a bit of distance between himself and Ghost as he was led down the halls to a location he didn't expect to be taken to. Gaz's eyes widened as he realized they were just down the hall from Ghost's private quarters that he and Soap shared. Soap's room was filled with exposed wires, far too dangerous for a human, and was often referred to as his recharge station. So it was safe to say Gaz was a bit nervous when he realized where Ghost was taking him.

"You alright, mate?" He asked as he gently bumped Ghost's shoulder with his nose. Ghost grunted before he opened his door and practically shoved the siren inside.

"Hey, whoa-" Gaz started as he turned to face Ghost again, but he didn't get to finish his statement as Ghost closed the door a bit forcefully.

"Sing me to sleep." Ghost said, and Gaz finally understood what Soap meant by blue-screening. Gaz had never been so thrown off guard before, and he couldn't think of a proper response other than awkward stuttering.

"Sing. Me. To. Sleep." Ghost forced out, and Gaz closed his mouth, hesitancy clear. Ghost seemed to notice, however, as his shoulders suddenly sagged and he now appeared as tired as he was. Ghost reached up and pulled off his mask, the lack of it making him look rather distraught.

"Please." He added with a whisper, and the soft sound hit Gaz harder than he expected it to. He had never seen Ghost so... vulnerable before, and it was a strange experience. Gaz let out a sigh as he stepped closer to Ghost, placing his hands on his shoulders where they meet his neck.

"Thank you for trusting me." Gaz whispered as Ghost's tired eyes found Gaz's. The man nodded, quickly avoiding eye contact.

"Like it's hard." Ghost mumbled back, and Gaz forced back the scoff. He knew what Ghost meant; that Gaz is easy to trust and that has nothing to do with his being a Siren. But Gaz knew. Gaz knew that humans never trusted Sirens, never have and probably never will. But of course, Ghost noticed Gaz's internal conflict as his gaze suddenly darkened.

"My trust in you has nothing to do with you being a siren, Gaz. I trust you because you're loyal, you're intelligent, and kind, and a bit of an ass. I trust you because you're trustworthy. Nothing you can do will change the fact I trust you. Understood?" Ghost said strongly, his eyes narrowed down at Gaz as he spoke. Gaz took a deep breath before nodding.

"Understood."

"Gaz." Ghost clearly wasn't convinced. Gaz shrugged, trying to ignore the knot in his throat.

"I just don't want you getting hurt cause of my voice." Gaz whispered as he stared down at his feet. He didn't even look up when he saw Ghost's covered feet step into view.

"I wouldn't ask you to put me to sleep with your voice if I didn't trust it, now would I?" Ghost whispered back, and Gaz took another shaky breath. Ghost was right; if his voice was a problem, he never would have asked for this.

"Okay. But I'm not singing, that's stupid." Gaz said before he turned and headed towards Ghost's bed. He grunted as Ghost suddenly collapsed on top of him, but he didn't mind. Gaz did shift a bit so Ghost was more against his side than directly on top, but made sure Ghost knew he was comfortable. Several minutes passed as Gaz quietly hummed and scratched Ghost's head, and after a certain point, Gaz was confident the lieutenant had fallen asleep.

"Hey, Gaz?" And he's still awake. Was Ghost really this bad at sleeping or is Gaz really that bad at humming a fucking lullaby?

"Yeah?" Gaz decided not to bring up the fact Ghost was still awake, mostly for his own sanity.

"You remember the day Soap asked me out?" Ghost asked, and Gaz relaxed a bit at hearing the sleep already clinging to the man's voice.

"Yes?" Gaz answered, suddenly unsure of where Ghost could be going with this.

"I heard you two talking. About me. Johnny already knows." Oh. That was definitely not the confession Gaz expected, but he also wasn't confident the man was about to spill his guts and confess his love for Gaz. He remained quiet as Ghost snuggled closer to Gaz, his nose tucked safely into the crook of Gaz's neck.

"We shoulda said something sooner. We kinda like ya." Ghost mumbled, and before Gaz could finish processing the statement, the former was already snoring softly. Gaz let out a soft gasp as he hugged Ghost a bit tighter, taking a moment to rub his nose into the soft blond hair of Ghost's head.

"I figured." Gaz whispered before relaxing into the pillows and falling asleep with Ghost.

~~~~~

Soap needed a recharge by the time he and Price got back. His first stop was his own quarters, where he spent half an hour idly chewing on an exposed wire. It was still rather early for Ghost to be awake, and seeing as Soap didn't really need to sleep, he didn't want to disturb the human. Especially considering he'd have to deal with said human's temper the rest of the day.

Once he decided he could get away with accidentally waking Ghost and not have it lead to dealing with a grumpy man, Soap left his room. It was a short walk down a few halls before he reached the lieutenant's room. He opened the door as quietly as possible, but nearly let all the effort into sneaking around go to waste.

He managed to stop himself before gasping loudly upon seeing Ghost curled into Gaz's side, both deeply asleep. Soap smiled and fought down his excitement as he moved closer to the bed.

"Sh, go back teh sleep, Dove." Soap whispered as Gaz opened his eyes and began to stir a bit. The siren slowly blinked at him before nodding.

"Does this mean I can stay?" Gaz mumbled, and despite the simple question, Soap understood it to apply to their relationship. Soap let out a small chuckle as he kissed Gaz's nose, earning a sleepy smile.

"Of course. We'd be lost without you." Soap mumbled before placing another kiss on Gaz's nose and one on Ghost's temple. He crammed himself into the small space between Ghost and the wall, perfectly content to lie there the whole day.

No one needed to know Ghost had been awake for the whole thing. He was living a life he never thought, never dared to dream of having.

Safe, content, and so effortlessly loved between the two most incredible, handsome men he's ever known.

Taglist (want added?): @tacticaltaxonomist @cthulhusstepmom @cathnoneofyourbusiness @thorougly-melted-brains @sp4z-4tt4ck @49saltpeppershakers @bluebrryice

[safetyrat]

... okay so i know the hadestown au is well. mostly evo but i am so very tempted to bend the rules a little just to include ren? he would mostly vaguely be based on hecate, an underworld goddess of magic

which really has no connection to the story of orpheus and eurydice but the thing is that. doing some research, she was a friend of persephone and i really like the idea of bigb as persephone and him and ren have been allies in literally every season of the life series so yeah

also, i read a hadestown fic where eurydice and hecate were friends and i got inspired. martyn can have a friendly dog associated god friend. as a treat. (yes hecate is associated with dogs and that is part of why im saying ren and not someone else like lizzie)

also hecate is a goddess of roadways and journeys (including the journey to the afterlife, like hermes is) and with martyn being eurydice, who keeps getting described as "always running away", maybe yeah it makes sense martyn would have been someone a deity like that would have been curious about and maybe befriended

<- mythology nerd

im still not fully sure of this idea, but i am considering it

WAIT NO I LOVE THAT

ren is powerful enough to breach the border between evo and traffic he is simply that important and powerful. I'll need to look into hecate! sounds like hed fit ren a lot though :] its a really sweet idea

[bangtanloverboys]

just a ghost out of his grave // jjk

summary -  if there’s anything jungkook hates more than being dead, it’s ghost hunters who won’t let him spend his afterlife in peace

pairing - ghost!jungkook x ghost hunter!reader

genre - humor, angst; ghost au

word count - 1.3k

warnings - ghost files/buzzfeed unsolved reference, mentions of death, jk died young (like 17-18)

author’s note - happy halloween everyone! i hope you all enjoyed these little ghost stories

tagged - @jeontier

the ghost of you masterlist

If life was long, death felt longer. It had been. . . God, Jungkook couldn’t recall how long ago it had been since his accident. Days? Weeks? Months? However long it had been, he didn’t like being dead. He knew he was dead too, which was a bit weird finding out. All he remembered was exploring the old abandoned psychiatric hospital a few miles south of town, rumored to be haunted. He was there on a dare. He knew he shouldn’t have been there, but Jungkook was never one to back down from a challenge. All he had to do was grab something and get out. He couldn’t even remember exactly what, but he knew he had it in his hand when he died. Falling through the floor.

The reason the building was abandoned was for a multitude of reasons: hospital shut down due to lack of funds, the supposed ghosts (not supposed anymore, as Jungkook was now one of them), and the building not being structurally sound. He thought those last bits were just made up to keep kids away. But hindsight is 20/20, especially when you’re dead.

At first, Jungkook couldn’t handle it, the whole being dead thing. He screamed, threw things, yelled at anyone he could see walking past through the window. But quickly, he realized that it was no use. No one heard him and all he was doing was wasting energy. 

As time went on, Jungkook tried to make peace with his death. A bit difficult considering he was stuck in an abandoned hospital for the rest of eternity, but it was the thought that counts. 

But there was one problem Jungkook grew to realize that he hated more than being dead. And that was ghost hunters. Every few weeks or so (usually in the summer or fall), teams of teenagers with ouija boards or grown adults with all sorts of gear would break into his final resting place and annoy the absolute shit out of him. 

At first he thought it was funny, scaring the teenagers into believing he was a demon or using that very loud and annoying spirit box to say stuff like “apple-tater” and “spaghetti”. But after so many “who are you”s and “let your presence be known”s, he wished for nothing more than to be alive only to smack the shit out of these so-called ghost hunters.

Tonight was just like any other, a small group of young adults with backpacks and cameras came strolling in like they owned the place, ready to “capture evidence”. Jungkook resisted the urge to roll his eyes as the leader of the group, who seemed to be you, gave orders for where all the tech should be placed. 

“Alright, Jimin, set up the laser grid in the south-west hallway. Hoseok, you do a sweep with an EVP in the west wing. Tae and I will take the REM pod up to the 2nd floor. Try and do a spirit box session and remember to keep your cameras on at all times,” you instructed, looking at each of the other guys. 

“You got it.” They all sounded off as they went off in their separate ways. After watching them split up, Jungkook decided to follow after you and Taehyung, who seemed to be clinging to your side, you two seemed like he would get the most fun out of this encounter. “Tae, I love you, but you’re slowing me down.”

“You’re heading towards the spot where a guy literally died falling through the floor! You need to be careful!” The taller man hissed back at you.

Now that caught Jungkook’s attention. 

You rolled your eyes at your friend. “That’s the third and fourth floor. We’re going to where he fell to.”

“You mean where he died!”

“Taehyung, we are in a psychiatric hospital. People have probably died in every room of this building. Now shut up, we’re almost there.”

You were right, Jungkook thought. It wasn’t a hard spot to miss, there was a hole in the ceiling where he fell through and another hole above that. He went through two stories, shattering all the bones in his body. . . He still felt the sickening crack of each one if he thought about it. 

Jungkook watched curiously as you handed Taehyung a camera, who immediately started filming as you pulled out a device from your bag. It was an interesting circular thing, with dozens of colorful bulbs on the top. You set it down right below where he fell through, on the spot he died. 

“Okay. Mysterious Teenager Spirit, this is a REM pod, the closer you get to it, it’ll light up. Can you step closer to it if you understand?” You spoke out into the air, looking about the empty room. Jungkook stood still, not sure if he should give you any satisfaction. “Here, I’ll show you.” You stepped forward, holding your hand above it, and the lights started going off. “Easy. Can you do that?”

Unsure how long he would be able to take it, Jungkook complied. He stepped closer to the device, the light bulbs pulsing.

“Woah!” You and your friend called out in shock.

“Okay! Uh, oh shit, spirit box. Hang on.” You dug around in your pocket, pulling out another device he was all too familiar with. The ever present static echoed against the walls. “My name is Y/N and this is my friend Taehyung. Can you say our names back to us?” Jungkook didn’t say anything. “Can you tell us your name?”

“Why should I tell you?” He said.

“Why,” was all the machine picked up.

“Oh shit! This is. . . this is awesome, okay. Tae, you’re getting this right?” You looked to your friend, who looked like he was about ready to crap his pants.

“Y-yeah.”

“Okay, keep rolling.” You turned back to the spirit box. “Because wouldn’t it be nice for people to know?”

“Eat shit and die.”

“Eat shit. . . Die.”

You blinked down at the spirit box, a look of disbelief written over your face. 

“Did. . . did the ghost tell you to eat shit?” Taehyung asked.

“I- uh, yeah. . . .Okay. Didn’t expect that.,” you muttered. “Can you tell us how you died?”

“I fell through the fucking floor! You know this already,” Jungkook said as he crossed his arms, he hated these dumbass questions. 

“I fell. . . you know this. . .”

Both you and Taehyung are completely silent now. “How. . . how did you know we know?”

“You were literally talking about it,” he scoffed.

“. . .literally talking about it. . .” The spirit box repeated. 

“Okay, so you are the teenager that died here then? You fell through the floor, you were here on a dare. What were you dared to get?” 

“Y/N, we got enough evidence, I don’t wanna anger it any-”

“Shhh!”

You both were silent, giving Jungkook time to respond but he didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t remember. 

“You went up to the fourth floor. Do you remember what’s on the fourth floor?” You asked.

Jungkook racked his brain for it, he didn’t go up there too often in his afterlife. But he recalled something. . . something about a tool from the head doctor’s office. 

“Head doctor. . .” The spirit box answered after he responded.

“That’s right. The head doctor’s office is up there. And you grabbed something from that office. Do you remember what it was?” 

Jungkook furrowed his brows together, trying to remember what. The more he thought, the angrier he got. He didn’t even notice the two of you beginning to shiver in your thick coats.

A beeping came from Taehyung’s pocket. “Y/N, the temperature’s dropping. . .” He said as he looked at the beeping device. 

“I don’t remember,” Jungkook gritted out.

“Don’t remember.”

“You can! Just think, what’s in a doctor’s office usually?”

Frustrated, he let out a scream, causing all the equipment you had out to blitz. 

“Shut it off! Y/N, let’s go!” Taehyung shouted at you, ready to bolt out the door back to the others.

“Okay, okay!” You shouted back as you turned off the spirit box, silence finally filling the room once again. Jungkook didn’t know how, but he could swear you were looking right at him. “It was a journal. You died grabbing his journal.”

[ggukkiereads]

Fic Recs | Sports AU, Jock AU - Jungkook

This is based on this ask by sports anon. I didn’t include gamer!aus or SMAUs.  Sports categories:

⚾ 🏀 🎳 🥊 📢  🏈 🎾 🏑 ⚽ 🏐 🏎 🏊‍♀️ ⚡

Thank you dear authors for sharing these fics! 🥰  Please note that the fics are NOT mine. Please show these authors love by reblogging their fics, giving them feedback, and engaging in any positive interaction you can think of! 🥰

S - smut | F - fluff | A - angst | 

Note: if link to fic doesn’t work, click on author and go to their masterlist.

🌹 a total of 56 fics 🌹 👀(I swear I didn’t realize I’ve read a lot of sports au)

💖Unclassified

Pretty Boy @angelguk​​​ - drabbles series [7/?] | 8.7k, so far | jock!jaykay x bestfriend | F, S, A  

⚾ Baseball

Ace @hijoonie - one shot | 24k | athlete, artist au | F, S, A  

Break the Bat + sequel @httpjungkookcom​ - two shot | 13.4k | baseball player JK x coach’s daughter, pwp | S, F

The devil’s change up @jungblue - one shot | 41.3k | College AU | S, F (Who doesn’t know this fic? I feel like I’ve included all of their works in every list 🥰) 

🏀 Basketball

Instant Gratification @dovechim​​ - series [3/3 + drabble] | 43.7k | fwb AU,  cheerleader!reader | S, A, F 

I Don't Like a Gold Rush @candlewaxandp0lar0ids - one shot | 17.3k | College AU, Shy Girl, Fratboy AU, Slice of Life | F 

Opposites Attract @bangtaninink​​ - drabble | 2.3k | English major!reader x Vice Captain!JK | F  

Unexpected Confession @sunkissedjk​​ - one shot | 5.7k | high school AU, neighbors AU | F 

You Know Better Than That @diorpieck​ - one shot | 15.3k | jock x nerd!reader pairing, bestfriend AU, Idiots to Lovers | F, S, A [if this looks familiar, it’s an old fic by joonglows]

🎳 Bowling

Mind in the Gutter @kpopfanfictrash​​ - one shot | 18k | not really a professional bowler, IT!Jungkook, workplace AU | S, F, Humor

🥊 Boxing, MMA Fighter

Animal @cutaepatootie​​ - series [9/9] | 115.6k | storytelling of the past by present Jungkook, drama | A, F, S 😭

Bruised (ongoing) @acc3ssdenied​​ - series [6/?] | 20.7k, so far | bad boy AU, tattooed!jungkook, underground boxing | A, F, S

Can’t Be Without You @ahundredtimesover​ - one shot | 30.2k | Bestfriend AU, Underground Fighter AU | A, F, S  

Down and Down @koorara​ - one shot | 12k | actually more of MMA!fighter, exes AU, teacher!reader | A, F 

Fuckboy Training @helenazbmrskai​​ - series [4/5] | 21.2k, so far | Uni Gym Club AU, fuckboy AU, Enemies to Lovers | S, F, A

How Many Rounds @hisunshiine​​​ - drabble | 1.9k | boxer fan, pwp, a little plot twist 😊 | S, F  

Knockout @gamerguk​​ - one shot | 4k | slice of life, sub!jk, dad!jk | S, F

Quarters @justoneday-namjoonii​​ - series [8/10] | 36.4k | drama, boxer!jk x ice skater, check warnings | A, S, F

Safety Net @pradaksj​​ - two shot [2/2] | 40k | Enemies to Friends, Roommates AU | A, F, S  

The Art of Boxing @seokiie​​ - one shot | 4k | boxing class instructor JK, pwp | S

Sucker Punch @satanssmuts​​​ - one shot | 5k | boxer who needs anger management x therapist | S

South Paw @starshapedkookie​​​ -  one shot | 30k | childhood friends, ex-bestfriends, college au, frat au, underground fighting | A, S, F (I really like the boxing scene, so exhilarating 🤗) 

Since Day One + Morning After  @joonsgalore​​​​​ - one shot + drabble | 19k + 2.2k  | boxer au, bestfriend au, tattoo artist!jungkook  | S, F   

Too Close @cutechim​​ - drabble series | 12.8k, so far | gang au, husband!jk, dilf!jk | A, F, S 

📢 Cheerleader!Jungkook

Kiss It Better @jincherie​​ - one shot | 11.7k | college AU, cheerleader!jk, pining | S, F

🏈 Rugby/Football (sports knowledge = 0; don’t get mad at me for putting them together ✌)

A Cinderella Story @suhdays - one shot | 21.2k | college au, halloween au, strangers to lovers, cinderella!au, “nerdy” reader | F, A  (I just read this!)  

As I Told You @eleventoes - one shot | 9.6k | football player x cheerleader, roommate AU, enemies to lovers, college AU | F 

Boys Like Him, Girls Like Her + You Who @hayjeon - two shot + prequel | 15.4k | bad boy AU, fuckboy AU, jock!jk, college AU | A, F, S 

Growing Pains  @rkiverse - series [2/3] | 20.1k | basketball player!reader, slice of life AU, coming of age, high school to college | F, A 

Kick in the Right Direction @xiaokoo​ - drabble series [7/7] | 6.1k | football player jungkook x mascot!reader | pure F!

Little Library Girl @kooksgalaxy - one shot | 5k | tutor x jock!jk | F, A 

Man On, Baby @just-come-baek - one shot | 13.2k | College AU | S, F

Teach Me How to Love @iamtaekooked - two shot [2/2] | 34k | enemies to lovers au, journalist reader, college AU | F, A, S 

The Prince and His Rose  @vanaera - drabble series [12/?] | 44.8k, so far | bestfriend AU, childhood friend, college AU, writer!reader | F (this is just cute & lovely 🥰)  

Try Hard @hobibliophile - two shot | 10.4k | College AU, asked to help with photography | F, S

You’re the 1 (4 Me) @luxvitae​ - one shot | 8.5k | Established Relationship | F

🎾 Tennis

30-Love @kpopisthereasonihavenolife​​ - one shot | 9.4k | high school AU, neighbors AU, JK only listens to YN | F (so wholesome 🥰)

Love Means Nothing @widowkooks  - drabble | 1.6k | rival tennis players, E2L | F

🏑 Ice Sports

Chess of Ice @jimlingss​​ - series [3/3] | 42.8k | curling!au, feat Yoonji lol, former hockey star | F, A, implied S (re-reading this 🥰) 

Cold as Ice @ughseoks​​ - one shot | 8.5k | ice hockey, enemies to lovers, teammates | A, F  

Hockey Pucks @bangtanboysboo​​ - one shot | 8.1k | college AU, flirty!kook x tsundere!reader (well towards him), mommy kink | S, F

Ice Prince + drabble @gukyi​​ - one shot | 23k | figure skating, enemies to lovers | F

Snow and Ice @/hayjeon - two shot | 24.8k | snowboarder!jk x figureskater!reader, friends with benefits AU, Olympics | S, F 

Over the Edge @/kpopfanfictrash -  sequel to Ruin the Friendship | 9k | bestfriend AU,  established relationship x argument | A, S, F

The Art of More + drabbles 01 02 03 @/kpopfanfictrash -  one shot + drabbles | 42.4k | enemies to lovers, dance team x hockey captain!jk | F, S, A  

⚽ Soccer

Chewie & Choco Boy + Loveship @rookiegukie​​​ - one shot + sequel | 22.9k| soccer captain!jk, bestfriends to lovers, bestfriends to established relationship, college AU | F, A 

End Game @minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong - one shot | 12.1k | soccer player x cheerleader, fake dating AU, ex-Namjoon | F, A  

Offside @daddychims​ - series [16/?] | 40k | Sports Trainer OC x Soccer Player Jungkook who has asthma, Fuckboy AU, College AU | F, A

🏐 Volleyball

Blank Check (ongoing) @sugaxjpg​​ & @pantaemonium​​ -series [5/?] | 44.4k | fake dating AU, college AU, fratboy AU, fuckboy AU, jock!jk | F, A, eventual S (been following this fic for a year or so🥰) 

Chance Ball  @guksthighs​​ - one shot | 11k | beach volleyball AU, rivals to partners, friends to lovers | F, A, S

Set on You @bymoonchild​​ - one shot | 18k | college au, setter!jungkook, student manager!reader | F, S  

🏎Car/Racing/Drifting (uhm is this considered sports!au)

Drift  @yminie​​​ - two shot [½] | 8.9k so far | tokyodrift-inspired, street racing | A

Bitchin Rides + Sequel @gukpds​​ - two shot [2/2] | 7.2k | racer!jungkook, college AU, strangers to established relationship, jealous Koo, pwp | S, F, A

🏊‍♀️Water Sports | Lifeguard!AU

Lifeguard + The Bikini @jungshookz  - headcanon/bulleted | 16k | lifeguard AU, surfer AU, jealous Koo in the sequel | F, S (all their works = best romcom)

Stay in Your Lane @luxekook - one shot | 5.8k | enemies to lovers, swim captains, college au, noona!reader,  | S, F, crack

Chasing Butterflies @ddaenggtan - one shot | 12.8k | idiots to lovers, coffee shop AU, college AU, jock/volleyball player!reader, weeb/otaku!jk | F, S, crack (the anime references are so funny)

The Ocean and its Wind @chim-chimmie​ - one shot | 19.9k | surfer au x beach bar staff | S, F

⚡Quidditch (what do you mean it’s not a real sport?! 👀)

Do You Want Me (Dead?) @/gukyi - one shot | 11k | advice column, enemies to lovers, hogwarts au | F 

New Romantics @cupofteaguk​​ - one shot | 24k | enemies to lovers, hogwarts au, fratboy (sort of), slow burn | F, A  

Also, there are probably more great fics that I’ve probably missed and this list is definitely not exhaustive. I only included ones I’ve read but if there are new sports-related fics I haven’t read yet, apologies if I fail to include your fic. My memory for some fics are also murky and I am definitely not sporty 😅 so maybe I got the wrong sport tagged (in this case, let me know). Enjoy Jock JK! 🎯

🌷 posted: 2021 Feb 11

🌷 updated: 2021 April 19 (new fics are highlighted)

🌷 I love to read so feel free to recommend a fic =)

[leia505]

The Sunrise and Your Sins | Tetsurou Kuroo x Reader (street racing AU)

This fic takes place in the same universe as “deciphered” by @hoeneymilktea​! Here is the link to the car visuals and spotify playlist, as well as AO3 where the fic is also posted if you prefer to read on there. 

Huge shoutout to @aikk00​ for creating the fan art that inspired both this story and “deciphered”. 

And another shoutout to @hoeneymilktea​ for pushing me to write this fic, if you’re here from deciphered I hope you enjoy this addition to the deciphered universe! 

Pairing: Tetsurou Kuroo x Reader

Rating: Explicit, NSFW(later chapters)  

Word Count: 10k

Tags: Street Racing, Alternate Universe - Car Racing, Inspired by Fanart, References to Drugs, Aged-Up Character(s), Original Character(s), Inspired by The Fast and the Furious, Inspired by Tokyo Drift, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Mystery, Drama & Romance, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Summary: Being a mob boss’s daughter had always been a dangerous life, but Tetsurou Kuroo—street racer and mob henchman—made it all seem easy. Although the mutual attraction between you two was undeniable, the darkness that encompassed your family took precedence over your love. Surrounded by lies and deception, you and Kuroo must work together to uncover the truth of your brother’s death and your father’s shady business.

“Hey there kitten.”

“Is that really how you want to talk to a yakuza boss’ daughter?”

“It’s not like your old man’s here to listen.” Kuroo says, pulling up a chair to sit close to you. You turned your head to stare him in the eyes as he smirked at you.

“You think a man like my father doesn’t have his own office wired?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

Kuroo chuckles nervously, looking around your dad’s office. Just some harmless flirting boss. Nothing to worry about here.” He says loudly, turning to you with a wink. You can’t help but smile, you’ve always enjoyed the times Kuroo came to see your father. You weren’t going to try to deny the fact you found him attractive, but there’s no way your father would allow it. A mafia princess and a drug smuggler? What a cliché.

Your father’s sudden entrance startles you both, and Kuroo instinctively stands up to bow. You remain seated, knowing that the power he held over this city applied to everyone but you.

“Hello father.” You greet your dad as he sits in his office chair at the front of the room. He definitely has a demanding presence, which is to be expected from the man who has the Tokyo underground in his pocket. Kuroo had power, and definitely had some authority, but he was a guppy compared to your father.

“Sit, Tetsurou.” Your father says, motioning for Kuroo to take a seat. He quickly sits down in his chair, attentively looking at the mafia boss for further instructions.

“So, as you could probably guess, I have another job for you.” He says, pulling a file out from the locked cabinet of his desk. He laid the file open in front of him and turned to Kuroo. “There will be a shipping container coming in this Friday from Cuba. I’m going to need a team of your best racers to get it from point A, the ports, to point B, headquarters.” He explains, motioning for Kuroo to stand next to him to look over the details.

“Seems easy enough, standard job.” Kuroo says, studying the papers in front of him. At this moment, you can’t help but wonder to yourself why exactly you’re there.

“Exactly. Nothing new, just the same old.” Your dad agrees. “However, this is a bigger job. And we do have some eyes watching us nowadays. So what I need from you is to take the lead and choose your team. Approved by me, of course.” He says, motioning for Kuroo to take his seat again.

“How many people are we talking?” Kuroo asks.

“You, maybe two others. And your colleague, Snake Eyes, taking the lead on logistics.” Your father explains, leaning back in his chair. “Snake Eyes will be essential to this one, we need eyes and ears on the route. The less run-ins with the authorities, the better.”

‘Snake Eyes.’ You thought to yourself. ‘Isn’t that Kenma? The nerdy looking mechanic?’

“I’ll let Kozume know.” Kuroo says, nodding. “I think Oikawa and Shinsuke would be a good fit for this one. Fast, experienced, trustworthy.”

“Oikawa…he’s the one that calls himself Cypher correct?” You father questions.

“Yes sir, head of Seijoh Brawlers. Shinsuke goes by Sly Fox, head of Inarizaki Bois.”

Your dad let out a hearty chuckle, startling both of you. “You kids and your code names. You would think you’re playing spy.” Kuroo nervously chuckled in agreement.

“No playing here sir, we’re all in.” Kuroo says, giving him a confident grin.

“That’s what I like to hear, Tetsurou. With that attitude, you’ll fit right in at the grown-up table.” Your father says, getting up from his chair. You roll your eyes, bored of the conversation between the two criminals. 

“Why am I here?” You ask, causing both of them to turn to you as if they just realized you were there. You rarely sat in on your father’s meetings, so you were confused from the start as to what your purpose was.

“Oh sweetheart! I almost forgot, Kuroo has a present for you.” Your father says brightly, waving his arms at you, motioning for you to follow Kuroo out the door.

You peered your eyes at Kuroo suspiciously as he smirked at you. You continued to follow him out the door of your family’s Tokyo home, with your father following behind you.

As the three of you exit the house, your eyes fall on a bright pink car, with a giant white ribbon tied around the hood.

“Is that-“You begin saying, quickening your pace to get closer to this absolute beauty.

“A Honda S2000? Yes, yes, it is.” Kuroo says, leaning against his car, a cherry red Nissan Veilside 350Z. He holds up a pair of car keys, which he tosses to you.

“It’s mine?!” You exclaim. You turn to your dad, who smiles warmly at you.

“A gift, from the Nekoma crew to our family. Me and your mother have enough cars, so I figured you could claim this one.” He explains, chuckling.

“Thank you!” You wrap your arms around him, embracing your father in a hug. He tightly hugs you back, the same way he always has. You turn towards Kuroo. “And thank you, you and the whole Nekoma crew. How’d you know I wanted pink?”

Kuroo shrugs. “I just guessed. Seemed like your color.” He says, winking at you. He slyly opens his car door, climbing in. “Thursday night, I’ll bring the team?” He asks, turning towards your dad.

“Yes, and make sure they bring their cars as well. I need to see for myself what type of speed we’re working with.” Your dad says, switching into business mode seamlessly.

Kuroo lets out a laugh, closing his car door and rolling his window down. “I can promise you sir, the one thing we will surely not be lacking is speed.” He says, revving his engine, speeding out of the driveway and down the dark street. The roar of his engine could be heard long after he disappeared from our sight, breaking the silence of the upper-class neighborhood he sped through.

“Sweetheart, Tetsurou and his boys are here if you’d like to sit in on the meeting.” Your father says, peeking his head into your room. 

“I’ll be right down dad.” You reply, getting up from your bed. You heard their cars coming from miles away, so you were already prepared to meet them downstairs. You were curious as to why your father suddenly invited you to sit in on his business meetings, he never really allowed you to take part in your family’s activities. Nevertheless, you were glad you finally had something to keep you entertained while locked away in your home. 

As you walked down the stairs, you heard Kuroo’s voice speaking to his friends, and you were caught off guard by how mature he sounded. He must have known you and your father were coming down the stairs, so he put his big boy voice on to impress your father. 

“Hi.” you say shortly, causing all of them to turn their heads to you. You finally got a good look at all of them, and they were all exactly what you’d expect street racers to look like. Piercings, tattoos, just a bunch of tough looking guys with skeptical faces as they looked up at you. 

“Is this the one you keep bringing up?” a guy with shoulder length bleached blonde hair asks, turning to Kuroo. His voice was soft, almost a whisper. It was a drastic change from Kuroo’s deep, commanding voice. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Kuroo says, awkwardly clearing his throat, tugging at his collar as he avoided your gaze.

“Hola mami.” The brunette one says to you, shooting you a devilish smirk as you descend further down the stairs. 

“The fuck is wrong with this one?” You ask Kuroo, opting to stand next to him. You tilt your head towards the brunette guy, who was still staring at you like a luxury car. 

“He lived in Argentina for a few years and now he’s just...like that.” Kuroo says. “You kind of get used to it. He also doesn’t care that no one but him knows Spanish.” 

“Tetsurou! Glad you all made it here in one piece. Shall we move this to my office?” Your father says, waving his arm down the hall to the large double doors that lead to his office, the space where all meetings, illegal or otherwise, were held. 

The five of you made room for your father to lead and followed him down the hall. You were keenly aware of the fact Kuroo stood almost directly behind you, mainly because the smell of his cologne was too strong to ignore. Kuroo was just like that, a presence you couldn’t seem to get out of your head. 

Upon entering the office, you choose to take your usual spot on the comfortable sofa chair you put in your dad’s office over a decade ago. When you were younger, more naive to the truth to your father’s business and your family’s wealth, you frequently accompanied your father in his office on long work nights, falling asleep in the chair that was kept out of the way to keep others from taking your special spot. That’s always how your dad was, making sure to accommodate you. Anything for the princess. 

“So!” Your father announces, clapping his hands together, causing you and the blonde one to jump slightly. “Don’t be shy, introduce yourselves.” You roll your eyes at him, thinking that he sounded more like a grade school teacher than a yakuza boss with hundreds of skeletons in the closet. 

The 4 men stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, not knowing how to start. Everyone except the silver haired guy wore a bomber jacket, with names printed on the back. The brunette wearing a white bomber jacket spoke first. You noticed the teal lettering on his jacket that read ‘CYPHER’. 

“Tooru Oikawa, sir. Cypher.” He says, bowing at your dad. 

“Uh, Kenma Kozume. People call me Snake Eyes sometimes.” the bleach blonde spoke next, his voice quiet and skeptical. 

“Kita Shinsuke, aka Sly Fox.” The silver haired guy in the plain black hoodie says, giving your father a slight head nod. 

“And obviously you know me.” Kuroo says. He turns to face you, flashing his signature grin. “Your turn.” 

“(y/n).” you introduce yourself, giving them a small wave. “If you haven’t figured out who I am then you’re pretty slow.” 

“My daughter, everyone. Excuse the attitude.” your father remarks, shaking his head at you. “So, I assume you filled them in on the details?” 

“Yes sir, they’ve all been filled in on the job. Kenma running point on logistics, the control tower of the team. The three of us running the cargo from the ports to the warehouse. Basic rules, don’t be dumb, and don’t get caught.” Kuroo says. The other men looked at him, nodding slightly in agreement. 

“Excellent, I knew I could count on you to take the lead here. Keep this up and you may find some more jobs like this in your future.” Your father gets up from his chair, pulling more files from his cabinet. He hands each of the men their own file, which they all take and begin looking over. “You’ll find all the smaller details in there, as well as numbers to contact in case you run into trouble. You’ll also find a receipt, with your pay for this job highlighted. I hope you find it accommodating to your work.” He says, studying each of them as they flip through the files. 

“Definitely accommodating.” Kita comments, nodding his head as he peers down at the file. You begin to wonder when you’ll be able to see the fine tuned details, to truly see everything your father does in a day. So much of who he is still remained a mystery to you, and perhaps you found some comfort in your own ignorance. 

“Thank you sir, our teams greatly appreciate your contributions.” Kuroo says, bowing once again to your father. 

“It’s really no problem, after all, who doesn’t like a good street race.” Your father says with a smile. “And, in a way, I feel as though keeping your teams afloat helps me remember my son.” 

“You have a son?” Oikawa asks, looking up. 

“Had a son, yes.” Your father replied sadly. You winced, not expecting to have to relive these memories. “He passed in a racing accident. It was a few years ago. I think it was before your kids’ time.” 

“If you don’t mind me asking, what was his name? Or, what team was he on?” Kenma asks. 

“Keishin. He used the last name Ukai when he raced, to get away from our family name. I believe he raced for Karasuno?” Your dad says, bringing up more and more painful memories. 

“Karasuno Killers? They’re getting back on the scene nowadays. I remember someone talking about how they stopped coming to races a while back, but they just recently started racing again because they have a whole new team.” Kuroo says. 

“Really? Well, I might just have to come watch a race one of these days. For old times sake.” 

‘Old times sake my ass.’ you thought to yourself, knowing the truth about your father and your deceased brother’s relationship. Your father hated racing, and resented your brother for choosing Karasuno over the Sakanoshita name. At the time of your brother’s death, you couldn’t help but wonder if your father was truly upset, or if he was putting on another facade, the same way he was now. 

“Well, speaking of races, you wanted to see our cars, right?” Oikawa says, clearly trying to redirect this depressing conversation. 

“Oh yes, of course! I want to see for myself what you’re all going to be working with tomorrow.” Your father says, walking out of his office towards the front of the home. 

Outside, there were 3 cars parked in the driveway. You recognized the models, and you could guess which cars were Oikawa and Kita’s just from the colorways, white and black, just like their outfits. 

“Mi amor.” Oikawa says, looking at his car. “Mazda RX-7 Veilside Fortune. ‘97.” 

“He would marry his car if he could.” Kuroo comments, tilting his head towards you. You laugh, looking up at him. 

“Nissan Silvia. 2002.” Kita says, walking up to his car and opening the door. The smell of smoke was strong, and he grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the middle console. “Mind if I smoke?” Your father nods, and Kita proceeds to light one and take a puff. 

“Kenma, no car?” Your father asks, turning towards him. Kenma seems caught off guard by the sound of his own name. 

“Uh, no sir, not tonight. I have cars, but I don’t drive all that often. I don’t see the point in risking my investments.” He says, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Yeah, he’d rather be in the passenger seat with me driving and risking my car.” Kuroo says, playfully shoving Kenma’s shoulder. 

“That reminds me, I have a proposal for you Kuroo.” Your father says, getting everyone's attention. “Would you be willing to let (y/n) ride with you on this job?”

“Excuse me?” You say, interrupting the conversation. “Why am I going? You never let me go anywhere, but suddenly I’m running drugs for you?” You raise an eyebrow at him and cross your arms across your chest. 

“Well, sweetheart, I figured it was time.” Your father says, taking a step closer to stand in front of you. “I was around your age when your grandfather started allowing me to learn the ropes of our family’s business. You are the only one who can continue the Sakanoshita name. I think this is a good first job for you.” 

“For the record, it's no problem. She can ride with me. I promise she’ll be safe.” Kuroo says, inserting himself into the conversation between you and your father. 

“So, does this mean I finally have something to do? I can start leaving the house again?” You ask, hopeful that this decision from your father will mean more freedom. Things haven’t been the same since Keishin died, and your father kept you under a microscope, claiming it was for your safety. 

“We can talk about new safety rules after this job. Deal?” He asks, holding his hand out for you to shake. 

“Deal.” You say, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. 

“Looks like the princess is growing up.” Kuroo comments, smirking at you. 

“Hope we don’t scare her too much.” Kita says jokingly. 

You scoffed at him, excitement growing inside of you as you realized this will be the start of you growing into a leadership position in the Sakanoshita family, becoming the face of this giant organization that ruled the Tokyo underground. “Nothing scares me.” 

You stared at yourself in the mirror, trying to get your head together before the job. ‘What does a person bring to a drug smuggling? What does someone wear? Fucking jeans?’

‘No.’ you thought to yourself, grabbing a pair of leggings. What if you needed to run? Well then you need sneakers too. And a warm jacket, just in case. Do you bring a phone charger? Would it be weird to ask Kuroo to plug your phone in while you’re smuggling drugs together? 

“What the fuck am I doing.” You say out loud to yourself, beginning to question your own sanity. You let out a deep sigh, trying to clear your head. 

You eventually decide on leggings, sneakers, and a cross body fanny pack to hold your phone and smaller things. Before exiting your room, you hesitate. 

You make your way to your bedside table, opening the drawer and reaching to the back, pulling out a small handgun. You take it out, along with a note that was tucked underneath it. 

‘Stay safe. -Keishin’

This was a gift from your brother, before he passed. You kept it close by, both as protection and a heavy reminder. Your family name carried a lot of weight, which the both of you felt smothered by. You both understood the dark side of the luxury you lived with, saw the blood that stained your family’s money. But now, with him gone, it all fell on you. Everything depended on you. 

You make the decision to take it along with you, holstering it to your thigh. ‘Better safe than sorry’, you thought to yourself. A regular night could turn deadly in an instant, something that you were very familiar with given the way your brother passed. 

You exit your room and descend down the stairs, walking out the front door to where everyone was waiting with their cars. Oikawa was busy on his phone, and Kita was further away smoking a cigarette. Your father stood with Kuroo, most likely discussing the job. 

“Where’s Kenma?” You question, walking up to stand with Kuroo and your dad. 

“He’s back at the garage. Don’t worry, he has eyes and ears at us at all times.” Kuroo says, pointing at the earpiece he wore. “Here, one for you as well.” He hands you an ear piece, which you put in, immediately hearing the sounds of a video game, most likely from Kenma. 

“Are you ready?” Your father asks, turning towards you. You nod in response, and he looks over you, stopping and furrowing his eyebrows when he sees your gun. “Is a gun really necessary?”

“Keishin would have wanted me to bring it. Better safe than sorry, like he used to say.” You say, knowing that bringing up your brother was the easiest way to get your father to comply with whatever it was that you were doing. 

He nods, giving you a sad smile.  “You’re right. He was always the cautious one.” 

“The smart one too.” You say, smiling nostalgically. “Are we all ready to go?” You ask, turning to Kuroo. 

“Yup, all set.” He replies, swinging the passenger car door open for you. “I’ll have Snake Eyes let you know when we reach the ports, and again at the warehouse.” He says, turning to your father. 

“Perfect.” Your father says. He turns to look at you once more, then back at Kuroo. “Bring her back in one piece.” He says, holding out his hand. 

“You can count on me, sir.” He says, giving your father a firm handshake. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, the business your family was involved in was always so masculine, so formal. It was something you would have to adjust to when you begin taking part in it. 

Kuroo closed your car door and nodded to the other two racers, who immediately got into their cars, turning their engines one. He climbs into the driver’s seat of his car, turning the key in the ignition, the loud roar of the engine startling you. He chuckles, realizing he made you jump. 

“Mic check. Roll call.” You hear Kenma say in your ear. 

“Tap once to speak, twice to mute.” Kuroo says, pointing to the earpiece. He taps once, and speaks. “DK here, with Princess in the passenger seat.” He says, grinning at you. 

“Ew, keep it PG-13 dude.” Kenma says, making you laugh. 

“Cypher, ready to roll.” You hear Oikawa say. 

“Sly fox.” Kita says shortly. 

“And Snake Eyes. Ready when you guys are. All clear on the short route to the ports, I’ll let you know if that changes. Stay safe everyone.” Kenma says, muting himself. 

“Alright, we all know the route, I’ll take the lead, Sly Fox you take rear. You already know the rules, don’t be stupid, and don’t get caught. I’ll check back in when we’re 5 away from the ports.” Kuroo says, taking the parking brake off and switching gears, the car beginning to move. 

Everyone mutes themselves and begins driving off, away from your wealthy neighborhood and towards the city’s industrial district. The Tokyo skyline was in your rear view mirror, and your heart beat faster and faster as you went further away from your home, the place that you’ve been stuck in for years now. 

“You don’t get out much do you?” Kuroo asks, breaking the silence. 

“Not really, no. My father doesn’t allow me to go many places now, ever since my brother died. He says it’s too risky, which I think is bullshit.” You say, shrugging your shoulders. 

Kuroo laughs. “I knew you weren’t just some obedient princess. Look at you, all rebellious.” 

“I’d be more rebellious if I were able to do anything. This...is my first time out of the house in 6 months. The last time was just for the dentist.” You say, awkwardly laughing at yourself. 

“Well, then we better make the most of it, right?” Kuroo says, switching gears, now going 105 km/h on the expressway. 

“Kuroo what if we get pulled over?” You ask nervously, knowing the risks he was taking just to show off. 

“Relax, (y/n), I know what I’m doing.” Kuroo says, flashing his signature grin at you. Everything about him drew you in, made you want to keep looking, to reach out and know him as more than just your father’s employee. 

“Kuroo, stop showing off. Just because there’s a pretty girl in the car doesn’t mean that you get to be cocky.” Kenma says in your ear, catching you both off guard. 

“Alright alright, take it easy Snake Eyes.” Kuroo says, tapping his ear piece once, then double tapping again to mute. He begins slowing the car down to 80 km/h. 

You let out a small giggle, looking over at him. “You think I’m pretty?” You say in a mocking tone, leaning in closer to him. 

“I think you’re beautiful.” He says in a serious tone, catching you completely off guard. You begin to slowly back away from him, retreating back into your seat. 

“What?” You ask, not sure if you heard him right. 

“You’re beautiful. I’ve always thought so. As a matter of fact, if it wasn’t for my extremely deep fear of your father, I’d want to take you out on a date.” He says, laughing. 

You laugh as well, suddenly a little sad about what he said. “Yeah, that’s too bad. I would’ve said yes.” You say, turning your face to give him a sad smile. 

He smirks at you, but his eyes drooped, giving them a sad, tired look. “Would’ve been a great first date.” 

After that exchange, you both remained quiet, lost in thought of what could have been. Thinking of the undeniable chemistry that drew the two of you together, but also the forces at play that kept you from colliding. What could have been, if circumstances were different, if the two of you were different. Normal. 

“Can I ask you something?” You ask him, breaking the silence that had fallen between the two of you. 

“Of course.” 

“What would you be, if you weren’t racing and working for my dad? Who would you be?” You were genuinely curious, because all you ever knew about Kuroo was that he was dealing before getting pulled into the Sakanoshita business, and that he raced with Nekoma. 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He says, a smile growing on his face. 

“Try me.” 

“Well, I would be a student. Right before I got recruited by your family, I was in college. Chemistry major.” He says, peering over at you. 

“Chemistry?!” You ask, surprised by his answer. “You’re a science nerd?” 

“I mean, I wouldn’t say a nerd.” He says, laughing at your reaction. “In my senior year, I ran out of money. So, I started dealing. It wasn’t anything serious, but I guess I was pretty good at it. I ended up on your dad’s radar, and he took me in as a transporter and dealer. And so, here I am. No degree, but hey, I have a nice car.” 

“I’m sorry.” You say, almost out of instinct. It felt like the only right thing to say, even if it wasn’t something that was expected. 

“Sorry for what? Your dad giving me a job?” 

“You never got to graduate.” After saying this, it seems as though Kuroo realizes it as well, that he never got to finish school. “You were so close, but you got stuck with my family. I’m sorry you didn’t get to finish your schooling.” You say, meaning every word. You were sorry, and you couldn’t help the guilt you felt. After all, it was your family that pulled him into this world.

Kuroo stays silent for a few more moments, thinking over what you just said. He appears to snap out of it, switching back to his usual easy going, casual self. “Nothing to be sorry for, princess. Without your dad recruiting me, I would just be a broke bum with a lame car and no money to my name. Besides, I can go back and finish things up someday. But for right now, I’m exactly where I want to be.” He looks over at you and winks, making you laugh. “What about you? Where would the yakuza princess be if she wasn’t a mob boss in training?” 

You paused, not knowing how to answer. “I actually don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it, because there really isn’t a future for me outside of the family business.” You say, unable to hide the disappointment in your voice. 

Kuroo frowned, thinking of a response. “Well, hypothetically, what would you be doing? Let’s say, in an alternate universe, where we’re just normal people, living normal, legal lives. What would (y/n) be?” 

“A teacher.” You say proudly, without hesitation. “Or a professor. Definitely education.” 

“A teacher?!” Kuroo asks, laughing. “How do you go from yakuza boss to teacher?” 

You laugh, realizing just how ridiculous it sounds. “What, you said normal! If I had a choice to be normal, I’d want to be a teacher, in a small town. I think I’d be a good teacher!” You say, defending your choice. 

“Okay, okay. I guess I can see you as a teacher.” Kuroo says, still grinning from ear to ear. “But, the hot teacher. With a gang tattoo.” He says, referencing the giant koi fish tattoo you have on your shoulder. 

“No!” you exclaimed, laughing loudly with him. “I want to be the generic teacher, with cardigans and sensible shoes and house cats to come home to. I’d grade papers and mentor kids, and just be free to be as boring as I want to be.” 

“Y’know, maybe I can see it.” Kuroo says, smiling at you. You couldn’t ignore the butterflies in your stomach every time he gave you that smile, the kind of smile that made your day so much better by simply existing. “Maybe someday we can be boring together.” 

The profound silence that followed that sentence spoke volumes to the both of you, almost as a silent prayer to the universe, begging for a chance to be boring together. However, that silence was broken by Kenma in your ear, bringing you both back to the reality you both began to dread.

“5 minutes out, turn your headlights off.” 

“Going dark. Thanks Snake Eyes.” You hear Kita say. Kuroo flicks his lights off, leaving only the street lamps to light the way. 

“What container should we be looking for?” Oikawa asks. 

Kuroo replies, reading out a series of letters and numbers. “The boss gave me an idea of where to go, I think we’ll have to get out to look around though. Snake Eyes, you got eyes on the port? Any trouble?” 

“Nope, all clear. Limited street lamps though, you may need a car for some light.” 

“Got it. I’ll let you know when we find the container. Let us know if anything suspicious catches your eye.” Kuroo says, muting himself once again. As you enter the industrial port, Kuroo begins taking a series of turns, leading you deep into the maze of containers. The further you got, the number of street lamps began rapidly decreasing, and you became very familiar with the reason why it’s called shady business. 

Kuroo flicked his lights on, and you kept an eye out for the shipping container, or at least one that was close to the number you were looking for. 

“I think I got something.” You hear Kita say, flashing his lights behind you, to signal for everyone to stop. Kuroo turns around, putting his car in park and leaving the lights on, pointing at a shipping container with the exact identification numbers you were looking for. 

“Nice work Sly Fox.” Kuroo says, patting him on the back. You stood close by the car as the three men approached the container, Kuroo pulling a key out of his pocket and unlocking the giant lock that secured the container. 

As he swung open the door to the container, the scent was strong, but familiar. It smelled like… 

“Tobacco?” You ask, walking closer to the container. 

“Cuban cigars.” Kita says, laughing as he walked further into the container. 

“Hey Snake Eyes, let the boss know we’re in the container. 30 bricks right?” Kuroo asks into his ear piece. 

 “I’ll let him know. And yes, 30 exactly. He left a note in the file that said you may have to look around a bit for the cargo. Also, Sly Fox, don’t take any cigars.” Kenma says, right as Kita was stuffing a handful of cigars into his pocket. Kita reluctantly returns them to the pile they were taken from. 

“Got it, 30 pieces of cargo. We’ll make contact again once they’ve been located.” Kuroo says, tapping his ear piece twice. “Okay, 30 bricks. Let’s start from the back and make our way out, whenever you find one, take it straight out to my car. Princess, you’re the look out.” 

“Why do I have to be the look out?” You protest. 

“You can’t reach the top of the containers, chica.” Oikawa points out, putting his hand on one of the shipping boxes that towered over you. Kuroo snickered, walking up to you. 

“Just stay outside, kitten. Let us know if there’s any big bad guys coming?” Kuroo says, putting his arm around you and walking you outside. 

You rolled your eyes and shrugged his arm off. “Whatever, just hurry up, it’s freezing out here.” 

You stand outside, staring out to the distant city lights, listening to the quiet waves that lapped against the side of the port. Kuroo came and went, bringing cigar boxes filled with cocaine out to his car. 

After the 12th box, he noticed you were crouched down with your arms tucked into your jacket, the arms of your jacket swinging in the breeze. He laughs, walking up to you. 

“Cold?” He asks, looking down at you. 

“Maybe.” You answered through chattering teeth. You stand up, looking up at him. He towered over you, meaning you had to crane your neck in order to meet his gaze. 

“Here.” He says, taking the red bomber jacket off his body and wrapping it around you, using it as an opportunity to pull you closer to him. “Your dad might slice my head off if you catch a cold.” He whispers into your ear, making you laugh. 

“How’re we doing guys?” Kenma asks through the ear piece.

“A little under halfway done. Anything we should be worried about?” Kuroo says. 

“Nope, still all clear. Just let me know when you’re done and heading out.” Kenma says, muting himself. 

“Back to work.” Kuroo says, pulling you in tighter for a moment before letting you go. You stood there, warm under his jacket, wrapped up in the lingering scent of his cologne that remained. You wanted to freeze time, to live in this moment of calm, feeling protected just by the residual presence of Kuroo. 

They continued on, carrying cigar boxes out of the container and into Kuroo’s trunk. Every once in a while you’d hear hushed conversations from inside the container, too quiet for you to hear. 

“This is the last of it.” Oikawa says, walking out of the container with Kuroo. They each had 4 boxes in their hands, which they placed in the back of Kuroo’s car. 

“Ready to go?” Kita says, popping up next to you out of nowhere, causing you to jump. 

“Jesus, where did you even come from?” You ask, startled by his sudden appearance. 

Kita smirks, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “They don’t call me sly fox for nothing.” He says, walking back to his car. Kuroo was busy closing up the container, securing it and making it appear as if we were never there. Oikawa was leaning over the trunk of Kuroo’s car, arranging the boxes of drugs underneath a spare blanket. 

“Snake Eyes, you there?” Kuroo asks, walking back to the car. 

“Yup, all ready to go?” Kenma responds. 

“Ready when you are.” Kuroo says, walking over to your car door and holding it open for you. You climb in, ready to get out of the cold. Kuroo closes the door, and continues to talk to Kenma through his ear piece. You figured out that Kenma had made it so their communications wouldn’t be heard through your ear piece. You couldn’t make out exactly what they’re saying, but you assumed it’s some info about the drive to the warehouse. 

You watch as Kuroo leans in to tell Oikawa something, which he nods in agreeance to before walking back to his car and getting in. Kuroo then walks around to his side of the car, turning it on and beginning to pull out of the dark alleyway of the port. 

“Ready to roll, princess?” He asks, turning to flash you a grin. 

“The faster the better.” You say jokingly. He laughs, revving his engine loudly. 

“Careful what you wish for.” He says, speeding up as the three cars leave the port and enter the expressway. 

“DK, stop showing off.” You hear Oikawa say through the ear piece. 

Kuroo rolls his eyes, taking his foot off the gas to slow down. “Buzzkill.” He mutters under his breath. 

You rode in silence together, heading towards the warehouse your father owns. The warehouse was a front, being used as storage for the goods your father exported in his legal business. For the illegal business, it was used as a storage and distribution center for the underground dealings. 

“DK, we have a problem.” Kenma says. 

“Talk to me Snake Eyes.” 

“We’ve got some cops heading your way. The boss texted saying someone may have tipped them off to tonight’s job. Apparently the king of Tokyo has some enemies.” 

“That’s one way to put it.” You mutter to yourself. Your father had more enemies than allies, meaning that there was a constant target on the backs of every member of the family. It’s no surprise that something went wrong tonight. 

“Which way are they coming from?” Kuroo asks. 

“West. I think they’re gonna intercept you soon. At least 2 cars, and I’m pretty sure they’re looking for you.” 

“Shit.” Kuroo whispers to himself. “Cypher, Sly Fox, you there?” 

“Heard it all, DK. What’s the next move?” Cypher asks. 

“Sly Fox, take the lead. Take the back route, go straight to the warehouse, fast as you can. Cypher, take the rear behind Sly Fox, if you run into any trouble you’re the diversion. Got it?” Kuroo says, his voice taking on a new tone of authority. 

“Roger that. When should we check in with you?” Sly Fox asks. 

“I’ll make contact when we’re free. Just get in touch with Snake Eyes when the delivery is made.” 

“And (y/n)?” Kita asks. Kuroo turned toward you with an expression of deep thought on his face. 

“She’ll stay with me. We’ll be fine.” Kuroo says firmly, turning his eyes back to the road. You weren’t sure why, but you trusted him. Given the circumstances, you probably shouldn’t, but some part of you just impulsively put all your faith in him, trusting that being in his car was the best place for you to be.

You hear Oikawa chuckle. “Have fun princesa. I hope DK doesn’t scare you away.” 

“Shut your mouth, amigo.” Kuroo says mockingly. “I’ll see you both later. Be safe.” He says, muting himself. 

You look behind you to see Kita’s car already in front of Oikawa’s, and you see them both exit off of the expressway, their engines revving as they sped off, out of sight. 

“Maybe I’m pointing out the obvious, but aren’t you the one with the delivery to make?” You say, growing worried by Kuroo’s plan. 

“Don’t worry about it princess. Just trust me.” Kuroo says, revving his engine loudly, rapidly increasing speed. 

“You have 20 bricks of cocaine in your trunk and you’re telling me not to worry?!” You exclaim, turning your body to face him. 

“Or do I?” He asks, glancing over and smirking at you. This question caught you off guard, making you wonder if this guy was crazy or stupid, or both. 

“On your left!” You hear Kenma say, moments before two police cars appeared behind you two, struggling to keep up with Kuroo’s speed. 

You slumped back in your seat, trying to find it in yourself to trust Kuroo. The police sirens grew louder and the red and blue flashing lights started to draw closer, but somehow, Kuroo remained calm, not even bothering to increase speed. 

Your heart raced as the police cars began getting closer and closer, nearly pulling up right beside you. 

“Hey princess, ever wondered what DK stood for?” Kuroo asks calmly.

“Fucking Donkey Kong?!” You yell at him, having no patience for his games. 

He laughed at your stressed demeanor, throwing his head back and shaking his head. “Nope. Not even close.” He switches gears, causing the car to slow down quickly and making the cops draw far ahead of you. He veers off to the side, seemingly to take the ramp that curved to exit the freeway. Suddenly, he speeds up yet again, turning his wheel suddenly as the car begins drifting on it’s side. 

“Drift King.” He says with a smirk. The car drifted down the ramp, screeching as Kuroo pulled the emergency brake up and maneuvered the steering wheel to keep it steady. You were familiar with drifting, due to the fact your brother was involved in street racing before his death. You knew that it was something that only experienced drivers could do, and it took a certain level of skill and a lot of practice to perfect. You realized that this meant Kuroo was a skilled driver, far more skilled than you realized. No wonder they called him Drift King. 

By the time the two of you reached the end of the ramp and began racing down the industrial district street, the cops just began heading down the ramp, trying their hardest to keep up. 

The chase continued on for several blocks, Kuroo barely breaking a sweat. It seemed as though this wasn’t his first chase. After some time, Kenma’s voice comes through on the ear piece. 

“Hey DK, you may want to end this chase. They’re calling for backup soon.” 

“Got it, I’ll pull over now. Thanks Snake Eyes.” Kuroo replies, beginning to slow down. 

“Pull over?!” You ask him. 

“Just trust me! You think I’d put you in danger?” He asks you, grinning. The car comes to a stop, and the two police cars quickly pull over as well. 

“Give me your ear piece.” Kuroo says quickly, the two police officers quickly approaching the car. You quickly hand it to him, which he shoves in the inside pocket of his jacket. 

“Sir, please exit the car. You as well, ma’am.” The officer says, shining his light in Kuroo’s car. The two of you exit the car, standing in front of the headlights. 

“Now, what in god’s name were you doing?” He asks, as the other officer begins searching the car. 

“He was just being a show off.” You say, lying on the spot. Kuroo looks surprised by your sudden statement, but plays it off, acting natural. 

“Yeah, sorry about that. Just trying to impress a pretty girl.” He says, putting his arm around you and kissing the side of your forehead. Although it was just an act, your stomach still did somersaults just with that one simple action. 

“I see.” The officer says, shining the light at your gun. “You have a license to carry that ma’am?” 

“Yes sir. Just a personal protection piece.” You say, pulling your driver’s license as well as gun registration out. You hand it to the officer, who looks it over. 

“Sakanoshita?” He asks with fake surprise, looking up at you. 

“Yes, my father. I’m sure you know him.” You say, knowing that the name Sakanoshita held a lot of clout in the city. 

“We're familiar with him.” He says shortly, handing the papers back to you. “Anything?” He asks, turning towards the other officer who was peering into the car. 

“Nothing. Mind popping the trunk?” He asks Kuroo. Your heart begins to race, knowing what they would find. Kuroo however, remained cool as a cucumber, sauntering over to the car to open the trunk. He walks back to you with a grin, standing behind you and draping his arms over your shoulders, pulling you closer to his body. You grab his hands, bracing yourself for the big reveal. 

“Now what do we have here?” The officer says, ripping the blanket off of the boxes. You close your eyes, preparing yourself for the worst. The officers pause, opening one of the boxes. 

“Cigars?” They ask. You open your eyes, looking up at Kuroo as he continues to grin at you. 

“Yes sir, we were on our way back to her place, to deliver them to her dad. You know, the infamous Mr. Sakanoshita.” Kuroo lies with ease. 

“They’re gifts, for some associates of his.” You say, joining in on the lie. “He’s hosting a little get together tomorrow. I believe your boss, the police chief, will be there. It’d be a shame if he heard you pulled over a Sakanoshita.” You knew exactly what you were doing, using your name for your own benefit. 

“I see.” He says, closing the box of cigars and putting it back down. “Just some Cuban cigars I suppose.” He closes the trunk, walking to where you and Kuroo stood. 

“And I suppose the speeding was because the old man is waiting on these cigars, huh?” The other officer says, standing next to his partner. 

“Exactly.” Kuroo says. “Not exactly the best idea to get on the bad side of your girlfriend’s father, right?” He jokes, trying to lighten the mood. 

Surprisingly, the cops laugh. “You got your work cut out for you kid. Sakanoshita is not an easy man to win over.” 

“Yeah, his daughter isn’t any easier.” Kuroo says, pulling you closer. You laugh along, wishing for this interaction to end already. 

“I’ll tell you what.” The officer says, taking a few steps closer to the two of you. The headlights from the car streaked behind him, casting a dark shadow over you and Kuroo. “You two can go ahead home, just make sure not to mention this to your dad. Or our boss. Sound good?” 

“Perfect. Have a good night you two.” You say, hurriedly pulling Kuroo back to the car. 

“Sorry for the trouble!” Kuroo calls out as the two men walk back to their patrol cars. 

Once the two of you are back in the car, you breathe deeply, staring into space. 

“You alright princess?” Kuroo asks, turning towards you. 

You snap out of it, punching him in the arm. He jumps back in pain, looking shocked at your outburst. 

“Cigars?!” You question him, unable to form a full sentence. He laughs, throwing his head back. 

“Yes, cigars. I told you I didn’t have any drugs back there, didn’t I?” he says, grinning slyly at you. 

“Then who the hell has the coke?” You ask sternly, adrenaline still pumping from that run in with the cops. 

“Think about it.” Kuroo says, turning his whole body to face you. “Where do you think the drugs are?” 

You thought about it, the entire night, all the interactions that occurred. Only one person stood out to you, which was- 

“Sly Fox.” You say, realizing the stunt that they had just pulled off. “Kita. I never would have seen him take anything to his car, he’s too sneaky. I had my back turned to his car because it was up against a container, no one could have come from over there. That’s why you had him go straight to the warehouse. It’s all in Kita’s car.”

“Well look who figured it out. Good job princess.” Kuroo says, leaning back in his seat. 

“But why take the cigars? And why not tell me the plan?” You question him, not satisfied with the answer you had come up with. 

“In case of a situation exactly like this. Insurance, in case everything went wrong. An alibi.” He says peering over at you. “And, well, I wanted to test you. See if you could take the heat.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I wanted to see how you’d handle yourself, with your back to the wall. I wanted to see if you trust me.” He says, with a small smile on his face. 

“Didn’t really give me much of a choice but whatever.” You grumble quietly. 

Kuroo laughs, looking over at you. “You did great, princess. You’ll be a mob boss in no time. I hope you’ll let me keep my job, though.” 

You let out a tired scoff, exhausted by the adrenaline rush that had come and gone. “Just- please keep me in the loop about things like this. If you can do that then maybe you can keep working for me.” 

“DK, everything good?” You hear Kenma say through the ear pieces that were still in Kuroo’s pocket. He dug them out, handing you one which you placed in your ear. 

“Yup, crisis averted. Have you heard from Sly Fox and Cypher?” Kuroo asks. 

“We’re right here boss. Delivery has been made, just waiting on your order.” You hear Kita say. 

“Meet us back at the boss’s house, me and the princess have one last loose end to tie up and then we’ll head over.” Kuroo says, starting the car. 

Kuroo heads back in the direction of the ports, and you assume it’s so that the 20 cigars could be returned to the container. Once again, the two of you ride in comfortable silence, your mind wandering as you gazed at the distant city lights. 

“What’s on your mind, princess?” Kuroo asks, bringing you back to reality.

“My brother.” You answer without hesitation. “If things were different, it’d probably be him doing this job with you. Maybe not in the passenger seat, but still. The family legacy would be his.” You felt a pit grow in your stomach, your eyes suddenly tearing up. You always had these lingering feelings of doubt, but you never realized it was because of Keishin, having to be in his shadow. No one ever bet on you, or thought you were going to be the one inheriting the empire. Regardless, you were there, because your brother wasn’t. 

“Well, no offense to the great Black Lung but I for one am glad you’re here. No one else I’d rather have in my passenger seat.” He says, giving you a sincere smile, one that you haven’t seen before. It was different from his flirtatious smirk, or his arrogant grin. It was just a simple, kind smile. 

Black Lung?” You questioned. 

“Your brother’s racing name. Y’know, like DK, Cypher, Sly Fox. He used to smoke like 6 packs a day, even more than Kita. He was kind of a big deal in the racing scene. After he passed, Karasuno didn’t race for a long time because there was no one that could replace him. They’re slowly getting back on the road, but your brother is definitely still a driver people remember.” Kuroo explains, pulling into the port once again. 

“He smoked?” You asked, trying to remember a time you saw him with a cigarette. You assumed it was because he only smoked when he was away from the house, because it was something that your father would have never approved of. You were pretty sure Keishin would’ve been disowned if he smoked or drank in front of  your father.

“Yeah, all the time. That was his whole thing. Did he not smoke around you?” Kuroo asks, eyebrows furrowed. 

“No, I guess he never smoked around our family. I don’t think my dad knew either if he only smoked when he raced.” You pause for a moment. “Do you know anything about it? The accident?” You ask, growing more and more curious about what Kuroo knew. Your brother’s death was always explained to you by members of your family, and you wondered if there was something that they didn’t know that the racers did. 

Kuroo paused, an expression of deep thought in his face. He looked as though he was trying to figure out the exact sentences he would say next. “All I’ve heard is that…there was an explosion. I think his girlfriend was near it at the time, and she got injured. That’s all I know though, no one really talks about it much because of how bad it hurt everyone. A lot of people cared about him.” 

“He had a girlfriend?” You ask, turning towards Kuroo as he puts the car in park. 

He looks at you, eyebrows furrowed. “Yeah, some chick named Saeko. I think she has a younger brother that races nowadays. I’m pretty sure she’s still a mechanic for the team.” Kuroo pauses, looking out towards the port. “Look, I don’t know too much about the accident. And I assume your dad doesn’t want you looking into it too hard. But if you do want to know more, just let me know. I’ll talk to some guys from Karasuno. Sounds good?” He asks you.

You nod in agreeance, knowing that there had to be a reason why Keishin was so secretive, and why your father is still keeping secrets about his death to this day. “Okay. If you end up talking to Saeko, could I come along? I just...I feel like I’m getting to know my brother all over again. I want to know the side of him that he hid from our family.” 

“Of course. Now c’mon, let's get these cigars back where they came from.” Kuroo says, getting out of the car and popping the trunk. You follow him, getting out and standing next to him. 

The two of you silently put the cigars back, working quickly to get the job completely finished. By the time Kuroo was closing the container door, Oikawa came through in the ear piece. 

“Hey love birds, are you heading back to the house soon?” he asks. Kuroo rolls his eyes and unmutes himself. 

“We’re heading back now from the port. Snake Eyes, you told the boss the delivery was made already, right?”

“Yup, I let him know. He’s waiting for you guys at the house.” Kenma replies. 

“Sounds good, we’ll be there soon. Cypher, Sly Fox, go ahead and start heading over now.” 

“Will do. See you soon DK.” Sly Fox says. 

“C’mon princess, let’s go home.” Kuroo says, throwing his arm over you as the two of you walk back to the car. You take the hand he had on your shoulder into your own, squeezing tightly. It was strange how natural it felt, being with Kuroo. It was almost as if it was where you belonged, with him, wrapped up in his arms. 

You climb back into the car, watching Kuroo as he starts the car and begins driving off once again. Your head was spinning trying to make sense of everything that had occurred that night, as well as processing all the new information Kuroo had told you about your brother. You knew this day had to come, when you would have to jump in head first into the world your family operated within, when you would have to fully take on the Sakanoshita name and all the responsibilities that come with it. 

As Kuroo rolls up to the driveway of your home, you see Oikawa and Kita standing outside with your father, smoke billowing from where the three of them were conversing. 

“Tetsurou! (y/n)! I was beginning to wonder when you’d be back!” Your father says, cutting another cigar and handing it to Kuroo, motioning for him to join the group. 

“Cubans? What’s the occasion?” You ask your father, standing next to Kuroo. 

“Your first job, sweetheart. And with no casualties, no arrests, a clean job deserves a little reward.” Your father says, grinning at you, holding out a cigar for you to take. 

“Dad, I don’t smoke.” You say, laughing. 

“Oh c’mon, the most powerful man in Tokyo offers you a cigar, you take the cigar.” Oikawa says, smirking and letting out another cloud of smoke. 

You roll your eyes, taking the cigar and allowing your father to light it. You thought more about the cigar as you drew the smoke in, about what it meant for you to be invited to smoke with your father. It meant that you were finally owning your family name, you were finally a true Sakanoshita. 

You stood there silently, listening as Kuroo explained to your father the decision he made to use Kita as the real transport and to make himself the emergency decoy. Your father listened as well, nodding along with an expression of deep thought on his face. 

“Great thinking Tetsurou. That is exactly why I keep you on my payroll.” Your father laughs, smacking his hand against Kuroo’s back. Kuroo laughs as well, putting on his usual submissive attitude that he uses with your father to gain his good graces. 

“Let’s just hope your daughter keeps me on when she takes over.” Kuroo jokes, nudging you with his elbow. 

“Well, I’m sure you’ve earned your place with the whole family.” Your father says, smiling at you. “Say, isn’t that Tetsurou’s jacket?” 

“Oh, yeah.” You say, realizing you still had it on. “It got cold at the ports.” 

“It’s funny. You’re starting to look more and more like him.” Your father says, eyes squinting as he smiles sadly. 

“Like who? DK?” Kita asks with a cigar hanging out of his mouth. 

“Keishin. The racing jacket, the gun. Even the smoking.” The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, remembering the conversation you had with Kuroo about your brother. Your suspicions about your father kept growing, and it became harder and harder to believe his mourning father act, the smoke and mirrors he used to deceive everyone. 

“Well, you know how much I adored him.” You say, taking another puff from your cigar. You and your father both pause, staring one another down. There was noticeable tension, but with no clear reason. Nothing more than a gut feeling. 

The staredown was cut off by Kuroo clearing his throat, getting both yours and your father’s attention. “It’s getting pretty late, we don’t want to keep the two of you from a good night’s rest.” He says, finding a way for the three racers to leave. 

“Yes, it is getting rather late. Oh! Better not forget these. Tetsurou, I put your friend’s pay for tonight with yours.” Your father says, moving away from the staircase leading up to the front door to reveal three paper bags with names on them, which you assume was full of money. 

“Thank you sir. I’ll make sure to get it to Snake Eyes.” Kuroo says, bowing to your father. Kita and Oikawa follow suit, bowing before grabbing their bags. 

“Pleasure doing business with you.” Kita says, walking back to his car. 

“See you next time boss. You too, princesa.” Oikawa says, waving to the both of you before getting into his car. 

“So, you’ll let me know when there’s another job?” Kuroo asks as Oikawa and Kita begin pulling out of the driveway. 

“Absolutely.” He nods, turning to face both of you. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I better get inside before your mother comes out here and drags me back in. Have a good night, Tetsurou.” He says, going back inside. It was once again just you and Kuroo. 

“Oh! I almost forgot.” You say, beginning to take off Kuroo’s red bomber jacket. 

“Keep it.” He says, taking a step closer to you. He places the jacket back onto your shoulders. “I’ll be back for it eventually.” 

The two of you pause, staring into each other’s eyes. It felt like a moment that you could live in forever, relishing the comfort that Kuroo gave you. 

“Thanks for having my back tonight. You sure know how to think on your feet.” Kuroo says. 

“Not like I had much of a choice.” You say, remembering the moment earlier in the night. A part of you wished it wasn’t a lie, that you and Kuroo were just two lovers out for a drive. Nothing illegal, nothing scary, just a guy with a car and the girl in the passenger seat. 

“Come here, princess.” Kuroo says, pulling you into a tight hug. Your heart skips a beat, startled by the sudden act of affection. You wrap your arms around him, feeling perfectly at home in his arms, being squeezed tightly against his body. 

“Please be careful. I don’t trust your father.” Kuroo whispers into your ear. You realize the real reason why he hugged you, so that he could tell you this message in secret. “I’ll talk to some people from Karasuno Killers and see if you can meet Keishin’s girl. He’s hiding something, (y/n).” 

“How do you know? What are you talking about?” You ask, holding him tighter. 

“(y/n), how would your father know that Keishin smoked? If he lied about that, then we don’t know what else he’s hiding.” Kuroo responds. Your breath catches in your throat, remembering what your father had said, about your sudden resemblance to Keishin. 

Racing jacket, gun, smoke. 

[yutafrita]

Under the Blue Flames- Chapter Five

"There is no blue without yellow and without orange." - Vincent Van Gogh

Pairing: Vampire!Yuta x Reader

Y/N Pronouns: She/Her

Genre: Fantasy au, Supernatural nct, sometimes college au, sometimes magical school au, angst, fluff

Chapter Word Count: 5.0K

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, violence against a main character, blood, religious references and imagery, suggestive situations

Access Previous Chapters Here

Tag List! @hope-lovelle@ygimsgw@nini0620 @kodasity​

Chapter Five

You were awake and frozen in place while you should’ve been sleeping, staring at the wall and replaying your nightmare. Yuta and Ten, while probably able to tell you were awake, didn’t move from their positions in front of the TV, most likely to give you some semblance of privacy.

The memory of the night you were abandoned was your first memory ever, and still haunts you. Yet, it wasn’t even a clear memory. Rather, it was a fragmented mess that offered no solace and just pain.

Now, the blue flames singed your brain as you thought over them again and why they would be there and who it was that was staring down at you. You had never turned around to see the figure that had loomed over you- at least, not that you could originally remember. Now though, some bits were starting to sing across your memory. The person was definitely tall, that much you could gather, and… friendly. You felt sick just thinking about it.

Most of your memories from that night were a haze after that point, until what was most likely a few days later where your father had formally adopted you and where you had first met Mark.

Mark was excited to have a sister, and even when you were terrified of everything around you, he was there to encourage you no matter what. You loved your family, nothing could ever change that, but your memory seeming to come back- albeit in broken fragments- sparked a curiosity you hadn’t felt since you were first abandoned.

Your phone started ringing at what you assumed was around noon, breaking your train of thought as you picked it up.

“Yeah?”

“Well hello to you too my darling daughter,” your Dad sounded tired, trying his best to seem chipper while being sarcastic.

“How’s it going?” you asked dryly.

“Well, the Vatican is still setting up a sacred barrier to prevent demons from leaving, so pretty good. Listen, I called because I need you to confirm somethings Mark and the night dorm told me,” he was serious now, as you heard what sounded like a clicking pen in the background. “He just said that Ten and Yuta stayed the night with him and Johnny, choosing to be in lockdown there than in the night dorm.”

“Oh, yeah, they stayed with Mark,” you sounded robotic, sitting up in bed now to see the pair staring back at you from the couch.

“Okay, they should be free from lockdown soon so they can be able to eat by tonight. I’m glad Yuta stayed with Mark, I wasn’t ready to have to threaten him,” you laughed at your father’s response, avoiding the eye contact of Yuta now.

“Love you Dad.”

“Love you too sweetie,” he hung up, leaving you fully alone with two vampires again. Checking the time on your phone, you groaned as you realized you had to go to class soon. The night students had to stay inside, but the day students who were not privy to the potential danger they were in, were attending class as if everything was normal- although, having the Vatican there certainly helped.

“That freshman’s outside again, I’m gonna go bother him,” Ten announced. Before you could object, he was out of your room and leaving you in your exhausted state with Yuta who now sat at the corner of your bed.

“You didn’t sleep,” it wasn’t a question.

“You never sleep,” it was meant to be funny, but it came out sounding bitter from your tired lips, your hands now rubbing your eyes to try and wipe away the sleepiness.

“That’s not technically true,” he replied, watching as you raised a confused eyebrow. “Well, when you’re born a vampire, and you’re still growing, you do sleep during the day. When we stop growing after our first 21 years we don’t really sleep.”

“Do you wish you could sleep?” you asked, pressing your knees to your chest now as you watched him, trying to not think too much of him being so close to you on your bed.

“For a while, I didn’t care. But, recently I do wish I could.”

“Why? I feel like I’d be able to do so much more.”

“In all these human books, they talk so much about being able to sleep with the person they love… I think that’s sort of beautiful. To be able to be in your most vulnerable state with the person you trust the most,” he confessed, looking down as he spoke as if he were embarrassed.

You were well aware of your humanity against the immortal that was Yuta, but in that moment is when it truly settled on you. He longed for sleep- something so simple to you yet such a definitive feature of living to die.

“You have class now, right?” he asked before you could add anything, his cheeks now that blue again that you realized was a vampire's blush. You nodded in response, not looking away.

“Yeah, night students are supposed to stay inside just in case since the Vatican is still doing whatever it is they're doing. Were you curious to see what a human class is like?” you were half joking, figuring he wouldn’t have that much interest. But, his eyes lit up as if he were hoping you would bring it up. “It isn’t the safest for you to be out at the moment,” you added cautiously. He pouted, an ache forming in your chest then.

“It’s not that safe for you either,” he pointed out, his hand reaching out and caressing your face.

“Don’t worry about me, the Vatican doesn’t despise my existence. I’ll be okay,” you moved away from him quickly, running to the bathroom. If you sat there a moment longer with Yuta you were sure you wouldn’t be able to go to class- instead getting lost with him.

In the bathroom, you brushed your teeth, managed your hair, and changed into whatever clothes you could. Stepping back out, Ten seemed to have returned.

“Are you done harassing my residents?” you snipped, grabbing your backpack.

“I just think he’s funny,” Ten laughed, sitting on the couch and away from Yuta, who was still on your bed.

“You’re the worst. Anyways, I think Johnny’s upstairs in Mark’s if you need someone to entertain you guys while I’m in class.”

“So you’re going to class?” Yuta’s eyes looked sad, looking between your face and your backpack.

“I have to, I’ll be back as soon as I’m done.”

“Yeah loverboy, am I not good enough?” Ten teased.

“Shut up,” Yuta growled, his fangs more prominent than before.

“Try not to kill each other,” you called as you made your way out. Walking through campus, you were looking through the crowd of students making their way towards the main buildings or cutting through to other parts of campus. In the sea of people, you made out a few older faces that you hadn’t seen before- not likely professors despite their proper dress attire and briefcases. Continuing through the main building’s gate, you quickly passed someone with the briefcase, the small emblem catching your attention. Two Keys crossed over in an X formation with the Pope’s triple crown tiara above them.

So, the Vatican was here. Running all over campus it seemed and trying to be as vaguely discreet as possible despite the additional foot traffic their presence added to the campus.

“Are you ready to present?” you asked Kun once you met him at the bench, glancing at his professional attire.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he sighed, getting up from his seat.

“You got the notes I sent you, right?” you had reviewed his lecture plans during the previous week with Yuta looking over your shoulder and asking questions while you did.

“Yeah, thanks again,” Kun smiled then.

“Do me a favor? After this, please sleep for like 24 hours,” to the naked eye, Kun looked like his normal self. But having known him since middle school like you did, you could easily tell he was exhausted- his smile wasn’t reaching his eyes, and he wasn’t even reading anything before class.

“Trust me, I plan to. Thanks,” he shoved your arm lightly then as you made your way down the hall. After wishing him good luck, you made your way to your seat next to Sicheng who scrunched his nose up when he saw you.

“Hey, Sicheng.”

“You look tired,” he noted.

“Because I am.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Eh, you could say that.”

You wanted to pay better attention to Kun’s lecture- you shot him some supportive glances whenever you could- but, it was hard to focus when your brain felt so fried. Between hardly being able to sleep and the worry you were feeling in the pit of your stomach at the thought of the growing demon population, statistics felt incredibly unimportant. From the lecture you could zone in for, you knew that Kun was overly prepared. He was able to answer any question anyone could have before they asked, and he was enthusiastic to do so. You were proud of him, and rushing out of class to make it to your next class you made a mental note to text him as much.

Sitting in your international studies lecture, you dug through your backpack to get your phone but quickly retracted your hand.

“God dammit,” you muttered, a small burning sensation dancing on the tips of your fingers as they made contact with whatever spilled liquid was in your backpack. Looking inside, you realized the cap of your holy water was unscrewed a bit. Not thinking much of it, you screwed the cap back on correctly- ignoring the weird feeling, and grabbed your phone to text Kun before your lecture started.

***

“So tomorrow, it’s back to regular scheduling?” you clarified, closing the lecture hall you just checked behind you.

“Yes, although, movement off campus from the mythics is to be heavily monitored to ensure their safety,” Taeyeon had found you and Mark doing hall checks, and relayed the message that the Vatican had completed their demon barrier of the campus.

“Are they going to at least stay close? Campus may be safe, but it’s weird that demons are here anyways,” Mark sounded as tired as you did, hardly even glancing into the classrooms now.

“From what the President told me, a few members will be close by,” Taeyeon didn’t sound too excited about it, and fiddled with the clipboard in her hands.

“Better than nothing I guess,” you felt slightly defeated- demons were still lurking and the best that could be done was to have a somewhat safe parameter.

“That’s one way to look at it. Oh, he also wanted you to have these,” she shoved her hand into the pocket of her cardigan, pulling out two black stones. “Onyx. He says it should help ward off any potential demons since you two seem to be attracting them.” She placed one into each of your hands before excusing herself and shuffling out of the main building.

“Dad must be really worried if he’s busting out the crystals,” Mark pointed. You shoved it into your backpack, and quietly finished the checks of the building before heading out and towards the dorm together.

“I wonder what they’ve been up to,” you wondered out loud, matching your brother’s pace.

“Ten and Johnny? Probably making a mess while Yuta laughs in the corner egging them on.”

“Yeah, definitely an interesting group.”

“The three of them are bounded so they’ve always been kind of close,” Mark spoke casually, you raised an eyebrow in response before he quickly explained, “basically Johnny’s family is sort of eternally connected to their families in some weird mythic way.”

“It’s always something, huh,” you forced a laugh, trying to not think too much about the other new strange fact. Getting on the elevator, you hit both the button for yours and Mark’s floor, waving goodbye to him before stepping off to your own floor.

“Hey,” Yuta said once you entered your studio. You noted the dimmed lights, the two lit candles on the coffee table that sat near two empty wine glasses and a take out container.

“What’s all this?” you were smiling, setting down your backpack and watching the smile also meet Yuta’s lips.

“I had a bit of free time and figured you’d be hungry after class,” he mused, taking your hand and leading you to a spot in front of the takeout where you both sat. You looked at the top of the take out box, the hastily drawn out words DEER MOON scrawled across.

“This is very sweet, although you weren’t supposed to leave campus.”

“I didn’t, Ten asked that freshman to grab it for him in exchange for free dinner.”

“I’m going to kill Ten.”

“You’d be surprised what college students will do for food,” Yuta laughed, leaning back on his hands. You sighed then, your smile coming back now.

“Thank you, still. This is very sweet.”

“Of course,” he leaned his head on his hands now, watching as you opened the box and started on your food. You hadn’t been able to eat much at all, so having a warm meal in your stomach with Yuta next to you felt like a near perfect moment. “How was class?”

“Hm, cool I guess. I have a friend who’s a TA so I got to see him teach in front of a class for the first time.”

“That’s cool, how are your grades then? You’re taking like, what, six classes?”

“They’re good enough for my Dad to be far too proud of me.” Last semester when you and Mark had gotten on the Dean’s List (not at all for the first time), he had insisted on throwing a seven course dinner party with your human friends to celebrate despite you and Mark trying to convince him it was not a big deal.

“Your Dad is really protective of you guys, huh,” it wasn’t a question, just an observation.

“Oh, that’s one way to put it. My family is insane, but I love them a lot,” Yuta was smiling at you now, but his eyes seemed a bit more dim than they did earlier. Your family was small but loving. Yuta’s family, despite being larger, seemed colder and more distant.

“Do you ever think about your birth family?” You pursed your lips at his question as you thought it over.

“Sometimes, yeah. But, more so because I want to know why I was left. In a weird way though, I’m glad it did happen,” you admitted. He nodded, thinking it over. “So what else did you do in the meantime?” you asked between bites, curious.

“I read a few of your books.”

“Which ones?”

“The Hunger Games? It was an interesting take on a dystopian world. Although…”

“Although?” He was quiet for a moment now, and you watched as he gathered his thoughts.

“The main character… She did everything to save her sister. She didn’t care about a revolution- and yet, it’s her sister who dies in the end,” he was looking down now. You paused your eating, and watched as his mind seemed to continue spinning. “I… My brother was meant to be a leader. Everyone expects the same from me, but…” his voice trailed again, and you took his hand in yours, nodding your encouragement. “Now the demons are coming back and all I can think about is how I lost him and how everyone is expecting me to exact some sort of revenge but… I’m not that kind of person.” You pushed the hair away from his face now, holding his face in your hands.

“What is it you want to do, Yuta?” his eyes widened in a way then, a feeling of sorrow crossing his face as he digested what you said.

“I’m not sure, I’ve never let myself think of what I want,” he admitted, holding your hand now.

“Pretend, for five minutes you’re just a normal… vampire. What do you want?”

“You,” he replied quickly this time, taking you aback.

“I’m right here.”

“I want to be your… partner. Other half, boyfriend, whatever word you wanna use,” he was muttering now, looking away from you abashedly. Your chest swelled then; you were excited that he had the same feelings you did but....

“And why can’t you?” you whispered now, trying to scan his face for any sort of reasoning beyond what you could guess. Looking into his eyes, those pink strands you had seen before appeared again, blending in with the natural brown of his eyes and yet still hard to see with his blown out pupil.

“It’s hard for me to control myself around you,” he sounded ashamed to admit it, but it was something you had figured. If Ten, who has known you for a majority of his life, occasionally struggled to not eat you, no matter how much stronger Yuta was, it was still difficult by nature.

“So the prince soon to be King deciding to date a human isn’t another factor?” you kept your voice soft.

He bit his lip, “it would be a lie to say that wasn’t something I thought about too.” You squinted, thinking over the past few weeks. The mythics were displeased to have you in the class, even more so to have you speaking with Yuta, and though you were fearful of more backlash, you knew you were more fearful of not being able to be with him.

“I don’t accept that,” you moved your hand from his face, catching you both off guard.

“Huh?”

“I like you, a lot. You like me. We don’t necessarily have to… say we’re dating or anything. But, I don’t accept those excuses. So, either say you don’t like me, or accept the consequences of your feelings,” and that was that. You were holding your breath now in an attempt to slow down your heartbeat, not trying to prove the first point. Yuta’s mouth now was hanging open, and each passing second you felt the blush in your cheeks rising as you worried over your boldness.

“Okay,” was all he said.

“Huh?” Now it was your turn to be taken aback.

“Let’s date,” he smiled now- a full, bright, happy smile that you had grown so fond of.

“Okay,” it was all you could say in return, smiling back at him.

You two sat for a few hours talking, holding each other. The pink strands in Yuta’s eyes would fade in and out throughout the time, but you stopped noticing as you fell asleep on his lap, the dim candles fading as you did.

You were able to sleep for a few hours when you were forced awake by the forceful knocking at your door. You wiped the embarrassing drool from your face and looked up at Yuta.

“It’s Johnny,” he confirmed. You blinked and he wasn’t in his spot; looking towards the door you saw him opening it as Johnny bursted in.

“Mark, he’s hurt.”

You didn’t think much as you grabbed your stake and followed Johnny to wherever Mark was, finding it hard to focus as you tried to quell your own panicked mind.

“There was a demon… Deer Moon… Thought he could handle it,” you were struggling to understand Johnny’s explanation, his own words fading out as you ran to the infirmary building that sat across from the library and not even caring about the dirty looks you got from your peers as you shoved through the crowded spaces towards him.

The school’s infirmary was for day student use, unless you turned the corner in the first hall and headed into the basement. Brushing past the aged mind readers and faeries that ran the night infirmary, you started blindly shouting Mark’s name until Johnny yanked your arm and pulled you to the side.

“Stop it,” he hissed.

“Where is he?” you hissed back, squeezing the stake in your shaking hand.

“You need to calm down,” Johnny whispered, placing a hand on both of your shoulders. You were hyperventilating, you realized, and you placed a hand on your chest to calm yourself down.

“He’s being taken care of, but you can not go in there shouting and waving that around,” he looked down now at the stake in your hand.

“But…” your voice trailed off, your lip quivering now. You felt a cold hand reach out and slowly remove the stake from your hand. You looked back, watching as Yuta uncomfortably held one of the few things that could kill him. “Yuta, be careful with that,” you whispered, your eyes now widening.

“I think of anyone, I’ll be the most careful with this thing. Let’s go see your brother,” he carefully tucked the stake into his jacket pocket and moved his hand to the small of your back, guiding you and following Johnny to where Mark’s room was in the hospital. You saw your father first standing in the hallway and resting his head on the wall.

“Dad!” you called, running to hug him. He moved from his place by the wall and quickly embraced you.

“Hi sweetie… Hi Johnny… Yuta,” you moved back now, reaching to open the door to Mark’s room before your father extended his hand and covered the handle. “Before you go in, you’ve never seen demon burns before. It may look bad, but he will be okay- please remember that,” you had never seen your Dad’s eyes widened like that, and the pit that was already in your stomach dropped even further, the lump in your throat forcing you to take a second before nodding to your father that you understood him.

You held back a panicked breath as you walked in. The right half of Mark’s face was wrapped in thick bandages and so was the entirety of his right arm which also sat on a sling. He looked towards the door, and forced a smile when he saw the four of you.

“Hey guys,” he croaked out, the nurse who was reviewing his charts chastising him for forcing himself too much.

“What happened?” you asked, slowly walking towards him and standing near his bed. He looked down, embarrassed.

“I went to Deer Moon to get a quick bite to eat. I knew I shouldn’t have gone off campus but I was really craving something from them. Anyways, as soon as I walked out into the parking lot there was a demon just standing there. I tried to banish it like you had all those times before but…” he paused, taking a deep breath as he mustered the strength to continue. “It basically combusted into these gnarly blue flames around me. I was able to call the last person I called before passing out.”

“Yeah, me. I got him here and called your Dad as soon as I could,” Johnny added.

“How long is the healing process?” Yuta asked, looking cautiously at Mark’s bandaged wounds.

“Well, with the offerings of the night infirmary, he should be okay within a week,” your Dad waved goodbye to the nurse who was leaving the room, the five of you now alone.

“I’m assuming those bandages are soaked in holy water then?” Yuta chuckled, Mark smirking in response.

“Yeah, it doesn’t feel great on the burns. Plus, now you nor Ten can eat me for like a week- I’m super safe,” the four of you giggled, much to your father’s dismay.

“There will be no eating under my watch,” your Dad huffed.

“That sucks because I just had dinner,” you teased. You all laughed again, your Dad rubbing his face in exhaustion.

“How are you going to make up for your classes?” you asked, knowing how stressed out they’ve been making Mark. It was a thought that seemed to cross his mind too as he sighed and shrugged in defeat.

“I guess I’ll just get the notes and homework from the class group chats.”

“I could… sit in and record the lectures for you? Bring you the homework?” you were taken aback by Yuta’s offer, and so was Mark.

“Wow Yuta, that's so nice of you, but that’s so much to ask for especially for an entire week.”

“I would be happy to do so, if that’s allowed,” he looked at your Dad now expectantly. Your father looked suspiciously at the vampire before sighing.

“That would be allowed for the week, but you have to be very careful to not have your fangs out blush or anything else that might expose you,” your Dad cleared his throat before speaking again, “and thank you.”

“I’ll text y/n my schedule to get to you. Thanks Yuta.”

With that, you all chatted for a bit more before stepping back out as the nurse needed to reapply his bandages and insisted he needed rest. After saying goodbye to your Dad, you started out of the infirmary in silence with Johnny and Yuta.

“Where’s Ten?” you asked, realizing the missing presence.

“He was playing Ping Pong with the freshman last I checked,” Yuta replied.

“I can’t believe he just bullied poor Jisung into being his friend,” you sighed, taking out your phone to call and update your childhood friend.

“‘Sup?” he answered after the second ring.

“Where are you?”

“I’m in Mark’s dorm now waiting on him to get back since I figured you and Yuta were busy,” you cringed, a blush forming on your cheeks as you knew that Yuta could most definitely hear Ten.

“First of all, no. Second, how did you even get into his dorm? You don’t even have his key.”

“Picking locks isn’t hard. Also, that’s so lame! What was even the point of the candles!” “Dude Mark got attacked by a demon,” you whispered the last part as you were walking through a crowd of humans and back towards the student housing areas.

“What? Oh my god what happened?”

“We’ll meet you at the dorm and tell you everything, but he’s gonna be okay,” you hung up, moving through the building and up the elevator to the floor above yours. Mark’s floor was louder than yours, light music coming from a few different open rooms as you made your way to his studio. Ten opened the door for you guys before you could knock.

“Tell me everything,”

***

It had been about two days since Mark’s demon attack. Yuta each day was eagerly attending his classes and even giving Mark his own notes on top of the recorded sessions and even his own additional two cents on the lectures and homework assignments. Without his fangs, he looked like a normal, attractive college student.

You, on the other hand, felt horrible.

You were furious with yourself for not being there when Mark was attacked and even more upset that you hadn’t taught him how to better protect himself.

It was early morning Thursday, and you were checking the outskirts of the night dorm on your own. While it was okay to do so alone, you still wished Yuta was there with you. Him and Johnny had decided to ride bikes through campus at the crack of dawn since that’s when it would be the least crowded with the most light, and Ten was keeping Mark company. So, stuck in your head, you wandered along the path alone checking for anything weird.

“You know,” you jumped at the new voice, reaching for your bo staff and turning around to see the psychic from the library. “It’s weird.” That was all he added. You sighed, nearly growling in annoyance.

“What?” was all you asked, furrowing your eyebrows.

“By now you should’ve gotten them,” he started walking now, brushing past you and starting back on the path. “It’s sort of noticeable in your scent but, not there yet.”

“Why the fuck are you so cryptic?” you started matching his pace, staring Jaemin down as he looked ahead.

“I can’t interfere with your path- but I can observe closely,” he smirked, looking back at you now.

“What is it I should have gotten?”

“Hm,” he stared off, one of his eyes turning white like that time in the library as he did. “No use in telling you since it’ll happen soon anyways. I do feel compelled to tell you, however, no matter what path anyone took- Mark would have gotten hurt.” You stopped walking now, blinking quickly as what he said settled.

“Why would you tell me that?”

“Because I know you’re beating yourself over the head about it,” his eyes turned back to their normal color now. “He’ll be okay,” he added, noticing the panic still in your face. You let go of a breath you hadn’t even realized you were hanging onto.

“Why?” was all you asked.

“Sorry?” he raised an eyebrow as you had managed to make the psychic confused.

“Why do you keep watching my, future, paths, whatever the fuck you want to call it. Why?” your hands were balled into fists now, irritated beyond measure now.

“Oh, that’s easy. Because I want to,” he smiled that smile again- the one that showed that in his mind he’s known you for years.

“But why?” you stepped towards him, waving your hands in frustration. He squinted, one of his eyes going white again as he looked at you pointedly.

“When it happens, I’ll be there to answer your questions since I’m the only one who can.”

You turned around now, and in anger you kicked the wall, thankful you decided to wear your thickest combat boots.

“I’ll be at your favorite booth in the library when you need me.”

“Fuck you,” you turned back around to face him, his white eye still there.

“See you soon,” he started off on the path again before turning back around, “oh, and no need to finish checks here today.”

You stood there for a few moments after, dumbfounded, trying to make sense of everything. Mark was going to be okay, but something else was going to happen, and the psychic who seems to know you far too well for your own liking was waiting for it. You were exhausted of everyone seeming to know things they were too hesitant to share with you, leaving you in the dust and feeling dumb. Between your Dad not telling you about the blue night until recently or even teaching you about the oligarchy, you were exhausted.

You sighed, and started back towards your dorm.

[hollyhomburg]

Reasons Wretched and Divine (Pt. 7)

(Hybrid au) (YoonMinJoon x Reader) (Mafia au) 

Summary: After years of abuse, you’ve all finally found each other. But for one of you- the fear still lingers, hidden in the shadows. Yoongi doesn’t want much, just a few more weeks, but he only has until the end of the summer. 

Parings: Snake hybrid! Yoongi x Dog hybrid! Jimin x Dog hybrid! Namjoon x Pregnant! Reader, Platonic Vmin, allusions to 2seok, 

Genre: Hybrid au, Polyamory au, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery, Pregnancy, Mafia au

Tags:  Domestic abuse, references to sexual abuse- and choosing to have sex even though you’ve been through sa, physical abuse, polyamory negotiations, Post-traumatic stress disorder, mute characters, brief gore at the end, pregnant m/c, frottage, marking kink, fingering, oral f. receiving, Voyeurism, exhibitionism, implied death but dont worry I do not write MCD!!!!

A/n: just for posterity's sake! i was drunk when i posted this! enjoy! full gangbang comes in (y/n) next chapter! (oh god im going to hell).

W/c: 10.5k

Song Rec: Like Real People do ~ Hozier

~ Series Masterlist ~

2 Years Earlier

-  If Jeon Jungkook where so esoterically inclined, he would write a book on how he had become the most dangerous man in the underworld. It would be a short book though; because Jungkook had only 2 rules for himself. The first was to always get up after he’d been hit during a fight (even if it took him a second) and the second was to know when to mind his own business. 

- Jungkook was always able to get up after being hit, Even when he’d been a street kid, with not a penny to his name and a whole lot of anger in his mouth. ready to spit vitriol at anyone who would pause and listen. He’d always been able to get up. The pain giving him a kind of sick clarity that he eventually sought out instead of tried to escape. Jungkook could never think as clearly as he did during a fight; or when he was in pain. And that was probably because of his father. 

- But whatever. That man was 6 feet under, (his mother on the other hand- no- that bitch certainly had more than one dept to pay still). He didn’t have a lot of time or energy to put into dealing with that particular trauma (why he honestly felt like sometimes- he liked being hit). Most of his energy went into staying alive. Even now- when living and surviving teetered on the same edge. Jungkook had more pressing matters to tend to than dealing with his own fragile mind. 

- The way he would get up and hop around for a second to soak in the clarity after being hit during a scuffle was one of the reasons why he’d been given his street name: The Playboy Bunny; further set in stone with his tattoo of the same moniker under his left eye. A cheekbone he’d tap and say “you want to hit me? why don’t you try your luck and see how well it turns out for you.” 

- He was doing reconnaissance, Sneaking around the back alley with his hood up and his glasses on- disguising his black eye that was sure to get more than a few looks from passers-by. The ears of the playboy bunny tattoo peeking out over the top of his mask. 

- He keeps his eyes on the crowd waiting for some sort of handoff- to see anything at all. But he’d lost his target through the crowd and has no drive to find them in the dizzying rush of people and umbrellas. Not yet. Not when the hum of addiction lurks in his veins. 

- Jungkook pauses lighting a cigarette, when a commotion to the side hidden around a corner- blurs his concentration. The world snapping back into focus when he sinks his fingernails into his palm. Terse voices. A couple fighting in the alleyway perpendicular to his. 

- Minding his own business was a particular skill of his- it took one kind of person to know when to step in, and another to know which problems weren't worth the headache. And unless it involved the acquisition money or some step therein, it wasn’t a problem worth getting into in Jungkook’s opinion.

- But Jungkook can’t stop his ears from hearing snippets of conversation, a low and angry male voice. The sound of a smack. “You just had to embarrass me like that, didn’t you? First, you come out dressed like a slob and then you act like a fucking whore- I swear if I see you give eyes to another man this week I'll beat you five ways to Sunday”

- The sound of a soft female voice, so quiet- almost indistinguishable from the pouring rain, “I wasn’t-” another smack.

- Jungkook has been hit so many times he knows the sound of it, the ragged gasp the woman lets out, also quite- like even the pain takes up too much space. 

- His body starts to move before his mind thinks it through as he gives up position in favor of investigating the noise. There he sees it, ivy growing up the wall next to the back exit of some restaurant. A woman, small crouching in front of a grotesque man. A baggy coat buttoned tight around her small form. hair swept back in a tight bun. Red lipstick smudged. Though you check your hands and think its blood for a moment before you remember you’re wearing it. 

- Jungkook waits for a moment before he watches you stand on shaky legs. you get up. 

- The rest of the underworld might be old grudges and blood feuds but Jungkook was only here to be a businessman. He didn’t have time for ego and arrogance, let alone time for altruism... 

- Usually. 

- He looks on for a moment, too sluggish without nicotine, but Jungkook’s lingering stare almost seems to spur the man on. He’s wearing a jacket with a military patch, a badge; some sort of congratulation for service done no doubt. and Jungkook feels his distaste for the man deepen. 

- “What you looking at punk?” he slurs. Stalking forward as if to shove Jungkook. He almost wants to tut- that would be an expensive action. Jungkook wonders if the man is maybe high or drunk or both. He’s has had his fair share of experience with junkies and he knows one when he sees one. 

- “Nothing, just a pig beating his girlfriend.” The man settles for shoving Jungkook back. And Jungkook lets him. You don’t look up, don’t do anything but lean to the side, like the brick wall is the only thing keeping you up. Jungkook sees the back of your hand, black and blue, the other bruises on your neck. You only make eye contact with him once. Just slightly. Barely in passing.  

- You look like Jungkook used to look. He remembers in the savage bite of an open-handed slap- the fear he sees in your eyes. He looks and looks. And it aches so viscerally as Jungkook watches you go, your hurt echoes through him. You look beaten down and broken like Jungkook used too; before he’d decided he was done taking punches from people who were supposed to love him- Were supposed to care. 

- (Before he realized life wasn't supposed to hurt) 

- He’s never been one to feel things for other people, the empathy sparing him through most of the suffering he’s seen. It’s not that he’s unfeeling; it’s just that Jungkook’s life has forced him to feel concerned only for himself and no one else. His own survival is his first priority; Not others. 

- He watches you walk away, And you don’t look back at him. Rushing to keep up with your husband's steps. He waits until you disappear into the crowd before he lifts his phone to his ear and makes a call. “Hey, I need you to flag all of the cars that leave the parking lot, they’re just a couple, should be coming to you soon.”

- Jeon Jungkook had become the most powerful man in the underworld because of two reasons; by being able to take punches, and by knowing when to mind his own business. 

- But For this, Jungkook thinks he can make an exception.

- (You won't remember meeting Jeon Jungkook, but Jungkook will always remember you).

~.~

Now

-It comes as no surprise that your little speech fades after a few days and the rest of the hybrids quick to return to treating Yoongi with a mix of disdain and fear. Though mostly- this seems to be caused by Minhyung's group and the other canine hybrids. Namjoon hears them whispering about ‘favoritism’ before they catch on that he’s listening in. And in the days following your impromptu departure from the farm, you find people quiet even further whenever Yoongi's brought up. Staring when Yoongi comes close, afraid to interact with him.

- Even Jimin is greeted mostly with silence from all but a few. The bunny hybrids don’t act so skittish anymore, and the cat hybrids could care less used to sticking to their own group. Taehyung seems to have encouraged the other bear hybrids to make an actual effort and they at least say hello now. It’s better than the derisive comments of the dog hybrids, or the snooty noses stuck high in the air of the dear hybrids and other exotic breeds. 

- They know Jimin is close to Yoongi and Namjoon, and now he feels even more like an outsider that before (somehow it doesn't matter as much as before). The only ones who don’t act overtly different are the new hybrids; Hoseok and the small lion hybrid. but They were never around to learn how to hate Yoongi in the first place.

- it's a little cute- the way that Hoseok will always shout Yoongi's name in greeting (though you're unsure if that's just his personality now that he's started to grow into himself). Hoseok is unbothered by Yoongi's reaction; to shy away from anything that will draw more attention to himself. But Hoseok's smile is so bright and elastic that even he has a hard time ignoring the otter hybrid. You hope there will be a friendship there eventually, that yoongi will open up to more than just your group. 

- The little lion kit is a new addition too, she's not the only young feline hybrid you have at the farm but she is the friendliest. She gets pretty close to the other cats that work in the kitchen almost instantly. Probably on account of her young age (she's barely 7) and the eldest cat hybrid seems to be particularly fond of the little one.

- She's curious and kind to Yoongi too- excitedly running up to him more than once to show him a little rock or some flower she found- and yoongi will marvel and nod, and if Jimin is near- he'll lean close and tell her how pretty it is. 

- She doesn't seem at all deterred by Yoongi's lack of voice. one day she even sees Jimin, her ears perking up excitedly, tail swishing. "Hello Yoonies voice!" it's a little cute- even if it does make yoongi splutter a little. But she's not exactly wrong; Jimin does talk for yoongi more these days. 

- She Always comes bounding up to you and giggling happily to be picked up. Her little legs stretching around your waist, small bottom sat atop your baby bump. Making you get the kind of look that makes Namjoon, Yoongi, and Jimin sigh and look impossibly fond. They can only imagine what you’re going to be like once your little one is born. Your due date is barely 2 months away.

- In truth- you’re starting to get a little bit big. You say it one morning with Namjoon. After he asks you why you’re looking into the mirror with such a displeased expression. The sound of your terse voices alerts Yoongi and he comes to the door to your bedroom to witness your spat. Making a flippant hand movement at Namjoon to back off. Namjoon could smell your distress on you when you looked in the mirror, his voice tense but breaking. “Baby just tell me, why you think you’re not beautiful like that? let me understand. Cuz to me- you look more irresistible every day.”

- It’s not that you exactly wanted him to agree with you that you were nearing the size of a whale- but this doesn’t help at all either. His unending insistence- doesn’t he see? when he looks in the mirror doesn’t he see what you do? His instance that everything is alright doesn't help when you’re feeling this self-conscious.

- Yoongi helps you, fiddling with Namjoon’s closet for a second before he pulls out an extra-large white shirt of his and helps you into it- tying it loosely over your baby bump so that it flatters your waist a little more. The attention that Yoongi shows you clearly making you flustered. Then he drags you to the mirror, tugging your hair out of its bun, the tension going out of your shoulders.

- Yoongi doesn’t know it, but Namjoon does. Your late husband used to always be so particular about your hair, yanking on it harshly if it was left down. and An easy way to avoid him yanking on it was to leave it up. And sometimes you still pull it up convinced it’s safer even though he’s dead and gone. It’s scary how simple it is- but the second your hair comes down your whole body relaxes.

- All the while Namjoon watches from your bed. And you take in yourself, the baby hairs free-floating against your forehead; Yoongi curls one gently around his finger and then lets it go. You take in the way that the fabric hangs now, making you look a little more proportional, Yoongi gives you a satisfied smile behind your back and you have to sigh and admit it. “Okay- okay- I’ll give you this- I’m not a whale”

- “And even if you where you’d be a pretty whale.” Yoongi has the good sense to hurl a pillow in Namjoon’s direction, but it makes you laugh all the same- the heaviness in your chest abated a little. Your sleeve brushing Yoongi’s as you head downstairs, Namjoon trailing behind.

- The beach trip was a nice distraction from chores but the real work comes crashing down on them the next few days. Your little group feels closer than ever, you rarely part from any of them for long and their intention, their little acts of care never fail to make you feel flustered and taken care of.

- Jimin always holds out a hand for you to take when you’re stepping over uneven ground, Yoongi makes a startled noise whenever you so much as get close to a hose that might trip you, always gesturing for you to pause and take a break whenever you’re working in the garden. Namjoon too, always running back and forth from whatever project he’s working on to check on you and make sure you have water or food.

- At night, Namjoon takes your stretch mark cream from you, rubbing down your baby bump and your hips, the little lines of lighter skin on your waist get little kisses from him.  

- Even if you want just a snack, Namjoon and Yoongi will bring you a full meal- convinced that you need to be eating more than you are. At dinner Yoongi fills up your plate- piling it high with more food then you could fit in your already crowded tummy. And he always eyes you suspiciously when you can’t finish the full plate. Namjoon too will level you with a look- asking if you really are full. 

- Since your pregnancy has progressed, you’ve become a little moodier, and a little hornier whenever way the wind blows. And Namjoon doesn’t help that much at all- and by that you mean, he makes it worse. When he comes out of the field with his shirt off and tucked into his shorts all of his thickness, his muscles that make you ravenous. 

- During lunch one day he drags you away to a forgotten tool shed, though it would be easier just to go up the hill to your bedroom- you feel like teenagers sneaking around like this. 

- Namjoon presses into you as he hits the latch on the door, muffling your giggles with kisses as you hide from the hybrids outside, voices that you can dimly hear, unable to pick out any one particular yet- but you know they're there. 

- You and Namjoon might bicker like an old married couple. But you also act like teenagers gooey and giggly and so so so in love. “Do you think that they can hear you like this? Or smell you, my love?” Namjoon is always quick to tell you how delectable you smell when you’re horny. His more sensitive nose-picking it up the second you feel a slickening between your thighs.

- You’re shaky when you respond. “I don’t know, maybe?” Namjoon always has this passionate intense air about him. He’s slightly possessive- but you’d never fault him for that not when it’s all about protecting and providing for you. Not when he always puts your pleasure first (you feel like you may have turned into a slight pillow princess with him). 

- Namjoon heaves you up onto the edge of a bench and then gets on his knees. Gently lifting your leg over his shoulder. He’s always mindful of how much you can move in your swollen state. He checks to make sure he’s not bending your hips in an uncomfortable way. 

- You put your hands back on the dusty bench to stabilize yourself as you lie back, Namjoon wastes no time in pressing his face close to your cunt and inhaling, His nose prodding at the thin fabric of your underwear. One of his ears caught on the hem of your dress. His fingers digging into the plushness of your thighs- so full and healthy it makes him hard in his pants. 

- He’s slow with the appreciation of your thighs and hips. Hands gripping and moving on to touch and feel like you have all the time in the world. But you hear voices outside the tool shed you’ve commandeered and you could just slip out and go back up to your house- but somehow you like this better. The thought of being discovered stirring an unsure heat in your stomach. 

- You can hear Taehyung's voice, and then- like a shock through your core- you hear Jimin’s. Namjoon can feel your jolt. And you realize- his sensitive ears must have known who it was before your own human ones did. He chuckles- teasing his fingers along the hem of your underwear, almost daring to slip inside.

- You almost whine when you think about what you’re being denied- the harsh pull of his fingers that you’re so addicted too, how thick his fingers and knuckles feel (almost as nice as his cock) when they pull out and push in.

- Yoongi and Namjoon have always had the most lovely hands, it’s strange that when Namjoon touches you- you think about Yoongi’s hands. The way you clench around his fingers at that has Namjoon’s tail wagging. "you're thinking about them aren't you," The way you clench around his fingers at that has Namjoon’s tail wagging. Because yeah; Yoongi and Jimin are apart of Namjoon’s pack too, and bonding and group sex are kind of the same thing to hybrids. You’d found that out the hard way when you’d found a group of cat hybrids all tangled together in the grass the other day.

- Namjoon is always so gentle with you because of your condition, but you find your hips jerking with want. His fingers still when he feels the way your wetness has spilled out the sides. His thumb pressed over your clit teasingly. “smell so good when you're like this So wet my love, are you thinking about them finding you like this?” 

- “Y-yes” you confess, and Namjoon growls, nipping at you through the fabric, the feel of his teeth brushing you, over the sensitive skin. The fabric cushioning the feeling, makes you almost gush, and you know you’ll be shakily legged by the time he lets you get down. And that he won’t let you get away from him until he’s taken care of you in this way, sated you in every sense of the word. 

- But he can also tell how shy you are, the heat under your skin at the thought of being discovered. always unsure how much of your dirty talk is a real want and not just something you like in theory. Namjoon knows the idea of sharing you with the others might seem like the most natural and hottest thing; to love you alongside them. but to you- a human, hybrid sex and hybrid bedroom dynamics aren't as given. 

- So he leans close, sliding your underwear down your legs slowly, letting you feel the heat of his palms on your skin. You're getting worked up a little too quickly, your heaving breaths needy. God damn pregnancy hormones you'd say if you could think beyond the plush feeling of his lips pressing a kiss to your clit. “Gotta clean you up for them, if they smelled you like this- then they’d know wouldn’t they?” 

- You prove Namjoons initial assumption wrong. “What if I-” you whisper- gasping quietly as Namjoon drags the fabric to the side and glides a delicate lick over your folds. “What if I want them to know?” the pleasure thrumming through your body as Namjoon licks up your slit. Namjoon stills, ears perked, eyes flashing in the half-light. The snarl against your cunt loud and echoic.

- The voices outside fall silent and Namjoon doesn't stop his ravenous licking no matter if you have to bite your lip to keep your noises in. One of your hands scrambling to pull at his hair and find something to grip onto and anchor yourself against the onslaught of pleasure. Jimin is the first one to puncture the silence, “What was that?” 

- Then comes Seokjin's voice “all of you- move along- whoever it is they probably don’t want the three of you listening in like a bunch of horn dogs” which is basically a confirmation that they were listening in, and that Yoongi was there too. 

- When you finally exit the toolshed with weak legs, sure you’re going to have to at least got change your underwear. You find a bleary-eyed Seokjin a few dozen feet away, obviously upwind of the toolshed. he levels Namjoon with a tired expression. “You both have dirt on your knees” Namjoon has the good sense to look shy at that. You hastily brush off the spots on his, and he on yours.

- If Jimin and Yoongi smell anything on you later- they don’t say anything and the idea that they might make you feel hot all over whenever they lean in too close. You think you see a blush on Yoongi’s face more than once, and maybe see him adjust his pants out of the corner of your eye, but Jimin seems blissfully unaware.

- You have a check-up at the doctor’s office in the coming days. And although only Namjoon is allowed in the room with you (they have a two-person maximum because the ultrasound room is tiny), Yoongi and Jimin also accompany you. Namjoon comes bounding out after, waving the picture and smiling so so wide, both Yoongi and jimin leaning in close to get a better look- they’re so enamored with the little photo. And when you get home- Namjoon shows anyone that asks how the check-up went, eventually hanging it on one of the two fridges in the kitchen.

- Jimin is the only one who seems to notice the jealous looks- because you went out for ice-cream after and come home with them still partially melting (you’d had another craving- french-fries dunked in ice cream of all things). One of the other hybrids having heard Jimin talk to Tae about the beach trip too. They come to you at the end of the day, 2 bunnies, a cat, a fox and one of the bears- a mish moshed group of hybrids; petitioning you to start the beach trips for everyone.

- You can only fit so many people into the back of your truck so you pick a day and start a raffle for spots. Jimin throws his name into the hat just in case but to his surprise, Yoongi doesn’t. No matter how much Jimin bugs him too; He won’t agree to accompany Jimin to the beach again. Shaking his head with a roll of his eyes back tipped back against the grass, his sunhat crumpled. Offering up a few sweet tomatoes to soothe Jimin’s sour nerves. 

- The peace lasts for a couple of days before they’re right back to treating Yoongi like shit and for some reason, it pisses Jimin off more. No matter how many times he’s heard Namjoon asks Yoongi to please tell him when anything happens. The snake hybrid seems unable to fight back.

- Jimin asks one of the hybrids why she won’t look at Yoongi (after the snake has already gone up the hill to retrieve another dish for dinner) and beyond a startled look, she just says “none of us can smell him” she throws a stack of paper towels down onto the table angrily. The deer hybrid across from them stumbling with their silver wear But she doesn’t need to re-iterate herself. Jimin understands- it’s hard to trust someone who can lie to your face- and in the world of hybrids where emotions can be decreed from a simple sniff, Jimin can’t say he doesn’t see where they’re coming from.

- Doesn’t excuse their behavior, however. After all- Jimin can smell Yoongi’s emotions through his scent and he didn't realize that was something strange until now. To Jimin, Yoongi’s scent is soft and sweet- something gummy and soft like a marshmallow. But that’s probably because he spends so much time with the hybrid. The others only spend so much time around him and are unused to his scent. And the fact that he never talks and never tries to socialize doesn’t help.

- Jimin can’t imagine not wanting to smell more of it- not leaning in whenever the other hybrid passes. Jimin wants to bury his face in Yoongi’s neck and rub his cheek all over it. The same way that Namjoon does to him in the morning if he shows up before he’s changed from his pajamas. And he knows he smells soft like sleep- an alluring smell to the older alpha when he comes down the stairs, ears straight up eyes wide as he takes in all of Jimin's vulnerability.

- and it might have to do with what Taehyung had said- that alphas eat up that sort of thing. 

- Namjoon smells good too, his scent all soft mornings and sleepy walks, the older hybrid large and so pliant in his sleepiness, eyes swollen and face puffy as he hides in Jimin’s shoulder. Sending his pine scent all over so that it sticks to jimin no matter where he is. So that jimin will smell like Namjoon all day. 

- One of the cat hybrids at the sink rolls her eyes. But when you come down the stairs smelling much the same. You touch his arm so softly in passing, like you can’t believe you’re allowed. And Jimin’s senses are a dizzying blur of cream, peaches, pine, and marshmallow. 

- when he goes back to the barns, hazy at being scented by Namjoon so thoroughly. Taehyung levels him with a funny look and a chuckle. "you're more devious than anyone gives you credit for" thought Taehyung means it good-naturedly- it's good to have a friend to ask how to go about flirting with. the other hybrids gathered on the couch in front of the tv; some cartoon playing- pretend like they're not listening in. 

- "How do you know so much when you don't have a pack of your own Tae?" he asks over breakfast, the two of them clutching breakfast burritos on their way to check Tae's bees. Tae doesn't meet Jimin's eyes "you're just lucky- most hybrids dont find a pack so easily Jimin" his words aren’t jealous- only a little patronizing. And Jimin accepts it because he knows he has a lot to learn.

- Taehyung is right- out of all of the hybrids at the farm, there are only a few who have paired up or even made stronger groups or multi-person packs. the bunnies and the cats don't form set generally- though there are a few pairs and more than a few throuples.

- Jimin as caught Yeonjun making out with a tabby more than once- has learned to avoid certain sections of the woods all together because everyone knows that's where the bunny hybrids like to go in the afternoons. The canine hybrids are the only ones who have packs, though there are more than half a dozen loners like jimin and namjoon.

- It's hard for Jimin to cohabitate with them even though there are other larger predators and more than a few prey hybrids living in Jimin's barn. he hadn’t really realized until taehyung pointed it out that each different pack occupied one corner of the punk room. More than once- the room in the barns has felt hostile if only for the packs that have claimed either corner of the bunkroom. it's usual to wake up and find more than one of the pups cuddling with another in one single bed. 

- Having reciprocated love in his pack shouldn't feel like an impossibility to Jimin. But still, when Yoongi steps close- an inch too far away, his fingertips barely brushing- Jimin just- yearns. It’s a soft sort of yearning, the kind that has jimin jumping up whenever Yoongi needs something. Has him settling a think knit blanket over Yoongi’s nobly knees during movie nights, and sticking his own feet underneath the edge of the blanket. Feet Pressed to the clothed line of his calf. Maybe nothing will ever come of it, But Jimin yearns with everything he’s got regardless.

- In the late hours of the night, when Jimin lies awake thinking about the three of you. An instinct welling inside of him that says he should walk up the hill and fall asleep on your couch just to be closer to you three (the pack instinct- Taehyung calls it, looking a little bit sad himself when jimin asks him, the other hybrid moving away before jimin can ask exactly what that means) Jimin wonders if his feelings will ever be reciprocated.

- But love is a strange thing, it’s not just about saying it with kisses or touches- though Jimin wants them too. There is love in the small things, in building something together so that’s what Jimin tries to do. Every day- he takes to gardening with a new vigor. Shouting in joy when you harvest some of the tomatoes- filling up a whole gallon bucket with the amount that have ripened over the last week. Your peppers and cucumbers are beginning to produce more too.

- Jimin and Yoongi run to Namjoon just to give him a handful. The alpha gives each of them a sweet nuzzle in thanks, even if Yoongi chirps and moves back after a moment. A flush high on his cheek. Namjoon looking up at Yoongi from where he’s stopped- cheek on the elder's shoulder. The snake relaxing after a moment. 

- You spend the rest of the day showing Jimin and Yoongi how to prepare the tomatoes to make a sauce, roasting them on low heat. Cutting garlic so so carefully, and whenever Jimin looks across the prep table- Yoongi’s gaze darts away. halfway through- yoongi stoops down, sticking his socked feet into jimin’s lap, and it feels so nice, to have their weight there. 

- You go over to Yoongi at one point, and he tips his head back to look up at you. The back of his head is at the right height to lye up against your baby bump. And Jimin watches, as you slowly, so slowly, brush the hair out of his eyes and away from his forehead. Yoongi’s eyes flutter closed and he tips his face into your hand. Letting out a low happy grumble when you take his action as positive reinforcement, and drag your nails over his scalp. In Jimin’s lap, Yoongi’s toes curl. 

- It feels strange- and Jimin can’t quite put his finger on it- but it almost feels like Yoongi is letting you all touch him more than ever. Suddenly okay with touches- as long as it’s in a more private setting. Jimin can’t say he’s unhappy about it. Maybe one-day yoongi will even let Jimin scent mark him. 

- Jimin smiles at Yoongi’s happy little snake grumbles. And keeps chopping his garlic. Is happy to receive the same kind of scratch from you a few minutes later. Though he might abandon his chopping in favor of rubbing his face all over your stomach when the instinct strikes him. Jimin unintentionally lets out a growl when you start to move away. Slapping a hand over his mouth and apologizing, no matter how you and Yoongi laugh.

- Still, despite the happiness, you have in your kitchen, in your house, whenever you’re around each other. The rest of the world is not so kind.

- An adoption day comes at arguably the worst and best time. There is still a fair amount of friction between your group and the rest of the hybrids. And a few outsiders at the farm only make it worse. Though Yoongi, Jimin, and Namjoon aren’t the only hybrids who wear red stickers to indicate that they are not available for adoption.

- Hoseok surprisingly- grabs a yellow sticker. And the three of your hybrids watch- as Seokjin hovers around him- a red sticker on his own lapel- wary of all and anyone who interacts with the otter hybrid. His glares putting off all but the most attentive patrons. That's where it starts.

- Jimin is unfortunately caught in the middle when seokjin confronts hoseok. off to help the three of them bring down 3 trays of cut watermelon for the hybrids and the patrons. The dinner tables have been set out on the side of the field piled high with Hors d'oeuvre. You’re there with Namjoon greeting the humans. Games are set out too- for the hybrids and humans to play. 

- it’s no secret that they’ve gotten close, and jimin had assumed they’d talked about it- but apparently not. Seokjin is so angry he’s nearly crying. “why- hoseok- why do you want to leave the farm?” Hoseok’s little otter ears are tight against his scalp. “I just- I didn’t want to assume?”

- “Oh- so you’d rather just- throw away everything that we’re trying- all of this- you don’t you dont want to stay do you-” Jimin has never seen seokjin looking so lost, and he knows enough to guess that Seokjin’s anger is at least in part to due to some trauma (later- Jimin will find out that Seokjin’s mother left him with his last owner- an abusive man- to save herself).  

- Jimin knows enough to get in between them, telling them to calm down and spend a minute away from each other. Jimin ends up with Hoseok- “it’s hard Jimin- how do you, how do you have so much sureness with Y/n? with Namjoon and yoongi too? How do you look at them and trust that you should stay?” Hoseok's eyes remain on Jimin's red tag. 

- Jimin sighs, thinking it through, “do you look at Seokjin and know he cares about you? like- do you know it in your bones?” Hoseok bites his lower lip, “yes- but-” 

- “Then you should stay Hoseok,” Jimin walks Hoseok up to the main house where the stickers sit on the prep table. Changing out his yellow one for a red one. And when they head off back down the hill, Seokjin is waiting on the path with Yoongi, apologizing and dragging Hoseok away to the barns where Seokjin’s own private room is. Hoseok goes willingly, smiling up at the older hybrid. His narrow shoulders cuddled under one of Seokjin's wide ones. 

- jimin has to admit, an otter and an alpaca are a weird combination for a hybrid pack (But no stranger than a pair of puppies and a snake). His thoughts drift towards Taehyung- and Jimin hopes that his friend won't end up alone. it must not be easy- to see all of you pair off like this. 

- in some ways, that adoption day is full of just as much bullshit as they usually are. there are always people who dont understand the effort it takes to take care of a hybrid- they aren't just like any ordinary pet. it's easy to spot the ones that view them as pets- and less like people. You get a few rich people looking to adopt a companion as always. 

- A substantial group of families also look to adopt similarly aged companions for their single children. And you agree to more than one possible test weekend. You’re always so particular about letting the children go, so wary and so careful in the way you let them interact with the families.

- Though they don’t have parents here- there are more than a few good role models and parental figures. More than one child chooses a red tag for themselves. And they always know have a right to it- no matter how young they are. You make it clear to the group of them; If they don’t want to be adopted they don’t have to be. 

- You even get one couple- the woman withdrawn and sad, and a slightly jealous look at your own pregnant stomach says more than any words could. It’s pretty common for women who can’t have children to adopt hybrid children. and though some of it doesn't sit right with you, You aren’t one to judge. 

- Jimin spends most of the adoption day helping you balance the need for food and for games. running back and forth to the house to help. Though there is a little work that needs to be done here and there just to keep the farm running as usual. grey storm clouds roll in halfway through the day, puncturing the blue sky- foretelling scattered showers and storms. and jimin hopes it will cut the adoption day short so that you can return to your routines. 

- Jimin is just helping Yoongi putting away a broken badminton net When it happens- Jimin isn’t certain why it does. Only that he hears the words outside the shed after Yoongi's just excited to grab the broken rackets (Namjoon isn't the only clumsy hybrid you have at the farm). 

- “oh sorry- ew gross,” a shrill female voice says, and then he rounds the corner and sees yoongi picking himself up from the dirt- a rich lady and her peacock hybrid looking down at him like he’s the dirt beneath his shoes. The peacock hybrid has Yoongi’s sun hat in his hands and there is another hybrid- a wolf hybrid from the farm with a green sticker on his shirt, who growls down at yoongi.

- His shoulders shake too the way they do when he’s been touched and he doesn’t want to be. Jimin has seen you brush your fingers over the back of Yoongi’s hand, has even felt the coolness of the snake hybrid through the fabric when the elder grabbed his sleeve. Has touched him even more intimately as of late. But he knows that Yoongi can’t tolerate being touched by people he doesn’t trust- doesn’t want to touch him. basically, anyone, that's, not you, Namjoon, or Jimin himself. 

- “Hey- what the fuck!” Jimin spits, grabbing the sunhat out of the hybrid's hand with a growl, his ears flat against his head. If Jimin had elongated canines like Namjoon they would be barred in anger as he shoves the larger hybrid back. Yoongi shrinks impossibly smaller behind him.

- Jimin is hot and itchy from the heat and the humidity, and he really just wants to shower and cool off. He doesn’t have the energy to deal with entitled people today. And more importantly- no one touches Yoongi on Jimin’s watch.

- The hybrid looks surprised to be talked to in that way, he’s nearly a head taller than Jimin let alone the slightly taller feathers that poke out of the top of his head that give him the appearance of several more inches- but Jimin’s intimidating enough with his set expression to send the hybrid huffing away. Feathers fluffed.

- The peacock's iridescent feathers stand up on end as he grabs the hand of his human owner, her diamond tennis bracelet glittering in the sunlight. “This was getting boring anyway. Sorry” he tosses over his shoulder at the canine hybrid, who looks so disappointed his ears pinned back against his head. They only give him that- barely a look, before they’re heading off down the hill in the direction of the line of cars parked on the grass.

- The wolf hybrid deflates audibly- watching the woman and the other hybrid disappear down the hill. promises of home and family disappearing in a moment, but Jimin has to think- if they’d be discouraged so easily- were they really worth it? The wolf hybrid doesn't seem to think so- Turning his angry tear-filled eyes on Jimin. 

- But Jimin can see the hate in his eyes and knows not to mistake the tears for only sadness. “You both ruin everything” he growls out- before they too run back towards the barns- no doubt to tell the others how Yoongi had sabotaged their adoption. Even though that was far from the truth. in all honestly- yoongi just bumped into the lady- or more probably- the lady bumped into him when he was on his way out of the shed.

- Jimin holds out his sunhat to Yoongi, who takes it from Jimin carefully, Jimin doesn’t linger on the fact that his hand still shakes. Jimin’s hand lingers somewhere close enough where Yoongi could touch it could reach out if he wants too. If he wants to get that kind of comfort from Jimin's touch- then Jimin will willingly give it. 

- a faint flush coats the elder's cheeks. Oh no- he must be overheating then, Jimin feels a rush of concern. He knows what you would do, hover your hand close enough to Yoongi’s forehead, usher him upstairs for a break in the air conditioning, and a glass of icy lemonade.

- All they can hear is the shouts of laughter at the games the others play in the fields, “I understand why you don’t want to stay in the barns, why you don’t want to socialize with some of them, they’re so unkind to you it makes me crazy.” Jimin shakes his head, sour anger filling him like a rotten peach.

- Yoongi, looks more than pacified, looking up at Jimin with an indecipherable look. Most of the time, Jimin can get a good guess on how he’s feeling but not now- not that indecipherable heaviness he finds there. or the strangely heavy marshmallow scent that’s fluffed around them. Jimin lets go of Yoongi’s hat.

- After a moment Yoongi nods, and Jimin takes it as a thank you. They’re done for the day and dinner won’t be for another few hours or so. Jimin is ready to avoid some of the strangers and hopefully take advantage of the empty showers. The sky is grey with incumbent storm clouds when Jimin makes his way to the shower buildings which he finds blissfully empty; except for the bear hybrid Jackson that tosses a greeting at Jimin before exiting.

- Jimin doesn’t even bother to flick the lights on, instead of settling for the calm light that comes through the skylights, grey and hazy. the storm clouds have started to roll in properly. He hums as he disrobes, goes to grab his favorite strawberry body wash, and picks the last shower at the end, disrobing in relative comfort, glad for a moment of privacy.

- The blissfully Coldwater does wonders for his overheating muscles, relaxing his body deliciously from a day spent walking up and down the hill. he digests the chaos of the day- seokjin and hoseok fighting, yoongi getting shoved. you'd looked frazzled the last time he'd seen you, smile strained as you made small talk with most of the humans, Namjoon always close incase you needed someone to lean on.

-  Jimin had been able to tell that your feet were sore just by looking at you. Namjoon will probably make you sit down before long, maybe he already has. You’ll probably cut off the adoption day because of the rain. Taking down names and information before you send them on their way. You rarely let a hybrid leave the farm after one adoption day, needing to have more private meetings and house calls to willingly part with one of them. You just want to make sure you dont release them back into another abusive household. 

- He hums as he washes, lingering in the water and taking a longer shower than he usually would. He hums, testing the way his vocal cords wrap around the acoustics of the empty high ceilinged room. 

Then he hears the scuffling of someone in the bathroom too and cuts off. A little abashed at being caught. The rustling getting closer and its a moment before he realizes that the rustling is coming from his own section of the bath. he smells him the second before he pulls the shower curtain gets pulled back. 

- “Yoongi!” Jimin shouts, furiously grabbing at something to cover his nakedness. Jimin furiously tries to cover his crotch, grabbing one of the large bargain bottles of shampoo and hold it there even as cold water runs over his face. Getting into his wide eyes. “Yoongi what the fuck! You’re naked!”

- Jimin is glad that the rumors about snake hybrids having double the appendages as a normal hybrid are false but he can’t stop his blush or his wandering eyes as he sees the snake hybrid in full. Or the hot lick of arousal that shocks him through his core- especially when he recognizes the heaviness to Yoongi's scent as being arousal. 

- there is a single moment, jimin can smell yoongi- can see the want in his eyes, can feel his own scent fluff out to meet his, yoongi sags under the weight of Jimin's scent as the surprise dissipates. "do you-" Jimin's face must be brighter than a tomato. He reaches out a tentative hand, "do you want to-" 

- Before Jimin can do much more than that Yoongi’s lips are on his, tentative but firm and passionate, the fire leaking into him from Yoongi as jimin stumbles in surprise. The kiss tastes like thank you and Ive wanted to do this for longer than i care to admit and everything yoongi can't say, can't let slip past his lips. jimin drops the shampoo bottle which narrowly misses his foot as Yoongi’s hands come up to encircle his jaw so softly like Yoongi is holding the most important thing in his world. Jimin is so shocked that for a moment- he doesn’t kiss back and Yoongi retracts- not before Jimin chases his lips and the snake hybrid returns to him.

- It’s the first time Yoongi’s ever touched Jimin so bare, and the snake’s hands on the back of his neck feel cold and shivery but good. As Jimin’s back hit’s the wall and their fronts press together for a moment, just brushing. Then colliding with more force as they both realize how good it feels to be so close to someone you trust. It’s dizzying- intoxicating, and Jimin knows his mouth is moving sloppily even if he wants to kiss Yoongi with just as much intent. 

- The snake hybrid bites- actually bites- down on Jimin’s tongue. And a strangled whine comes to live and die in his throat. A snarl in his ears from Yoongi's mouth as the snake hybrid keeps his biting, moves to Jimin's throat- bites hard Enough that Jimin knows he'll leave a bruise. "leave more- yoongi please mark me" jimin feels hot with the thought of it- the thought of all the other hybrids being able to smell yoongi on his scent gland. 

- Jimin doesn’t know where to put his hands, he knows enough to know that Yoongi doesn’t like to be touched and unsure if it extends to right now. but it seems okay if he’s doing the touching. His hands sliding down Jimin's back to his waist. He’s a good kisser, the best that Jimin’s ever kissed (not that there have been many) and he tips his head forward to put as much scalding force as he can into it when yoongi leaves his neck in favor of his mouth, trying to match Yoongi’s intensity even if he can’t match his skill.

- Yoongi takes a step forward, and Jimin’s cock brushes his hipbone, and he can’t stop the way his hips jump at the contact, brushing into Yoongi further. Jimin’s blood boils with arousal. Yoongi is equally as hard compared to Jimin. And Jimin doesn't know if its water or precum that he feels on his skin. Can't look down to check.

- By the time Yoongi leans back and finishes running his fingers through Jimin’s hair and over his shoulders. Jimin’s so wound up he feels like he’s about the pass out. The cool water cascading over his back doing nothing to settle him. Yoongi moves his hips- testing the waters, as he grinds, works jimin’s hips into an unsteady rhythm. and jimin moans. 

- Yoongi pulls back, looking at jimin, their noses brushing, like he can’t bear to have jimin farther away from him than this, want heavy in his eyes, and Jimin tastes the words on Yoongi’s lips as good as if he’d said them. “Yoongi” jimin breathes. Palms pressed carefully to the shower wall so that he won’t reach out and yank Yoongi closer. But he’s Weak against the wake of this of all this feeling.

- “fuck- kiss me again- can we- ” Jimin feels strung out, his body heavy with something like heat- maybe Jimin is actually having a heat and it’s not just in his imagination (he wouldn't really know what it felt like- never having had one before because of his malnutrition). But This kind of kissing is certainly enough to trigger one.

- Yoongi opens his mouth for a second, almost like he’s about to speak- or to try to, Jimin’s never been sure if he can- if it’s muteness or just Yoongi being selective. And then in the next moment, Yoongi’s gone, almost tripping on his way out of the showers with how fast he’s leaving jimin. A whine dies in his throat and jimin starts after him, But then Yoongi turns back. Gesturing with a hand for jimin to stay put. Yoongi looks angry, and it takes a moment for Jimin to realize that the anger wasn’t directed at jimin- only at Himself.

- Jimin stays in the shower, water thundering down around him as the sky overhead thunders too. Jimin listens to the faint sound of Yoongi dressing and then leaving the showers. Jimin lets him go. So sure that he has absolutely no idea what just happen- or even if he didn’t imagine the whole thing.

- jimin’s hand on himself doesn't feel nearly good as Yoongi’s did. 

- Yoongi’s hands shake all the way back up the hill, and he hopes his wet hair won’t be too suspicious especially when a mixed group of hybrids crosses his path. Returning to the barns as most of the adoption day festivities have ended.

 - Yoongi’s careful to keep his eyes averted. And like usual- the conversation comes to a halt when Yoongi passes them by. It no longer bugs him the way it might have once. They have a good reason not to want to associate with him. Yoongi’s body shakes with the weight of the things he’s done and the things he’s going to do.

- you gather with 3 families on your porch as you take down their names and contact information. You send yoongi a concerned look as he quickly heads inside the house. Pausing only for a moment before he decides to go to Namjoon first. Later- later he’ll ask you too. 

- Stupid- he’s been so stupid recently. Touching you- indulging in these short sweet touches because he wants more so badly. Knows he can never have it doesn’t stop the wanting. If his owner ever found out what he’s done- if she ever found out what he’d almost done with jimin- she’d surely have Jimin’s hands for it. 

- And as much as Yoongi wishes it were any other way- Jimin almost touching him does remind him of far worse times. Though he’d been the one to initiate it this time- the memories still linger. 

- Times when foreign hands touched his skin as he’d thrashed and screamed trying to protest against the taunting words of his owner. “I’ve never been interested in snake dick but if you want him for tonight you can have him- just be careful- he bites” and he shakes with those memories. Though its been many years. like most kinds of torture- eventually, his owner had grown bored with using yoongi's body as a bargaining chip. Yoongi wonders if he’s ever going to be able to be touched that way without feeling the revulsion at his own body.

- Jimin had come close, but he'd known- known that yoongi didn't want him to touch him. Had seemed more than willing to be touched himself. the revulsion hadn't hit him until the end. 

- The places he’s been touched without his consent feel black and decaying- or like ink, every time someone touches him- Yoongi’s surprised that ink doesn’t come away on your hands soft and delicate. But it didn’t change the fact that Yoongi wanted it- and wants it still. 

- he wants to see you soft and sated the way you look sometimes in the morning when he can smell Namjoon on you- wants to cause it- maybe, someday in the future if you'll let him. He knows you’d be gentle with him. Wouldn’t put your hands anywhere he didn’t want. Would check in with him- going as slowly or as quickly as he wanted too. Namjoon would be able to be gentle too- Yoongi’s sure of it.

- He wants it, even though he knows that want only put you all in danger. He’s an incredibly selfish person. He hopes he never gets to have that intimacy with you, for your sake.

- yoongi should only let himself dream of something good before he goes- sinks back into that life. But the temptation for more is too strong sometimes, his want filling him up like sticky sweet syrup that pollutes every moment. 

- Namjoon is on the second floor of your house and Yoongi takes the stairs two at a time. Folding laundry in what will one day be the nursery for your child. He’s taken the ultrasound up here now- hung it up so he can look at it. and Yoongi is reminded of A few days ago when he gushed about the development of your child to Yoongi in the kitchen comparing them to the size of a fruit. “a cute little cantaloupe- the cutest little cantaloupe”

- You and Namjoon have made the decision not to find out the gender, but the walls of the nursery are still pained blue, puffy clouds above and little flowers below, dandelions and daisies, a stalwart sunflower that curls over the arch of the door half-finished. Yoongi knows you work on the mural it whenever you can. But Namjoon gets a little paranoid about the fumes- you compromise and keep the windows open along with the door to your balcony to allow as much air circulation as possible.

- The crib, a fluffy white thing is already piled into the corner. And Yoongi remembers the first few weeks here when you and Namjoon had overzealously ordered it. He’d come downstairs after dinner one night and found both of you puzzling over the directions. And he’d shooed Namjoon away as he’d helped you put it together. The three of you ending up giggly and punch drunk tired by the time it was fully put together. And then had to carry it all the way up the stairs. 

-A mobile of little felted flowers that Seokjin made you as a thank you present a hangs above the empty Crib- colorful and cute. And Namjoon has set the laundry on the unused changing table in neat stacks. All of the other furniture is piled into the center of the room so that you can paint the walls. He turns when he hears Yoongi, his tail swishing.

- “Hey Yoon- what you get caught in a rainstorm or something?” the rain splatters against the windows with a soft patter and Yoongi drips onto the floor. He never bothered to dry off after the unintentional shower with jimin. Yoongi makes a shrug that means ‘something like that’ and if the younger hybrid hovers on the way that Yoongi’s lips look a little kiss bitten and swollen he doesn’t say a thing. Namjoon knows better than anyone- what they talk about and what they don’t.

- He hands over the slip of paper; “jimin should move into the main house, you and I could clean out one of the storage rooms and move the stuff into the attic.”

-  Yoongi watches Namjoon’s eyes rove over the words a few times. The hybrid purses his lips, “I’ve talked to Y/n about this- and she agrees- but I don’t know if he wants too? He seems pretty comfortable in the barns, he likes Taehyung and they’re friends. and we kind of want to leave it up to him if we can.”

- Yoongi snatches the paperback from him, annoyance flickering in his chest as he rolls his eye. Didn’t Namjoon see that nothing would change if they didn’t push him a little? Jimin is the type to take that kind of abuse again and again if it means not making a fuss. And Yoongi knows it’s only a matter of time before something happens again. He turns it over onto the other side and using the wall as a place to write.

- “He’s already being treated differently because of me” 'me' being double underlined- so that Namjoon really understands what he’s trying to say. Yoongi just wants to make sure Jimin is safe before he goes. Before he needs to leave and before it gets too dangerous and too near a time when his owner will physically retrieve him. Not that Namjoon knows that Yoongi’s presence has an expiration date. Namjoon searches Yoongi’s face for a source to his desperation and finds none.

- Yoongi has never felt worse for keeping secrets. Maybe in another world- Yoongi would have confessed and asked Namjoon, with all of his connections to the police, for help. Yoongi knows enough to put the whole crime system out of whack and yet. Years of negative reinforcement and beatings have taught him to keep his mouth shut and that isn’t going to change now; not when Yoongi’s life isn’t the only one at risk and he knows you’ll all live if he plays by the rules. He doesn't care about his own safety anymore. 

- The second he sees Yoongi’s distraught expression Namjoon steps closer Taking off his flannel and tugging it around his shoulders. Namjoon might not make moves to scent mark Yoongi but dressing him in his clothes is as good as he gets. Namjoon’s comforting alpha scent fluffs around him.

- Yoongi wonders if jimin feels the pull the same way he does. Dynamics are more mobile in snake hybrids and downright non-existent in humans. but they’re more set in canines. Namjoon puts his hand on Yoongi’s clothed arm and Yoongi shuffles close after a second. His nose centimeters from Namjoon’s neck taking in deep breathes to try and steady himself. He didn’t realize he was shaking.

- “It will be alright Yoongi, I promise. He’s gonna be safe.” Namjoon adds quieter. And below them both- in the first floor of the house, he can hear your voice, echoing louder and laughing at some sort of joke, Namjoon’s tail starts wagging at the suggestion of you. “I want them to feel safe too.”

- Yoongi wants to write “he should take my room- I won’t be staying in it soon anyway.” but Yoongi needs to make sure- before he leaves. Jimin has to be included in your little pack. He doesn’t want to think- about what the three of you will go through when he eventually has to leave. The days are counting down to the end of the summer. 

- He’s fucking selfish, so selfish, to kiss Jimin like that when he knows he won't be able to stay in the hybrids life. He’s selfish every time he begs affection off you, every day he keeps Namjoon Company when he’s cleaning up the other barns. Yoongi writing out words in the dust when Namjoon asks him questions. Eyes only searching when Namjoon turns his back. Looking for any sort of hidden compartment. Completing his task even if it’s the last thing he wants to do. Betraying you like this.

- Jimin spends the rest of the day wondering if the kiss with Yoongi was just a dream. But later at dinner, Yoongi won’t meet his eyes, and jimin knows he didn’t imagine the kiss. Guilt sticks to Yoongi, more distracting than honey stuck between your fingertips.

- Both of them go to sleep still thinking about the kiss. Jimin wondering if it will happen again and Yoongi thinking that he’d like it too. His fingers running over his lower and upper lips, mind awash with the memory of jimin’s mouth on his. And night falls heavy like a weighted blanket on the farm. The sky a big sheet with holes poked through for stars. A heavenly breeze tempting away the summer heat.

- All of the hybrids safe and snoring in their beds. Some even paired- if they’ve got it. Two furry bodies packed close on a single bed. Some even dream of homes they mind one day live in or of the people that one day they’ll get to love. The idea of being kept and treasured lulling them into a drowsy haze of anticipation and security. 

- That night, Namjoon knocks on Yoongi’s door. the hybrid leaning up against the doorframe as he watches the snake get ready for bed. “you know... you could sleep in our room if you want, we have an air conditioner in there too.” yoongi has a notepad ready, he knows that Namjoon likes to open all the windows and even the door to your balcony to let the fresh air in so that it feels like you're sleeping outside. He steels himself to think of someone other than himself before he writes- “I’m okay- thanks though” Yoongi writes out. 

- Namjoon lifts one of Yoongi’s blankets to his neck before he leaves, thoroughly scents marking it before he leaves it with Yoongi. And Yoongi sleeps easy that night with his nose pressed to the blanket. Safe and secure in his room. Nothing bad happens to yoongi that night even though he cuddles close to the blanket, and when he wakes in the morning. his heart beats a steady thumping rhythm- his whole body humming with anticipation. 

- It’s different to feel excited about being in love, excited for a day spent close to the people he cares about. And he knows he won't take a single day for granted. 

- The crickets and cicadas chirping in the field. And in a low tone on the tree outside, a morning dove gentle and unassuming. The sun rising over the hills. Tastes of idyllic and smells of Eden. Like lavender and honey.

- A hand outstretched, scrambling in the dirt before it goes still, fingers just a few inches from safety. Blood mixing in with the sand. The morning is not perfect for everyone.

- But even you would say the morning was peaceful, if not for the dead body dumped at the end of your driveway. 

Kofi

[seungmvnnie]

Flipped

pairing; Chenle x reader

genre; enemies to lovers au, ‘American high school’ au, angst, fluff

word count; 10.8k

summary; ‘The moment you laid eyes on Zhong Chenle, you had flipped.’ You had known that you were in love with Chenle, your next door neighbor, since you were 7 years old. Chenle wanted nothing to do with you. Until of course, ten years later he starts to realize that perhaps there’s more to you that meets the eye, unluckily just as you began to realize, perhaps Chenle was less than you had chalked him up to be.

warnings; insensitive language regarding illness, death, female reader, heavily inspired by the movie flipped, some scenes are near word for word from the movie, so credits to the movie for those parts, although parts of the main narrative differ, as well as scenes. A large majority of the characters are not similar to their real life counterpart. 

tag list; @sunflowerhae​ @byunbaekby​​ @mikasrecs​(if you asked to be on the tag list and i didn’t tag you, i’m very sorry, i was terrible at tracking who was on it cause im an idiot)

a/n; Started making it. Had a breakdown. Bon Appetit.

It all began in the Summer before second grade. In Zhong Chenle’s eyes, it was the beginning of a decade of strategic avoidance, awkward encounters, and a lifetime worth of what he deemed to be, discomfort.

For you, it was true love.

The moment you laid eyes on Zhong Chenle, you had flipped. It was something in those eyes, those dazzling brown eyes which bore into you. Or maybe it was something about his smile. There was something about him which made you realize that at 7 years old, you had met your soul mate. His family had just moved into your neighborhood, a long cul-de-sac of identical, modern two-story houses, the majority of which had the same identical clean cut lawns and typical nuclear well off family who owned the house and prided themselves on how their petunias were better than the house across the streets. That was except for yours, of course. Deemed the ‘embarrassment of the neighborhood,’ the yellow paint on your house was flaking off, the grass dry and grey and the fence encasing the yard, which had at one point been white was now a dull grey, not to mention falling apart in some places. This was attributed to the fact that your father simply did not have the time. As a painter, he had to work extra hard to provide for his family, especially considering your mother’s situation.

It was a hot summer’s day, the day Chenle moved in. You could remember the feeling of the sun on your face as you basked in its warmth, the pavement on which you sat almost boiling as the moving van pulled up to the house opposite yours. You had recalled that your father had told you to always be kind and helpful, which is why you had thought it appropriate to skip across the road to the nice looking family and offer a helping hand.

Little did you know, your help was unwanted. Chenle remembered watching the girl skip – skip? As if anyone had done that since kindergarten – from the odd-looking house across the way and when she confidently stated,

“Hi, I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N). Need any help?” He looked to his father for confirmation that this girl was strange. He noticed the judgmental look which was written on his father’s face as he surveyed the girl with the messy hair and grubby clothes, no doubt from playing in the unpleasant yard which she came from that juxtaposed with their clean, green yard. He recognized the exact moment that his father deemed them better than her, a switch in his face where he knew where she stood on the social ladder. Acting according, he too looked at the girl with disdain.

“There’s some valuable things in those boxes. Don’t touch them.” His father had scolded as you reached for one of the boxes that were stacked on their lawn.

“What about this one?” You suggested, reaching for another one. This was the moment that Chenle had realized that this girl could not take a hint. His father had pushed the box away with his foot before you could even touch it.

“Maybe you should run home? Your moms probably worried about you.” He sneered, staring down his nose on you. Resilient, you stared back.

“My dad knows I’m here.” You had replied simply, before turning to Chenle.

“Want to push one together?” You asked, pointing at one of the heavier ones. Chenle scrunched his face up at you, looking to his father for answers.

“I think your mom wants your help in the house, Chenle.” His dad had replied, not so subtly winking at him, as if to say, ‘escape from the crazy girl while you can.’

 He seized the opportunity, turning on his heel and running towards the house, where his mother stood in the doorway, when the most ridiculous thing happened. Not only did (Y/N) (Y/L/N) follow him, but you grabbed his hand.

“Oh, hello! I see you’ve met my son.” His mother had called out, a small smile growing on her face as she observed the sight of the two 7-year olds connected by their hands.

Chenle, having no clue how to escape the situation, did the most mature thing a 7-year-old boy could do. He hid behind his mother.

Who did you think you were? He had been here for less than 10 minutes and he had some crazy girl trying to hold his hand.

Of course, for you, you really had thought you were being kind. The boxes on the lawn did look intimidatingly heavy but you were sure with the help of the cute boy stood next to them, you could help get them into the house. You hadn’t picked up on the fact that it had taken Mr. Zhong all of 10 seconds to determine that you weren’t worthy of their time and when he had sent his son inside to help unpack, you thought maybe it would be a good idea to chase after him, see if he wanted to play for a bit before he was stuck unpacking boring boxes. You had grabbed his arm to stop him from running into his house, when he turned around and moved his arm out of your clasp, grabbing your hand instead.

You could remember vividly, the way your stomach had flipped as he stared at you with those deep brown eyes, and you had been so sure he was going to kiss you. He had held your hand! At 7, you had basically considered that a marriage proposal. If his mother had not have called out to you, you were sure you were going to have had your first kiss at 7 years old. The way he blushed and hid behind his mother was adorable, he was so shy.

That night you lay awake, thinking of the boy who was walking around with your first kiss.

If only he wasn’t so shy, maybe he would have. That was the moment you decided, you were going to do everything in your power to ensure that Chenle would not have to ever feel shy around you. He needed to know; he had a friend in you.

While sweet in theory, the reality of the situation was, Chenle believed he did not need the help of, what his father had referred to the evening after you, your two older brothers and your father brought over homemade pies, ‘trash like them.’ He especially did not need the help of the girl who embarrassed him on the first day of school. Yes, you had thought it appropriate, upon seeing Chenle enter the classroom of Mr. Lee on the very first day of school, to run up to him and give him a huge hug, which he of course, had struggled against. That’s what had earned him the reputation of being (Y/N) (Y/L/N)’s boyfriend, a reputation he did not manage to shrug off until freshman year of high school, and he only got rid of through dating Lee Chaeryong for an incredibly brief period of time, who was perfectly sweet, but he didn’t find her particularly interesting.

For a while, he found dealing with Chaeryong’s insistence yammering about nothing he cared about a lot easier to endure than the lovesick eyes you gave him. The plan was, he would walk her to class a few times, sit with her at lunch and eventually, you would lose interest, he could break up with her.  It was all going smoothly, until his best friend, Park Jisung, suddenly decided to get a moral backbone for once and tell Chaeryong what Chenle was doing. Chenle reckoned it was just because of Jisung’s own crush on her, but either way, it had resulted in a very public breakup. A week later, you were back to obsessing over him, and once again he became, (Y/N)’s boyfriend.

 3 years later, their senior year, brought a lot of changes, the main change of which being Chenle’s grandfather had permanently moved in with their family. Chenle did not know much of his grandfather. An old surly man, he spent his days sat in the armchair beside their front window, staring blankly out into the empty street. Chenle’s mom said he did that because he missed grandma, although Chenle would not know as much he had very little conversations with him. The second change in Chenle’s life was more superficial as everyone was talking about how much (Y/N) had grown between the summer of junior and senior year – your face had thinned out, and you had a much more of a mature air about you and for a brief moment of, what Chenle had deemed insanity, he may have mistaken you as pretty. Of course, the second you had sent him the same goofy smile which graced your face every time you looked at him, and murmured the same,

“Hi, Chenle,” the pit in his stomach from the tired repetition of ten years returned.

“Hi, (Y/N).” He had replied, a tight-lipped smile sent your way.

 It is imperative to the justification of your side of the story that you understand that Chenle had never once openly rejected you, or even treated you rudely. You would talk to him when you could, and he would reply perfectly politely, which would only reinforce the idea that it’s not that he did not like you, he was just shy. On top of that, it was not as if you actively pursued him. You spoke to him like one would a friend as, how you saw it, everyone knew you liked Chenle, no doubt, including him. If he wanted to, he would ask you out. Other than that, you were content talking to him when you could.

 Other than your looks, a lot more had changed in your life. For almost as long as you could remember, your mother had been sick. There had been a time, a very long time ago, where you could recall how the same scalic motif would echo from the piano which now lay dormant, the thick layer of dust that had blanketed it over the years rendering it inoperable. Your life had been filled with hospital visits to a woman you had never really gotten the opportunity to know and who no longer knew you. You often grazed your hand over the ivory piano keys, and tried to flick through the penciled sheet music which hadn’t been touched since the last time your mom had last scribbled on them but to you it was a foreign language you could only hope to understand.

About a week into September, you had been ignoring your English teacher’s in-depth analysis of some Shakespeare scene and letting your thoughts and eyes wander to where Chenle sat two seats in front of you. His black hair had seemed even darker that day, contrasting with the white t-shirt and denim jacket he was wearing. You were so focused on the way his head would duck down to take notes, that you barely noticed the teacher who had slid into the classroom and leaned to whisper something in your teacher’s ear. It wasn’t until your teacher had called your name and Chenle had spun to stare at you alongside the rest of the class, his brown eyes meeting yours, that you had snapped back into reality, the heat of your embarrassment at getting caught by Chenle warming your face. Funnily enough, you had forgotten about your embarrassment when your teacher had called you out into the hallway, where your tearful father stood. He didn’t have to say anything. You knew.

The next week all blurred together into a flurry of emotions which you purposefully tried your best to forget. The funeral was huge, groups of people from your school coming to show solidarity, as well as the entire neighborhood, including Chenle and his family. You could not bring yourself to glance at him, not with your father crying quietly next to you. You did not know whether to cry for the woman you had never met before. 

  Your school allowed you the next few months off school, but you had returned after only one month and that month was the quietest your house had ever been. Your father locked himself in his room for the first two weeks, and your brothers oversaw making dinner for the family, which essentially meant the whole family was living off frozen pizza for two weeks. Your dad eventually emerged from his bedroom, but when he did, he was like a man crazed. He insisted that you did a spring clean (it was September) of the house and get rid of the clutter which had gathered from the many years of neglect. You were in charge of sorting through all of the things your dad wanted to give to charity, and you had invited your friend Shin Ryujin over to help. More like she insisted. Ryujin had been new to town in freshmen year and had befriended you before she had known of your reputation as ‘Chenle’s stalker,’ and she had been a fierce friend ever since. You had both been folding a pile of old clothes when your eyes fell on your mom’s old music stand accompanied with that oh so familiar stack of written sheet music under a pile of old toys. 

You didn’t want your mom’s handwritten sheet music to end up in a charity shop but your dad had insisted that no one was using it, and, unless you could think of someone else to give it to, it was going to charity. That was when, luckily, you remembered Chenle. He was a skilled piano player and singer, so much so, the whole school anticipated his performance in the Christmas Talent Show, which he had won for the past 3 years. Upon gaining your father’s permission, but against the wishes of Ryujin who had spent the past three years explaining how Chenle was terrible for you and you needed to, in her words, ‘Hoe it up,’ you made the journey across the road and knocked on Chenle’s door, clutching the music stand and sheet music to your chest. Luckily, he had been the one to open the door instead of his father whom you didn’t personally mind, but felt as though he may have disliked you. 

It had been early before school one morning, when you had knocked on his door. He was barely awake, the sweatpants and loose t-shirt he had worn for his pajamas still clung to his body. He hadn’t expected to be opening the door to someone from school, let alone you, awake and bright eyed. On a normal day, your chirpiness would have bothered him to no end, but today was different. He hadn’t seen you since your mom’s funeral, and he found that he had wounded up missing your ever-present annoyance. He didn’t know how reassuring that lovesick, “Hi, Chenle,” could be. He couldn’t understand how, in your absence, he found his eyes straying to your empty seat, or when he sat at his desk which lay in front of his window, his eyes would wander to where he knew your bedroom window sat. He had realized, in the few weeks that you were off, that your presence was more comforting that your absence.

His dad hadn’t wanted to go the funeral. Apparently, he didn’t see the point. It was his mother who had pushed them to go, saying how bad they would have looked if they didn’t show their faces. His dad had argued that he didn’t care how he looked to a poor dreamer and the ‘crazies he calls family.’ The only reason they ended up going was because his mom had said she was going with or without him and apparently that would look bad to everyone else in the neighborhood. Chenle didn’t see the harm; sure he didn’t like you, but you were always nice to him and it was only respectful.

“Uh- Hi, (Y/N).” He said, eyes wandering down your body to where you clutched the sheet music and back up to your face. Your heart had flipped, a sensation you were now old friends with and usually attributed to Chenle’s warm brown eyes which traversed your face, his morning voice only making him more attractive. Little did you know, Chenle’s biggest concern at this moment was less checking you out and more checking if you were okay, and judging by the tired bags under your eyes despite your outwardly cheery appearance, you didn’t look okay.

“Hi, Chenle.” For once, those two words didn’t make him want to rip his own hair out.

“Uh, these are my mom’s. My dad wanted to give them to charity but, I don’t know, I thought they’d be better with someone I know... and well, you’re kind of the only musician I know.” His eyes flickered down to the sheet music you clutched in your arms.

“Oh- Thanks?” The music stand looked to Chenle to be at least 30 years old and the yellowing sheet music did not look too enticing, but he reached out his arms for them anyways.

“She wrote the music herself. You don’t have to play it but, I don’t know, I just really didn’t want to see it end up in the back of some charity shop. At least I know, with your talent, it’s in good hands.”

“Oh, well thanks.” You sent him an awkward closed mouth smile before turning on your heel but before you could make the short walk across the road, he called out to you.

“Wait-”

You spun around again.

“Yeah?”

He had stood up from where he had previously been leaning against the door frame, his brow now furrowed.

“Are you- are you coming back to school anytime soon?” He almost cringed as he uttered the words. He always felt bad being nice to you, it felt as if he was giving you false hope. However, for the first time, it came naturally to him as opposed to the fake smile he would give you.

“I’m allowed off until January but I’m coming back next week. It’s just so... quiet at my house. I’m kind of sick of it at this point.” His eyes scanned your face again, in the way that felt as though he could stare into your very soul if he looked hard enough.

“Well, I hope you’re okay.” The sincerity in his voice echoed the sympathetic look on his face.

“Thanks. I’ll see you next week, I guess.”

“See you at school.” He closed the door and looked at the music stand he had left leaning against the wall, which, unfortunately, became the topic of discussion that night at the dinner table.

“I think it was very nice of her to give you that stuff, Chenle.” His Mom had said, the clinking sounds of cutlery against plates underlying the conversation.

“I’m not using them,” He replied simply, as he moved the vegetables his mom had forcibly placed on his plate around with his fork. 

“Oh, don’t be a dick, Chenle.” His sister nudged him, ignoring their parent shouts of, ‘language!’

“I’m not being a dick, they’re about 30 years old and I’m a piano player, I don’t use a music stand anyways.” He placed his fork down.

“Well, they’re not lying here and collecting dust. I’m honestly annoyed. Just because their house is all cluttered doesn’t mean our house has to be. You can go back and tell her you don’t want them.” His dad interjected, in that authoritarian manner he so loved.

“Dad, I can’t do that.”

“Eat your vegetables, Chenle.” His mom said, taking a sip from her way-too-expensive crystal wine glass. He rolled his eyes and picked up his fork again, purposely taking a bite out of the broccoli which adorned his plate.

“Why not? Are you scared of her?” His dad challenged, and Chenle couldn’t help but notice the broccoli which remained on his plate. Why did Chenle have to eat it but his dad didn’t?

“I’m not scared of her, it’s just- Her mom just died. I don’t want to be mean.” His fork stopped moving as his Father scoffed.

“Man up. You aren’t being rude, you’re being honest.”

“Chenle, vegetables.” 

He groaned, shoveling as much of the vegetables into his mouth as he possibly could in one go before sinking down in his chair. He didn’t have a clue what to do. On one hand, the music equipment was of no use to him, so realistically, it would make the most sense to give them back. But on the other hand, if he gave them back they would just end up with charity and while Chenle didn’t necessarily like the girl, he didn’t think he could be that insensitive. Which was why he had deemed it an amazing idea to ask the paragon of good advice, his best friend, Park Jisung, at school the next day.

“Dude, just give it away yourself.” Jisung had answered assertively, from where he had perched himself atop his desk during their break, opening the cupcake that Chenle had given him. It had originally been a gift from Chaeryong who had long since forgiven him since the Freshmen incident, and every now and then when she got bored, would return to her phase of crushing on him.

“What do you mean?” Chenle asked, ignoring the way he could most definitely see Chaeryong staring at him from behind Jisung’s head, taking a sip of the strawberry milk he had bought from the school vending machine. Jisung rolled his eyes.

“I mean, if you give it away to some thrift shop first, she’ll never know, and you can tell your family that you told her. Boom, both people are happy.” Chenle chewed at the straw of his milk carton. He wasn’t necessarily wrong; in giving the stuff away himself, no one got hurt and he wouldn’t get called a coward by his family.

“Jisung, you’re a genius. Come with me after school? We’ll drop by my house and I’ll drive us into town.” Jisung nodded, cringing as he picked the love heart candy off the cupcake.

Unfortunately for Chenle, he hadn’t seemed to realize that, sat with her back to him was Ryujin, who had overheard the whole conversation, mostly because Chaeryong had insisted they eavesdropped on them to see if they talked about her. Ryujin had let Chenle away with a lot over the years; he had ignored you, laughed at you with his friends, talked about you behind his back and while she would discuss how much of a prick she thought he was with you, you never believed her, or blamed yourself, or make excuses for him. Which was why she deemed it a necessary evil to send you a text saying, ‘Want to go thrift shopping after school? I’ll buy you coffee?’

She knew you would never turn down free coffee. And it actually had turned out you had multiple boxes to donate anyways, although shopping with Ryujin was always an experience. You liked clothes shopping as much as anyone, but Ryujin was crazy. She could take 3 hours to go through one tiny shop.

“Ryujin? Are you done yet?” You had whined, the cardboard coffee cup in your hand had been emptied at least half an hour ago, and you had finished looking for clothes an hour ago. She was especially taking her time today, deliberating every item of clothing she saw and the dark lighting was starting to hurt your eyes, the musky smell of cedar wood and laundry detergent was inviting at first, but now made you feel woozy.

“My feet hurt.” You complained again, only pouting at the joke glare she shot your way. The bell which jingled every time someone entered the shop that you had learned to zone out the past two hours rang again, but this time, Ryujin’s eyes flickered up and rested on the person standing at the door. You furrowed your brow and spun to see who she was staring at, and there stood Chenle and Jisung, both looking positively ill.

“Oh- Hi, Chenle!” You waved, a small smile gracing your face. You cocked your head slightly to look at the two boys who had lost all color to their faces. Chenle still looked as good as ever, and the smell of his citrusy shampoo paired with his expensive smelling cologne cut through the woody scent of the shop, his chestnut brown eyes which lay beneath his messy mop of dark hair bringing butterflies to your stomach the way they always did.

“What’s wrong? You look as if you’ve seen a-,” you didn’t get to finish your sentence as your eyes had fallen down to where he clutched the oh so familiar sheet music and music stand. Your smile dropped, the butterflies in your stomach mutating into lead.

“What are you doing with those?” You asked, quietly, ignoring the way Jisung almost ran back out of the shop.

“I- uh- well...” He looked down, staring guiltily at his hands and the rusty music stand he clutched.

“If you didn’t want them you could have said, you know. You didn’t have to go behind my back to give them away.” You snapped, and for the first time in your whole life, looking at Chenle made your heart sink instead of flip. 

“It wasn’t me! My dad said that he didn’t-” He stopped, as if he had caught himself.

“Didn’t what?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. He sighed, and glance to the side, almost as though he was refusing to meet your eyes.

“He said he didn’t understand why our house had to be cluttered just because you only started cleaning up your house and yard now.” He mumbled, and your eyes widened, and you put out an arm to stop Ryujin, who you could sense was about to jump on the boy.

“I didn’t think a bunch of sheet music was going to destroy your house that much.” You replied, letting out a huff and gulping away the lump in your throat, refusing to cry in front of him.

“I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” He mumbled, staring at his hands in shame. He had never wished that the ground would swallow him whole more in his entire life.

“You should have told me. Give them to the shop, honestly. I don’t care anymore.” You pushed past him, resisting the urge to throw the empty cardboard coffee cup at him.

“(Y/N)!” He called after you and you turned again, blinking back the tears which were gathering in your eyes, the constant chanting of, ‘don’t cry,’ becoming a sustained pedal in your head and realistically being the only thing stopping the tears from spilling.

“What?”

“I- I’m sorry.” His chestnut eyes you loved so much stared at you in that sincere way that felt as though he could stare into your soul if he tried hard enough, but for once, you could see a corruption in the honesty, a sort of rotten core to what you had previously thought was a pure center.

“No, you’re not.” You mumbled, before spinning back round and dragging Ryujin out by the wrist who had to drop the clothes she had clutched previously in a pile next to the door, having been given no opportunity to replace them tidily.

At first you had thought you were upset, the burning sensation in your chest was mistaken for sadness, but when you brought your hand up to your eyes to wipe away the tears which now fell, the downtrodden feeling switched into anger very quickly. Not only did Chenle lie and act as if he had cared about you and your family, but he had the audacity to talk about you all as if you were a group of hoarders who couldn’t keep your yard presentable.

You slammed your car door shut - while you had previously loved your run-down little jeep, you supposed perhaps the Zhong family liked to comment on that too - ignoring the comforting words Ryujin was uttering as she climbed into the passenger seat.

“Are you busy on Saturday?” You asked as you gripped the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles turned white, turning the key in the ignition.

“Uh- I don’t think so. Why?” Ryujin replied, eyeing you warily.

“How do you feel about gardening?”

It didn’t take long for Chenle to realize he had traded in his old problems with (Y/N) (Y/L/N) for a whole set of new ones. You had returned to school the next week, and the way you constantly avoided him was simply a reminder of how much of a jerk he had been. Not to mention when he woke up on Saturday morning to discover you and Ryujin in your garden pulling up weeds, the guilt panging in his chest as he watched you toil away.

Then one day a week later or so, he was walking back from playing basketball from Jisung when things got weird.

His grandfather stood in your front yard, a pair of sheers in hand as he clipped at the hedges which had grown over your windows, conversing quietly with you as you worked.

He had only ever seen his grandfather in slippers - where the hell had those work boots come from? He didn’t even know his grandfather knew how to use sheers let alone would willingly help a random girl from across the street. The more he watched from his bedroom window, the madder he got. His grandfather had said more to you in the last hour than he had the whole time he had lived with them. Chenle wasn’t even sure if he had ever seen his grandfather laugh before, but there he was, laughing at something you said.

You had been struggling with hacking away the hedge when his grandfather had approached you. Ryujin had abandoned helping you a while ago, but you still appreciated the help she had given you originally. You knew gardening wasn’t necessarily her thing. You wanted to think that the reason you had decided to fix up your yard was not because of what Zhong Chenle thought of you, but to make your house better in this new pre-mom times, as your brothers had begun calling them. After what he had done with your mom’s sheet music, why were you meant to care about anything he thought? But sadly, you knew deep down you did.

“Are you pruning that Hedge or hacking it to death?” You heard someone call out, and you swung around to see a man whom you couldn’t help but recognize as being related to Chenle. They had the same smile.

You laughed awkwardly, clutching the sheers a little tighter. 

“I’m Chenle’s grandfather. Sorry it’s taken me so long to come over and introduce myself.” He smiled again and outstretched a hand which you then shook.

“Nice to meet you.” 

“Are you planning on cutting these all to the same height?” He gestured towards the hedges. You breathed in, looking at the hedges which you had previously been ruining.

“That was the plan, but I might have to take them out. I’m not very good at this, if you can’t tell.” You joked.

“Oh, these are Hicksii shrubs. They should prune up nicely.” He replied, pulling out a pair of gloves he had appeared to have brought with him, and reached out for the sheers you had been holding.

You eyed him wearily, as he cut at the hedge. “Listen, Mr. Zhong, if you’re here because of what Chenle said, I don’t need your help.”

He leaned back and looked at you sincerely.

“I don’t know what my little shit of a grandson said to you, but I’m just here because of the crime you were committing on these shrubs.”

The previous reluctance you had felt was immediately relieved as you let out a sincere laugh, not expecting his crude language.

You both worked together on the yard for weeks, and the whole time you worked, you talked. Mr. Zhong was incredibly kind, and it was honestly nice to know that there was someone in that house who wasn’t watching and waiting for your families next screw up. He told you how you had the same spirit as his wife who died a while ago; apparently you both had the same strong will. Although the conversation that stuck with you the most was a few days into working together and he had tentatively asked you about what was happened with you and Chenle. You had explained the situation while you painted the wood you had bought together to make a fence.

“Well, do you like Chenle?” He had asked, and your face warmed, your hand which held the paint brush stilling.

“I don’t know... It’s something about his eyes, I guess.” You looked down, embarrassed. It felt really weird discussing this with his grandfather.

“But what about him?” Mr. Zhong had asked, his hand still as well.

“What do you mean?” You asked, eyebrows furrowing as you turned your head.

“Well - I mean think of it like this. Your father’s a painter, isn’t he? Well, a painting is more than the sum of its parts. You have to look at the whole landscape. A cow by itself is just a cow, a tree is just a tree, a beam of light is just sunshine, but when you put it all together - it can be something magical. Do you think Chenle’s more than the sum of his parts?” If he had asked you a month ago you would have said absolutely. Chenle was entirely more than the sum of his parts, in every conceivable way. But now you weren’t so sure.

“I- I don’t know.”

Meanwhile, Chenle was still struggling to apologize to you. He had spent all week trying to approach you at school, but when it came to holding a grudge, you were truly impressive. You always found a way to duck him, either turning in the hallway to walk the other way or having Ryujin exit through doors first when he tried to block them to confront you. And every time you were out in your yard, his grandpa was always there. It wasn’t until one day, on a cold Saturday morning towards the end of October, when his grandpa had gone into town to buy cream for his hands because all the yard work was starting to get to him, that he found his opening.

“It looks really good.” He commented, grabbing your attention from where you were watering the grass with a hose. You looked up at the boy whom you had dedicated your life to, who stood awkwardly behind the fence you had put up with his grandfather. You wished you could say he looked bad, but in a flannel shirt, black t-shirt and jeans he had never looked better.

“Thanks.” You said quietly, turning your back to him to continue your work.

“I- I’m sorry for what I did.” He piped up and you sighed before switching off the hose and turning towards him again.

“I don’t get it, Chenle. You could have just told me you didn’t need them. You didn’t have to give them away behind my back.” You looked at him, and for once, you were the one looking into his soul, not the other way around. You looked into those eyes, those dazzling brown eyes which bore into you that belonged to the boy walking around with your first kiss and you thought that perhaps his Grandpa was right. Maybe Chenle wasn’t more than the sum of his parts.

“I don’t know - It was dumb. I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings. I shouldn’t have said anything about your yard either. It wasn’t right.” You let your eyes rest on his face again. You were sure - Chenle was definitely less than the sum of his parts. You shrugged.

“Maybe it was for the best.” You turned back towards the grass, turning the hose on again as if to signal, this was the end of the conversation.

“I- I guess I’ll see you around.” He said, hesitantly. You didn’t even turn to look at him this time.

“I guess.”

He spun to make the short trek back to his house, but not without turning back to look at you one last time before opening the bright red door of his house. Your acceptance of his apology was not all he had hoped for, but at least now he could watch TV with his family with a guilt free conscious. although the atmosphere between his grandpa and dad was nearly palpable, especially when his grandfather reached for the cream on the table beside them to rub into his hands.

“That girl working you too hard?” His dad slyly commented, ignoring the foul look his grandfather sent him in response as he rubbed cream into his hands.

“’That girl’s’ name is (Y/N). And no, she isn’t working me too hard.” 

Chenle’s dad widened his eyes slightly, staring down into the brandy which he swirled in the glass he held.

“Do you not think it’s a bit, I don’t know, weird, that you have the time and energy to spend time with the girl next door but not with your own grandson?” He replied snippily, ignoring the way his mom interjected.

“-It’s okay, Dad-” Chenle began, but couldn’t finish as his father cut him off with a sharp, “No, it’s not.”

“Do you know why the (Y/L/N)’s hadn’t fixed up their yard until now?” His grandfather asked, more rhetorically than anything.

“Yeah. Because he’s too busy with his paint-by-numbers kit.” His dad answered, chortling to himself at his own joke, taking another sip of the brandy he was drinking.

“The illness Mrs. (Y/L/N) had was incredibly hard to treat, not to mention emotionally draining. Every penny they had went into hospital bills treating her, and even then, she had been in a coma for 8 years, and then unresponsive for another 5.” Chenle stared down at his hands, trying his best to zone out the argument, especially considering he had been the asshole who tried to give away this poor woman’s music.

“I don’t see what their vegetative mother has to do with their pride in ownership. Realistically, if she had looked after herself more, maybe they wouldn’t have been in this mess.” His dad had answered, once again laughing at his own joke.

“They don’t own that house, they rent it. It’s supposed to be the responsibility of the landlord, and it was nothing to do with how healthy that poor woman was, (Y/N)’s Mom had a blood condition that made her susceptible to strokes, and that’s what made her so ill.” Chenle’s mom sighed from where she sat next to him on the blue couch, before his father had the opportunity to reply and dig himself into a deeper hole.

“That poor family. We should have them over for dinner.” She announced, standing up, grabbing the still full glass from her husband’s hand as she moved into the kitchen.

“We are not having them over for dinner!” His father shouted from the living room.

“We should have them over for a sit down fancy dinner.” She replied, almost deliberately ignoring him.

“We are not - Hey!” He called out as he heard the buttons on the landline beep with each number his mother punched in.

“I’m sorry, I can’t here you over me inviting them over for- Oh hello, (Y/N), dear.” At the sound of your name, Chenle sank farther into the plush couch seats. He just wanted to watch television in peace.

“Shoot me now.” His dad mumbled.

“Careful what you wish for.” His Grandfather replied, not tearing his eyes from the tv and this time he was the one to ignore the evil look which was shot his way.

And so, dinner with the (Y/L/N)’s was in his imminent future, which only made things more uncomfortable at school. Much like when you had taken that month off in school, he found himself focused on the idea of you more than he had previously. He couldn’t get you out of his head, you and your poor mom. He thought he would apologize for the music thing, you would begrudgingly accept his apology, and you could live the rest of the senior year blissfully ignoring each other’s existents. While you had apparently stayed true to the plan, he couldn’t help the way his eyes drifted to find you in class. He had spent 10 years in the same class as you but he had never noticed how you automatically pulled your bottom lip into your mouth when you were focused on something or the way you smiled to stop yourself laughing when Ryujin mumbled some sort of snarky comment. In the same bout of insanity he had experienced at the beginning of the year, he may have mistaken your smile as being pretty. Except this time the insanity did not melt away into resentment, but instead grew into a roaring monster of butterflies anytime he saw you.

He was starting to think he was sick or something. It was like his whole life had been flipped upside down; in what universe was he the one with the clammy hands and racing heart around (Y/N) (/L/N), and she was the one ignoring him? He needed to talk to someone - and who better than the lord of advice himself, Park Jisung.

Luckily for him, him and Jisung were the first people in their home room class the day of the dinner; usually you were in early, but today you conveniently hadn’t been. “Dude, I need your help.” Chenle emphatically exclaimed, sitting down in his seat next to Jisung before explaining the situation.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)? You hate her. You’ve hated her for 10 years.” Jisung blankly stated, and Chenle shook his head. 

“That’s the thing, I don’t think I do. I can’t stop thinking about her.” Jisung rolled his eyes.

“You definitely hate her. Think about it, you just feel bad because of the mom thing. And you insulted her house, but I mean come on, it was a mess anyways.”

“It’s not her fault. Their family is in crazy amounts of debt because her mom had some sort of untreatable illness and she was sick for so long. Do you know apparently, she had been sick for like 13 years? It must have been torture on their family.” Chenle defended, the stubborn side of him which was declaring, it’s been a decade, why stop hating you now, losing out to this new need to defend you.

“Oh, God, really? Well then, there’s your answer.” Jisung replied, leaning back in his chair with confidence, as though he had just solved the world’s problems. Chenle’s eyebrows knotted together, cocking his head.

“What do you mean?” 

Jisung scoffed, as if it was the most obvious thing since the last advice he had kindly bestowed on Chenle.

“You don’t want to be with someone with that in their family. Dude what if she infects you with it?”

Chenle wanted to hit him. He was certain, he had never before in his life been closer to punching someone and God did Jisung deserve it. How dare he say that? He wanted to tell him that it was much more complex than Jisung’s derogatory simplification of your mother’s illness, and just because Jisung was failing biology did not mean he had the right to be going around and saying things like that about you. He wanted to tell Jisung to keep his stupid opinion to himself, but despite this intense fury he felt searing up his chest, all he could manage was a stiff laugh.

“Oh. Yeah.” He mumbled, not looking at him in case the smug smile which had graced Jisung’s face flipped the switch which would erupt the burning anger in his chest.

You had been running late that day. You liked getting up earlier and beating the traffic to school, now more than ever, with the sullen mood your house had fallen into, although with the dinner with the Zhong family in your near future, the three boys of your house appeared cheerier. Your father was good friends with Mrs. Zhong and she had always been a good neighbor, and your two brothers were old friends with Chenle’s older sister. You were only one against the idea, but realistically, what harm could one dinner do? You had woken up and been ready on time, but when you climbed into your sturdy little jeep and turned the ignition keys, the engine made an unfortunate spluttering sound, that rather sounded like it was simply giving up.

You had taken a stab at fixing it, popping the hood and pretending as though you had a single clue about what to look for, but upon realizing there was no hope you started glancing worriedly back at your house. Surely one of the three people who all knew all to drive would know something about what was wrong with the engine. Biggest problem was, they were all asleep, and if you woke them up, you might have lost a hand. You were heavily considering risking the hand when, by some sort of divine intervention, a familiar voice called out to you.

“Need help?”

You started, spinning to see Mr. Zhong, the familiar and kind old face smiling at you. You hated how similar his smile was to Chenle’s; he was simply a reminder of who you thought Chenle used to be. Nonetheless, you smiled and nodded, gesturing to the hood and taking a step back.

“Please. It’s all yours.”

He worked in silence for a moment, pulling at the machinery inside the bonnet.

“How old is this car?” He asked, and his muffled voice could not disguise the astonishment in his voice.

“Uh, I think the last person to drive it was my Mom, so, that should tell you.” You half joked, awkwardly watching him work until he indicated to you to try again.

You climbed into the car and turned the ignition, and it spluttered again, but this time the spluttering graduated into the unhealthy purring sound you were used to.

You rolled your window down, and called a gracious, ‘thank you!’ out the window, but before you could proceed the short drive to school, the man stopped you, leaning against the side of your car.

“Wait a minute, I want to talk to you about something.” You uncomfortably clutched the steering wheel tighter, raising an eyebrow at him, as if to say, ‘go on.’

“You and Chenle? How’s that going?” He asked, an eyebrow raised in a similar fashion, although his was more teasing where yours was questioning. Your heart leapt as your face warmed.

“Oh - uh. I haven’t really spoken to him since.”

“Oh.” He sounded surprised.

“Why?” You asked, trying to discreetly gulp away your nervousness.

“Oh, he’s just been speaking about you a lot more, is all. Have fun at school.” 

Your five-minute drive to school was the most anxiety ridden drive you had ever experienced. What did he mean speaking about you more? He was asking about your relationship so would that suggest Chenle was saying nice things? Did Chenle maybe like you? Of course, the idea of Chenle having any sort of romantic feelings towards you felt nearly laughable at this point, but this glimmer of hope that had remained from the past ten years that maybe, just maybe, you had finally grabbed the attention of those sweet brown eyes simmered in your chest before you could push it away. He had treated you badly, you reminded yourself. You didn’t need him.

You stormed into school that morning, affirming that you did not need Zhong Chenle in your life, and if he did finally notice you, that was not your problem. But the little girl in you who had walked up to the door of your classroom to overhear Chenle say your name insisted on eavesdropping. And who were you to say no to her?

“... That’s the thing, I don’t think I do. I can’t stop thinking about her.” You couldn’t stop instinctual fluttering of your heart. Chenle couldn’t stop thinking about you. Chenle couldn’t stop thinking about you. Your previous conclusion that he was not more than the sum of his parts was thrown out of the window and replaced with schoolgirl butterflies.

“You definitely hate her. Think about it, you just feel bad because of the mom thing. And you insulted her house, but I mean come on, it was a mess anyways.” You rolled your eyes. Park Jisung was a self-righteous dick.

“It’s not her fault. Their family is in crazy amounts of debt because her mom had some sort of untreatable illness and she was sick for so long. Do you know apparently she had been sick for like 13 years? It must have been torture on their family.” You had never heard him defend you before, and you couldn’t help the small smile which grew on your face.

“Oh, God, really? Well then, there’s your answer.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t want to be with someone with that in their family. Dude what if she infects you with it?” Your previously elated heart dropped to your stomach as your face fell. Chenle wasn’t going to let him away with that, was he?

“Oh. Yeah.” He was. Zhong Chenle had the perfect knack of getting your hopes up, and just when your heart had warmed to him again, crushing it, and you were sick of it. You spun on your heel, making your way back out to your car without even thinking about it. You didn’t want to have to look at him.

You thought about the situation as you got ready for dinner that night.  You were sick of this stupid game of cat and mouse, where you inevitably always ended up hurt. And thinking back on the past ten years, Chenle had never been a good friend to you. Ever. He gave away your sheet music, he insulted you and now he was talking about you with his friends as if you were some sort of plague just waiting to infect him. You were sick of it and you were sick of him. Zhong Chenle meant nothing to you anymore.

You had half an idea to march out into the hallway where your father was calling you and tell him that you did not want to go, and he couldn’t make you. You drew together pieces of this declaration in your head before firmly making your way into the hall, entirely ready to tell him where the Zhong family could go, but then you saw his face. He had shaved for the first time in a month, the clothes he wore was ironed and smart, and you could have sworn he smelled better than he had in a while. Your previously parted lips closed again and instead of communicating your desire to be anywhere but the Zhong house, the corners turned slightly, mustering up the most sincere smile you could. You could suck up having to sit opposite Chenle for your family - They had gone through so much recently, you thought maybe you could deal with him for another night. 

Your plans to snub him was momentarily interrupted when you realized, as he stomped down the stairs into the entry way of the house, where your family awkwardly hovered, exchanging greetings with the Zhong family, he had worn your favorite jean jacket, white t-shirt and black jeans combo that used to make you melt at the knees. Like always, it made his dark hair seem darker, but you pushed back the bubbling butterflies. What he had done was unforgiveable.

“Why don’t I show you guys my room?” His sister had emphatically exclaimed to your brothers who glanced to your dad. He gave a disinterested shrug, and the three stomped up past where Chenle came from. “Chenle, sweetie, why don’t you bring (Y/N) up to your room? The adults can talk down here.” His mom suggested.

“No, Mrs. Zhong, it’s okay-” You began, but you didn’t get to finish.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, I know you won’t want to be stuck with the adults. Just no funny business!” You ignored the sly comment which Chenle’s dad mumbled under his breath about, ‘that being unlikely,’ and hesitantly made your way up the stairs, following in Chenle’s footsteps. His house was the exact same as yours - sure his stairs didn’t creak from years of you and your brothers abuse , and it was much sleeker - the black and white modern décor juxtaposed greatly with the warm, yellow tones of your own house, plus the fact they obvious could afford to have their carpet replaced with hardwood floors, but other than that, there was nothing spectacularly upper class about their house that would suggest they had any right to look down on yours. 

His room matched his personality to a tee. With grey-white walls plastered with posters of his favorite musicians and athletes whom you didn’t recognize, the room was small but clean and smelt like him. That familiar citrusy scent you associated with him filled the air, and past you would have been intoxicated by him, but current you knew better.

He sat down on top of the checked black and white duvet cover, (little did you know, he was secretly celebrating the fact he had happened to change the Stephen Curry bed sheets the day before) and gestured for you to sit down beside him. You remained standing.

“Uh- Hi.” He greeted, a softness to his voice you didn’t recognize but nearly succeeded in melting the barricade you had placed around your heart. Nearly. You didn’t respond, staring down at your shoes as if, suddenly your vans were the most interesting thing in the world.

“You look really pretty.” There he was again, trying to get your hopes up only to smash them again. You wouldn’t let him. Not this time.

“I know what you and Jisung were saying about my mom. And I’m done with you, okay? You can stop this act now.” You blurted out before you could even stop yourself.

Chenle’s face fell, and his head jerked to the side, almost as if you had genuinely slapped him in the face. He looked like a wounded puppy. Why was it so hard to stay angry at him?

“I- Look, (Y/N), it was wrong what Jisung said, I know. I wanted to hit him.” You raised an eyebrow, which sharpened your features and nearly made Chenle melt, both from the radiating heat of your anger and the sheer attractiveness of the action.

“You didn’t say anything to him. You just agreed and laughed. Like a coward.” You replied, simply.

“Yeah - I know. It was wrong of me. I’m sorry, but look, I’ve had a recent... self-discovery and I like you, (Y/N). If you could just give me a second chance.” He pleaded, standing up to look at you sincerely. His honest, chestnut eyes did not hold the same rotten core you had seen in them a month ago in the charity shop, but you held your ground nonetheless. “Third chance, you mean. Realistically, you don’t know me, and I don’t know you. We’ve lived next to each other for 10 years and we’ve had, what, two civil conversations?” Chenle was the one to look down at his feet now, focusing on the hardwood floors. You weren’t wrong - you didn’t really know each other. You relished in the silence as Chenle thought for a moment, before he mumbled,

“That doesn’t change how I feel about you, though.” 

“Well it should.” 

He opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by his mother’s screaming for them to come to dinner. You had turned and left before he even had the opportunity to draw breath and he was left alone in his empty room, which grey walls that had previously been illuminated with the presence of you had dulled in the absence of your vivacity. 

Dinner was a success for the most part, except for the torture of sitting across from you. He bore holes into the side of your head, but you were so skilled in acting as if he wasn’t there, he was starting to question his actual presence at the dinner table; if it were just you and him sitting there, he would have been convinced he was some sort of ghostly apparition.

“So, you paint, right?” His grandfather had directed toward your dad who nodded politely.

“Yeah, I always loved art and - well I couldn’t afford to go to college so I thought why not kill two birds with one stone and do something I love that I don’t need a college education for.” He replied, the bright look on his face when talking about something he loved was so similar to how you used to look at him that Chenle almost felt sick with guilt.

“And you make much money off of that?” His dad had commented, his knife and fork obnoxiously clinking against the plate. Chenle almost sunk down in his chair.

“I make enough.” Your dad replied, stiffly. He spoke how you spoke to him a mere 15 minutes ago.

“Didn’t you used to like art?” His grandfather had asked, turning to his Dad who shrugged, sipping from his expensive wine glass.

“I painted a little.” Chenle had never seen his dad so uncomfortable.

“No, I remember, you wanted to go to art school, right? But my daughter here talked you out of it.” His dad squirmed in his seat as his mother awkwardly laughed, avoiding the topic entirely and asking your dad another question about his job.

The more your dad discussed his ventures into the world of art, the quieter his dad got. He tried to plaster on a smile every now and then, but underneath, Chenle could tell he was sad. He thought about how his dad had always looked down on your family, and the countless times he had referred to your dad as being ridiculous, a low-life who needed to get a ‘proper job.’ He watched the man who had dwindled his life away and wondered, if he was simply angry at himself, as opposed to the kind family across the street. His father was a coward who didn’t chase what he wanted because he was too scared. Chenle swore to himself there and then, that he would not be a coward, like his father. He refused to become the bitter, jealous old man across the street. And so, late that night, after you had all left, he rifled through the papers on his desk and hatched a plan.

Patience and timing were key elements to Chenle’s plan - A month, to be precise. The day of the Christmas talent show. Everyone was excited to watch Chenle perform, especially now that it had been spread that he was dedicating his performance to someone in the audience. Pretty much everyone in the school who was attracted to boys were praying it was them. All except for you, who still hadn’t spoken to him since that fateful night in his bedroom and had resumed your strategic avoidance of him.

He nervously peaked from the side of the stage of the school theatre which had been transformed from it’s boring wood and red velvet into an explosion of tinsel and fairy lights, the excessive Christmas décor almost hurt his eyes. He stared into the audience past Chaeryong’s skillful dancing on stage, despite her optimistic glances towards him, as he clutched sheet music in his hands. He had enlisted Ryujin’s help to ensure that you were sitting in the very middle of the front row, despite her unwillingness. He had to promise her that if he broke your heart again, she had a free pass at kicking him in a very private place. His attention was only broken from the way you hid a laugh as Ryujin whispered into your ear, by Jisung frantically running up to him, whispering as to not to disturb Chaeryong’s performance.

“Dude! There’s a rumor going around that this mystery chick you’re playing for is (Y/N)?” Chenle simply blinked at him.

“And?”

“Is it true?” 

“Yep.” Jisung threw his arms in the air incredulously, whispering as loud as their setting allowed him,

“What the hell is the matter with you! You have every single girl on campus wanting you and you want (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Chenle spun to stare out into the audience again, turning his back to Jisung. “Leave me alone, Jisung. You wouldn’t understand.” He whispered back, watching and clapping as Chaeryong took her bow, exiting at the other side of the stage.

“You’re right! I completely don’t understand! Have you flipped or something?” Chenle ignored him, breathing out slowly, trying to calm his nerves. 

“This is it.” He mumbled, more to himself than Jisung, ignoring his friend who made a last minute attempt to grab him before he walked on stage.

The entire audience sat with bated breath, you included as he sat down at the piano, almost excruciatingly slowly. You stared at your hands, trying not to look up at the stage because you knew that he was probably about to sing some love song to Chaeryong, since his feelings for you had obviously dissipated since that night, and then they would kiss on stage and everyone would be happy for them. You included. Probably. If you were feeling in a particularly positive mood.

“Um, so I’m sure you all know, that I’m dedicating this performance to someone. Which I am, but I’m not going to say who. Yet. They’ll know who they are.” His smooth voice echoed throughout the entire auditorium, officially piquing your interest as you lifted your head up to look at him. He had already moved to face the piano, his fingers - which were unusually shaking - hovered over the keys as he examined the sheet music in front of him, pressing down the first chord.

Your stomach dropped, the familiarity of the scalic motif he played with his right hand causing you to audibly gasp. You hadn’t heard this piece since you were four. You raised a shaking hand to your mouth, ignoring the way Ryujin was almost definitely staring at you with concern. He had kept the sheet music. You had thought all the time, it was in the back of some shop, never to be played again. But here he was, playing your mother’s music in front of the entire school with pride, his skilful fingers dancing from note to note as if it were as simple as breathing, the music enveloping you in a blanket of comfort.

His playing ended too quickly, finishing with a short section you didn’t recognize and ending on a perfect and harmonious cadence. The audience tentatively applauded, the majority - as in everyone but you and Ryujin - more confused than anything, until he walked to the end of the stage, directly in front of you.

“My favorite color is red.” He stated, looking down at you in your chair.

“Wha - What?”

 “I am the worst loser ever. Seriously, if you play a game with me and you win, I will find ways to blame you for making me lose.”

“Chenle, wha-” “You said you didn’t know me, right? I’m terrified of spiders. I love basketball more than football but I’m better at football. You couldn’t pay me to take science the second it isn’t mandatory anymore. I talk in my sleep. I’m crazy ticklish. I would literally die for Stephen Curry. I’ve been an idiotic dick, for lack of a better word, for the last ten years, and if you let me, I would love the chance to get to know you.”

You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your face as you stared into those eyes - those once again dazzling eyes which bore into you, no evidence of corruption, the oh-so-familiar sensation of your heart warming to his words blooming in you once again, as if it had never left.

Your smile resonated within him and he questioned what the hell had he been doing the last ten years. How could anyone, ever want to run away from you?

“If you break my heart, Zhong Chenle, you have Ryujin to answer too.”

He chuckled, the sound of his laugh more musical than anything he could’ve produced on stage, and as you watched him, you came to the conclusion that Chenle was more than the sum of his parts, astronomically. You knew that Zhong Chenle was still walking around with your first kiss. But he wouldn’t be for long.

[ack3rlady]

The Universe Had His Back - Chapter 5

Sunrise

Summary: The aftermath of the breathtaking encounter between reader and Levi when true feelings are revealed

Chapters: Four | Five | Six

Master List

Warnings: Fem! Reader, Angst, Fluff, Modern AU, Reference to alcohol abuse, slight swearing.

Word Count: ~ 2.5k

Inspiration: Starry Night - Suho

Tags: @sooibian, @queenofcurse, @red-n-tall ; Anyone else who'd like to be tagged, please let me know!

You accepted Levi’s offer to drive you home, a decision you would come to regret the moment the car was in motion. The journey was quiet, with you mostly looking out of the window as he drove. Your greed for more time with him that you didn’t account for how dejected you would go on to feel once the adrenaline dried out. You hadn't exactly ended things with him on amicable terms. The ride home in his company just added salt to the unhealed wounds. Levi turned his head towards you several times like he wanted to say something, but didn't.

“How’s Luna?”, your words finally cut through the silence, voice low and shaky.

“She’s fine. Isabel stayed at home with her today.”, he responded, eyes focused on the road.

Then it was quiet again. It took all the strength to bottle up the multitude of emotions building up within you that were burning to be expressed. So, you decided to focus your attention on the row of lush green trees along the sidewalk, whirring past you.

Levi quelled his desire to lay his hand on yours more than once; intertwining your fingers snugly together while you ran soothing circles on the back of his palm - something he always did while driving with you by his side.

‘Old habits die hard’, he thought. Neither of you uttered a word again till your apartment building was around the corner. You sat glued to your seat, unmoving even after he parked.

“You know that you could just come see her, right? She asks about you every day.”, Levi’s gaze was still fixed on the car parked in front of his own, his voice barely audible.

You sighed, feeling ashamed for depriving your own baby of your presence.

“I’m not ready. What if I can't keep it together in front of her? I need to get better before she sees me.” you despaired, looking down at your feet, too afraid of the effect on Luna if she saw you like this.

“I’m going to be right there with you. And how do you expect to get any better if you deny yourself the exact person who is capable of making you feel so?”, Levi turned in his seat to face you, placing a firm hand on your shoulder.

He was right. Of course, Luna was the only one who could pull you out of this abyss. Why had you been running away from her this whole time?

“C-Can I come see her after work tomorrow?”, you squeaked.

“You don’t have to ask. We’ll both be waiting for you.”, he whispered moving his hand to rest on top of yours.

You finally mustered up the courage to look towards him. He wore the same smile on his face that you had been in love with for the last eight years; the exact one that always assured you that everything was going to be okay.

.

Reader’s POV

You entered your apartment and laid the shopping bags on the counter. Taking off your shoes, you placed them neatly on the rack by the door, taking a little step towards keeping the word you gave Miche this morning. It was late in the evening; the Sun having just set. You glanced around your gloomy apartment, at the dark shadows and how even the brightest colored paints and fabrics looked somber in the dusk’s dullness. The eeriness of the space was starting to eat at you when something shiny on the kitchen platform caught your eye. It was a bottle of whiskey, its amber liquid gleaming in the residual rays of light entering through the window.

The conflict in your head began as you started walking towards it absentmindedly. Was tonight going to be the same as the other wretched ones of the last two weeks? Faces of Luna, Levi, Miche and Nanaba flashed before our eyes as you inched towards the humble kitchenette. Finally at your destination, you picked up the bottle and stared at it, putting up a hard fight against the demons in your head.

You jumped when the door to your apartment suddenly slammed open, making the bottle almost slip out of your hands.

"Sweets!", A loud voice called out to you, the light from the window reflecting off the intruder’s glasses.

It was a moniker given to you by your dear friend based on "your profession and character" as they liked to call it. But the truth was, it was a part of the 'couple name' they had created for you and Levi called 'Short and Sweet', earning them a few punches from the holder of the other half of the title.

“Hange, you almost gave me a heart attack! What are you doing barging into my apartment like this?”, you grumbled.

“Well, your door was unlocked. So, how was your run in with Shorty? Tell me everyth... What the fuck is that?”, they began with excitement, but it dissipated as soon as they switched the lights on and spotted what you held in your hands.

You looked like a thief caught in the act. Guilty.

“It-It's nothing. I wasn’t drinking it.”, you stuttered, hastily putting it away.

“You mean you hadn't started drinking it yet?”

They were probably right. That’s how your evenings usually began these days. You tried your hardest to conquer the need for a drink, only to eventually give in and ending up passed out somewhere in your apartment.

Your train of thought was interrupted by a knock. Miche and Nanaba tiptoed inside through the still unlocked door with guilty smiles, as if ready to turn on their heels in case if you decided to chase after them.

“So? How did it go with Ackermann?”, they asked eagerly in unison.

“Wait. Was my day broadcasted in the news or something? How do you already know?”, your face had a giant question mark stamped on it.

“Who do you think brought it all together?”, Hange grinned, proudly wiggling their eyebrows.

You furrowed yours, and audibly gasped seconds later when it hit you. The sequence of events played before your eyes; how each person you had seen today and led to you meeting Levi. First Miche and Nanaba, then Suki. Your jaw slacked, and you gaped at each one of them in complete disbelief at what they had just pulled off.

Miche quietly slithered to position himself closely beside you and wrapped his arm around your shoulders – a little too tight. Well, you were contemplating introducing their jaws to your fist, so you guessed he was just being cautious.

“Who else knew of this?”, you hissed.

“Not Shorty, if that’s what you’re asking. I cooked up the idea. But it was Erwin who played commander and assigned roles! Everything from you and Levi having the same day off work, Suki and Furlan pestering you two into going with them, Nanaba and Miche forcing you out of here, Isabel staying home with Luna so that Levi could leave, and now us being here to witness the success of our little project, it was brought together by him. In fact, Erwin is checking in on Levi as we speak!”, Hange exclaimed triumphantly.

You felt stupid after finding out that you and Levi got played by practically everyone you knew. How were they this good at keeping it under wraps?

“Why did you do this?” You asked.

“Because you are both too stupid realize how crazy you are about each other and how this estrangement is paining you. So, we just decided to nudge you in the right direction. You’re welcome, by the way!”, Nanaba grinned.

“What are you even talking about? He’s the one who willingly ended what we had.”, you despaired.

The memories of the months preceding the divorce were fresh in your mind. Levi couldn’t stand being in the same room as you for more than a few minutes at a time, constantly falling out with you over something or the other. You remembered how much it hurt when he always seemed irritated by your sheer presence.

“Rubbish! You should know by now that Shorty is a complete moron with his feelings. Don’t you remember how long he stalled asking you out on a date all those years ago? And also, how I finally had to ask you for him? This is history repeating itself, silly!”, Hange chuckled, gently flicking your forehead

“Erwin and I see him every day, Sweets. We know how much he regrets letting you go. But he’s too much of a chicken to do anything about it. We’ve been badgering him to reconnect with you for a while now. But he was terrified of making a move. The dumbass is utterly in love with you. Precisely why Erwin and I decided to take matters in our own hands.”, they stated matter of factly.

The barrage of information caught you completely off guard. But you couldn’t help but dwell on one detail in particular -

“He’s still in love with me?”

.

Levi’s POV

Levi felt restless on the drive back home, aimlessly fidgeting with his seatbelt and rapidly tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. He was worried about you. Well, he always was, but more so because of what happened today. He suppressed the constant urges to turn his car around and return to you because he needed to get home to Luna and relieve Isabel of her baby-sitting duties.

He parked the car in the driveway and walked through the front door, momentarily freezing upon seeing a tall blonde man seated on the couch with Luna half asleep on his lap, immediately relaxing after recognizing who it was. He was reading her a story from one of the many books you had bought while Isabel was lounging on the loveseat beside them, her face glowing under the light from her phone screen. All three turned to Levi upon hearing the jingling of his keys.

“Papa!”, the little one was refreshed by the sight. She ran to greet her father by wiggling her way off the man’s lap and on to the floor and hugged is leg.

“Hi, moon beam! Erwin, what are you doing here?”, he asked as he gave Luna a kiss and then looked up at the man.

“I’m here to check in on you. How was your meeting with uh... ahem?”, Erwin cleared his throat instead of mentioning your name in the toddler’s presence.

“Check in on me? How do you know about that? What did you do?”, Levi’s temper audibly rose with each question.

“I’m going to tuck Luna into bed, and you are going to wait right here for my return. We need to have a little chat.” he glowered at the taller blonde before he could answer, ignoring the sheepish smile slapped across his little sister’s face.

Luna was out cold the moment her head rested on the pillow given how worn out she was after horsing around with Isabel all day. Additionally, story time with Erwin already had her feeling drowsy by the time Levi had returned home. Ten minutes and a few goodnight kisses later, he was sitting at the dining table with the two adults, sipping tea that Erwin had just brewed.

“When do you plan to start telling me what is going on? I could have had dinner during the wait.”, he jibed.

“I take it that Suki and Furlan were successful in bringing you two face-to-face?”, Erwin’s tone was casual, maintaining steady eye contact with his old friend.

He proceeded to explain in great detail, how he and Hange worked with both your close friends to hatch this plan.

“Can’t you two keep your eyebrows and shitty glasses out of my fucking business?”, Levi growled.

“Since you both can’t communicate like mature adults and figure things out for yourselves, we had to step in as catalysts. Hange is at her apartment right now, making sure she’s okay.”, Erwin kept his defense short.

Levi was at a loss of words. Sometimes he felt like he wasn’t worthy of his two friends. Hange and Erwin always went out of their way for him when he was hit with a challenging situation, and all he ever did was snivel about it.

“Fine. I’ll give you both credit where you deserve it. I had been wanting to see her myself. But I didn’t know what to say. She is coming over tomorrow to see Luna. So, thanks, I guess.”

Erwin knew that this was the closest thing to an apology and appreciation that he was going to get from Levi. So, he took it with a smile.

“Awesome!”, Isabel's scream cut through the calmness.

“And you.”, his fiery gaze landed on her at the far end of the table where she strategically seated herself away from the reach of her older brother in case if he was particularly irked. “I’m going to take care of Furlan later. But you too are hiding things from me now?”,

“Hey! I was just following Erwin's orders! And how could I say no to having my favorite person all to myself for an entire day?”, she reasoned, her face resembling a cartoon cat that Luna was fond of; Puss in Boots, was it?

“So, how did it go?”, Erwin intervened before Levi could scold her further.

Levi took a minute to gather his thoughts. Images of your face flashed before his eyes, making his tense posture relax significantly.

“I - I don’t even know how to describe it. I feel like for the first time in forever, I might sleep well tonight just because I met her. She looked so beautiful.”, his lips showed signs of the smallest smile as he ran his fingers along the rim of his teacup, gazing at the dark liquid contained within.

He quickly composed himself after realizing that he had in fact just said these words out loud and they were not just in his head, but it was too late. Isabel oohed with amusement and yelped after receiving a flying spoon to the head from him.

“It was also... a stark reminder of what an absolute piece of shit I have been to throw away everything we had. She’s in so much pain.”, his softened expression clearly revealed the despair behind his words.

“As are you, Levi. You made a grave mistake. Unfortunately, you're not the only one who is paying for it. But there is no use lamenting over the past, is there? What counts is what you plan to do now. Have you decided what you will say to her when she visits?”

Levi let out a long, suffering sigh. “I regretted what I did the moment I came back to an empty home from the court that day, Erwin. Seeing her today only reaffirmed how shitty my life is without her. I need to win her back. I’m afraid she’ll reject me after what I did to her. But - But she still needs to know that I -

I’m still in love with her.”

Chapters: Four | Five | Six

[gwendeeagain]

How I wrote the Demon fic

Don't draw devil's traps in janitors' closets is one of my longest fic series I’ve ever written, the most notable of which would be my Demon Gakushuu fic, if you’ve seen it. 

In partial response to an ask post (link here), I’ve decided to revisit my writing of this fic series! It was quite a long journey for me and I think it might be fun (?) sharing it with everyone. It’s rather long, so I’ll tag it under “keep reading”. 

FYI this thread contains major spoilers for the fic (and would honestly make no sense if you do not have prior knowledge of it).

I'll just refer to the first fic in the series as Books because it has an insanely long title. Subsequent fics are in order Burgundy, Potential, Illuminate, Illuminate rewrite, and Addendum. The main series is linked here.

Addendum is not linked in the main series for reasons I'll explain below. (link here)

Books

I think one of my biggest mistakes writing Books is my lack of plot planning, and subsequently how thematically inconsistent it became. I start off most my fics with a rough idea of how I want the story to end, and a few good themes to carry me through the plot as I write, but for Books I started off with the first chapter and nothing else. If you followed the notes of my fic you'd probably have witnessed my gradual descent into uncertainty and despair as the fic spiralled out of my control due to how wrong I felt it was becoming.

The fic took a surprisingly hard toll on me. I absolutely hated it. I refused to mark it as complete because I was dissatisfied with how it ended. I thought that everyone was out of character, that I lost the original ending and goal in my head, that it was thematically messy such that I couldn't justify any ending I tried to come up with, and I was just grasping at straws trying to make it work. 

The three things that bothered me were Gakushuu’s wings, Koro-Sensei and the introduction of Aina. When I started this fic I had plans to kill off Koro-Sensei at the end, however as the fic went on it became a celebration of life and learning how to live, and I knew I couldn’t bring myself to have any death in this fic... but at the same time I had Gakushuu find a lot of meaning in Koro-Sensei’s (to-be) death and I didn’t want to undo that. The wings were on a similar note, because Gakushuu spend 50k words finding out who he is and accepting that he was different. Turning that message around and making him go back to being “the same” ate me up inside, but at the same time I set-up the Demon Society in such a way that they would kill Gakushuu if he didn’t have his wings, and it’s supposed to be a happy ending, dammit! Aina was a particularly egregious case because I threw her (and Ikeda) in without any prior warning at the very last minute. I already had a whole world and setting planned for them which I never got to expand on in the previous chapters because I was so anxious about the other two points, and when it came down to the last chapter I realized I had no set-up for these two, who were supposed to be major players in the finale. Basically I was bad at writing.

Even now I cannot fully articulate why it was terrible for me, but compounded with my real-life stressors, I suppose it just became a bit too much to deal with. (This is a piece of fiction that I am creating from scratch. If I can't even get this under control, what hope do I have for everything else?)

((For come disclosure I was never formally diagnosed with any mental illness, but my parents are the sort of people who don’t believe mental illness exists anyways. I would say that I’ve had depressive episodes when I was younger and sometimes even now, but I’ve learnt my ways of dealing with them!))

Burgundy

Four days later I published Burgundy, a short sequel to Books, very shortly after only because I had already finished writing by that time. I actually do still have several half-finished follow ups at that point, but I couldn't bring myself to complete any sequels because I couldn't even come to terms with the ending of the main story. (Those wips are lost to me now.) I think I was hoping that forcing myself to publish the sequel would show me that it was "no big deal" that the main fic didn't end the way I hoped it would, but it succeeded in making me feel worse.

Potential

About one month after that I wrote Potential. It was a three parter, somehow a fifth of the length of the main fic, that followed Gakuhou's perspective prior to the events of Books. It was a prequel which imo made it easier to write, because I still couldn't move on from Books yet. I think writing Potential was me trying to remind myself why I wrote Books in the first place, to perhaps reignite my original passion for the series. It's kind of funny to think about in hindsight, and a little meta, because Potential was a lead up to the events in Books. It worked... a little bit, I think. I still couldn't reconcile my feelings for the whole thing, but through it I got to revisit the original premise that I fell in love with and expand more on worldbuilding it. I could reprise Aina and Ikeda and finally write about the world I planned to introduce them in in the first fic and give more context and insights to how the demon society was supposed to work.

Illuminate

Six months after Potential, I ran into a comment that said, "what would Gakuhou have done if Gakushuu had died?" And for some reason it struck an epiphany in me. After that I wrote Illuminate in one night, cried myself to sleep, waited one more night to proofread it, and then published it. Illuminate was an AU to the first three fics in the series, and it was a fic about grief and mourning. Spoiler alert: I straight up killed Gakushuu in that fic. And somehow that was what I needed.

I quite literally killed my first fic - I upended the terrible ending I hated from Books - everything I had been uncertain about at first? I killed it. Plot points didn't fit my original plans? Killed it. (When I reread the death scene, I... honestly think I was unnecessarily cruel. I must have really been out of my mind when I wrote it, hah!)

And then I wrote myself a love story about missing it, grieving it, and finally letting go of it. It was heart wrenching for me - I made Gakuhou cry about what he lost, what could have been, what he realized he loved, and at the end of it all he could say "I love you and I can move on from you." And I did!

Illuminate (Rewrite)

Illuminate Rewrite, one year later, was me revisiting Illuminate to reflect on myself where I've come with this series. I actually just swapped the places of two paragraphs to change the mood at the end for something more contemplative. I elaborated a bit more on this in my notes for Rewrite, so I won't repeat them here.

Honestly, I still have a hard time coming back to reread Illuminate even after the whole debacle has happened. I attached a lot of emotions through my journey with this, and revisiting it each time takes quite a bit out of me.

Addendum

Addendum was just me having fun! After Illuminate, I managed to reconcile my feelings with the fic series. I was finally able to mark Books as complete and move on from it, and afterwards I wrote a fun little au sequel to Illuminate so that Gakushuu can live again. I could creatively expand on ideas and just do... whatever! It's more of a loose connection of plot points than a real fic, honestly.

Addendum follows Gakushuu in a future hundreds of years later, after every human who he's once known in Books has died. And... he moves on! Gets a job, makes friends, lives his life, and most importantly move on.

I chose to publish in a separate collection, however, because it was an incomplete story and I didn’t want to have a half-complete fic tacked on to what I have settled in my heart as a complete fic collection.

And that’s about it! <3

[lala-ladybug]

Healing Hands: Chapter 2

I promise I’m not this fast at writing, I’ve just had the first few chapters laying around for a while lmao. Reblogs are appreciated!!

Jasonette Sword Art Online AU

Read here on AO3

Tag list: @iloontjeboontje 

Previous | Next​

Chapter 2: u guys r moding my night :(

There was chaos in the Wayne Manor. This was nothing unusual, of course, and today it even seemed to be surprisingly tame. But it was chaos nonetheless.

Timothy Drake-Wayne careened down the spiral staircase, catching himself with a well-timed front flip handspring, and skidded to a halt in the kitchen. Alfred briefly paused to look up from where he was preparing dough for a batch of homemade pasta, then offered the boy a smile and a greeting.

“Good evening, Master Drake. Dinner won’t be ready for another half-hour, I’m afraid.” Tim had opened his mouth to reply when a growl echoed from the nearby ballroom.

Jason Todd-Wayne sprinted into the kitchen brandishing a nerf gun. “There you are, replacement. You won’t get away with beating me this time.” He pulled back the reloader of the play-gun, making a threatening click ring through the kitchen.

“I’m afraid you are both late to the party,” Alfred calmly announced as he mixed ingredients together. “Miss Cain has been here for the past five minutes.”

Cass Cain-Wayne indeed poked her head out from where she had been perched beneath the bar. She gave her brothers a shit-eating grin and wiggled her fingers as way of a cheeky greeting.

Tim gave a groan as he and Jason begrudgingly handed some money over to their sister. “She cheats.” Cass stuck her tongue out at that. “Besides, racing you here was just an excuse to get my mind off waiting for midnight.”

“And because Alfred is the only one polite enough to actually listen to you rave about that stupid game,” Jason scoffed, sitting down at the bar to watch Alfred work.

“--thought I heard voices in the kitchen, oh there you are, little wing!” Dick Grayson-Wayne’s cheery voice came from the foyer, increasing in pitch as he spotted Jason and swept him up into a tight hug.

Barbara Gordon wheeled herself in not too long after, chuckling at the squirming Jason and delighted older brother.

Meanwhile Tim, who had taken offense to Jason’s insinuation, was reassuring Alfred that if he wanted the boys to leave him be he only ever had to ask. “It’s just that I’m so excited for the launch tonight, and you know B is too busy to hear about it.”

Jason had finally muscled his way out of Dick’s embrace as the latter’s attention focused on his youngest brother. “What launch are you talking about?” Dick asked, giving Cass a side hug.

“Oh, tonight is the release of this new VRMMORPG game called Mindscape!” Tim practically bounced as Dick came over to give him his hug too.

Dick gave Barbara a confused glance. “I know some of those words,” he nodded slowly. “So what’s got you so excited? Video games come out all the time.”

Tim rolled his eyes as he sat down beside Jason on the barstools. “Well yeah, but this game has groundbreaking virtual reality tech. Supposedly, the textures took five years and a team of almost 1000 artists.”

Jason put Tim into a headlock and said casually, “I’m surprised you haven’t heard replacement talking about this yet. He kinda won’t shut up about it.”

Cass nodded her head in solemn agreement while Tim struggled to get out of Jason’s grasp.

“Such are the woes of moving out.” Dick shrugged. “Sounds crash though, got room for one more?”

Tim finally shoved Jason off. “I actually bought enough passes that we can all play if you want,” he gave each of his siblings the biggest puppy-dog eyes he could manage.

Barbara snorted even as Dick pumped his fist in the air beside her. She wheeled herself up to the bar to pinch Jason, who was poised to jab his fingers into Tim’s sides. Jason yelped and glared at her as she said, “Sorry Timmy, I’d rather let someone else be the guinea pig for this new kind of tech. Besides, Dad will worry if I let myself get sucked into pouring too many hours into this.”

“Papa Gordon is a force to be reckoned with,” Dick attested earnestly. “Jay?” he prompted.

“Absolutely not,” Jason answered immediately. Tim was quick to protest. “But why? We could spend more time together! It’ll be good team-building.” Jason’s face soured at that.

Dick leaned in and stage-whispered, “Do I have to tell B to force you into family bonding? You know he’ll make you do it.”

Cass covered her silently laughing mouth with one hand as Jason threw his hands up in the air. “Fine, don’t get Bruce involved. I’ll play your stupid game,” he finally relented. Tim grinned at his win, then cast a hopeful look at Cass.

She pulled a face and signed No thank you. Better things to do than watch VR pornos.

Tim’s face blushed profusely as he opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off by Jason’s cackling. Even Alfred cracked a smile while he rolled the dough onto the ravioli press.

Once Jason quieted down, Tim crossed his arms and said, “Suit yourself. Looks like it’ll be no-girls-allowed anyway.”

“Guess we’d better tell Cassie that, Timbo,” Dick wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, which Tim elected to ignore.

“Speaking of suits,” Alfred said while seamlessly spreading filling in the ravioli and placing another sheet on top of the press, “aren’t you boys going to miss the premiere if it is indeed at midnight?”

Tim looked imploringly at the two girls. “You wouldn’t be willing to trade shifts for your favorite brother, would you?”

* * *

Wally West strolled out of the zeta tube and into the Justice League’s satellite, known to himself and the other heroes as The Watchtower. He was dressed in a casual NASA t-shirt and jeans, slurping a smoothie, and playing a game on his phone.

The sound of someone clearing their throat made him look up. He was greeted with the sight of his old team, Aqualad, Superboy, Miss Martian, Rocket, Zatanna, and Artemis, waiting impatiently. They were dressed in full hero attire-- he didn’t even realize Artemis still had her costume-- and looked to him expectantly.

“Hey guys, what’s poppin’?” Wally grinned and gave his friends a lazy chin jerk.

“‘What’s poppin’?’ Babe, are you serious? You told us to meet here ASAP for an emergency. So you can tell us what exactly is ‘poppin’.” Ah yes, his Spitfire. Artemis Crock still wasn’t afraid to give him a piece of her mind. But this time it looked like everyone else was on her side too, as they nodded in agreement with her emphatic air quotes.

“Oh, uh yeah, Mindscape is coming out tonight!” He set his smoothie down on the table. “I got us all passes and I’m super stoked for the launch. It’s got this super cool new VR tech that’s basically being released for the first time ever. I got the equipment through my internship, so we’re all set! You guys are totally coming right?” He made finger guns at his increasingly exasperated friends.

Artemis facepalmed. Kaldur’ahm raised his eyebrows in that I’m disappointed in you but I’m not going to say it way of his and said, “Wally, with you and Artemis retired from the life, understand that we took this to be a literal emergency and rushed to your aid. Do not abuse our good intentions.”

“Seriously West, I have a lot on my plate right now!” Rochelle Ervin was also, apparently, a little upset with him. “You could’ve said it was about a dumb game.”

The speedster tried to do damage control with some lighthearted humor. “Hey guys, stay whelmed. I get it, I probably should have given a few more deets about this very-much-not-dumb game, but do you know how many candy bars I had to eat to win these passes?”

“This is why you’ve been spending so much on junk food?” Oh, he was in big trouble with Artemis now. “You probably didn’t have to eat all of them, babe.”

M’gann M’orzz, Connor Kent, and Zatanna Zatara looked similarly annoyed. Well, the girls did. Connor just looked like his usual brand of annoyed, which was honestly a small victory.

“So...” Wally felt a little sheepish now, “who wants in?”

The rest of the group exchanged a look. Artemis was the first to speak up. “Well, you’ve already invested too much of our money in this to turn back now.” She walked up to him and poked a finger at his chest. “But you owe me so many dinners for this.”

He grinned triumphantly. “Deal!”

Rochelle spoke up next. “Me and my plate don’t need any more helpings, thank you very much. I’ll see y’all at the next team reunion!” She flew out through the zeta tube.

Kaldur clapped him on the shoulder. “If you need any assistance, I will be there. But for now I am running Atlantis in Aquaman’s stead while he is off-world, and I must return to my duties.” He then bid the rest of the team farewell and stepped through the zeta tube.

“Haha, he said ‘duties.’” Wally said once he’d left, then winced as Artemis smacked his arm lightly. Lightly for her. Rubbing his arm, he looked imploringly at his other friends.

M’gann and Conner looked deep in a telepathic conversation, which was just awkwardly intense eye contact for onlookers. Zatanna crossed her arms and sighed, “Fine, why not. I didn’t have plans for the weekend anyway. Lead the way to your chocolate factory, Charlie.”

Connor, having caught the tail end of the conversation, looked confused at the reference. He shrugged and said, “I’m in, could be fun.”

M’gann gave her friends an apologetic smile. “Sorry guys, my uncle needs help back on Mars. There’s tensions between the white and green martians again, and he really needs me there to get it under control.”

She gave Connor a peck on the cheek and left to board the nearby Bioship.

“And then there were four,” Wally said with a smile. “Now let’s go make you guys some avatars!”

* * *

Bart Allen could hardly contain his excitement. Scratch that, he couldn’t contain his excitement! “Bouncing off the walls” may be an exaggeration for most people, but he was not most people. Being the grandson of The Flash certainly had its perks, and being able to literally bounce off the walls was one of them.

The cause of his excitement, his friends Timothy Drake-Wayne and Wally West, had just called to ask if Bart wanted extra passes to the premiere of the biggest video game of the decade. And uh, yeah duh he wanted them! He already had one he’d bought for himself, but bringing four extra friends? So totally crash.

He opened up his phone and pulled up the group chat titled Badass Babes.

CrashBandicoot: hey bitchez n babez (u kno who u r), u ready 4 the best videogame of the yr to drop?!

BlueMenace: ese, do you HAVE to type like that?

WonderBabe: yea it’s super annoying

CrashBandicoot: gtta go fast babez

CrashBandicoot: now answer the question

GreenMenace: oh i heard about that! mindscape, right? isn’t it some vr game

CrashBandicoot: yes! nd i got extra tix, so come ovr to cave

GirlBoss: No can do, got research tomorrow!

MaleWife: you always have research bae. sorry little speedster, gotta drive the lady to work

CrashBandicoot: u guys r moding my night :(

BlueMenace: totally not a word but I’ve got you cariño, be there in an hour

WonderBabe: ah what the heck, I’ve got nothing better to do

GreenMenace: always down to whoop ur ass in video games

CrashBandicoot: u wish

CrashBandicoot: roy?

Ginger1 is typing...

WonderBabe: it’ll be fun! more ~mingling~ with kids our age

Ginger2: Hold on, give him some time

Ginger1 is typing...

BlueMenace: Roy, I can pick you up on my way in if you want

Ginger1 has stopped typing.

Ginger2: Um, he says he’ll meet you guys there

Ginger2: He may have destroyed his phone with his “non-typing” hand

GreenMenace: pog

WonderBabe: see u guys soon!

Bart pumped his fist, then ran at top speed to his boyfriend Jaime’s house, where it looked like he was doing homework. Seriously, on a Friday night? Bart had absolutely no qualms about whisking him into his arms and making for the nearest zeta tube.

“Woah Bart, I said I needed an hour!” Jaime protested.

Bart rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but you definitely don’t have anything due tonight, and we have to make your character online before the launch!”

Jaime just looked resigned as they sped into the zeta tube. He knew what he had signed up for.

[starofroselight]

Title: He Calls You Theseus (Now Call Him Odysseus and Welcome Him Home)

Chapter 1: In Which Technoblade's Narrative Crumbles    

Summary: Technoblade's language is the art of combat and weaponry. Tommy doesn't understand, so Technoblade speaks in a way they'll both understand. Or, Technoblade’s been having strange visions while taking care of Tommy.

Tags: Technoblade, TommyInnit, SBI fic, Introspection, Flashbacks, Found Family, Brothers, Trauma, Alternate Universe, References to Greek Myth, Sleepy Bois Inc. as Family, Sleepy Bois Inc. Angst, Chat as Ghosts, Rose AU

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28786947

Author’s Note: This is my baby. I’ve worked for this on a while, and it’s about 5.1k words. I hope you enjoy the first chapter, I plan for around five in all.

A flurry of snow buffeted the snow banks around Technoblade's retirement home. 

Technoblade had decided teaching Tommy the art of arrow fletching was important. He had come to immediately regret that decision. Tommy’s loud mouth and shaky hands were something manageable in the best of times, but when the time came for work to be done they became hindrances. Liabilities.

Technoblade didn’t take in liabilities. 

“How’s this, big man?” The tooth-gaped teen asked smugly, holding up a shoddily constructed arrow as if it were made of gold.

Technoblade briefly considered how much easier this would have had he cleaved Tommy’s head clean off in the hole under his house.

> You can’t!

> The most efficient way to grind out arrows is village trading. Make one of your downstairs hostages a fletcher, trade sticks, build rapport, then trade in for arrows.

> Tommy pog

> would’ve been funnier if you did

“Chat, do you see what I’m dealing with?” He mumbled to himself. 

“Oi Chat! Hey Chat, do you think Technoblade is a big bitch?”

“Tommy, you’re giving me a headache.” That wasn’t all that was giving him a headache: voices, the thousands of voices which were riled up by his every interaction with another living soul. Each voice was vying for a spot to influence his words, to have any effect on the outside world like they once were able to.

And the voices really liked Tommy.

“All I want’s an answer.”

He wouldn’t get one.

"How am I better at this with hooves?! Here, let me show you one more time.” Techno squatted beside where Tommy was sitting on the stone brick floor. “Two ties on each side over the flint. Three sharp cuts into the wood. Feather goes in between. Look, perfectly functional arrows! What part of this aren’t you getting? It’s not that difficult!”

Tommy picked up the tools from the fletching table. He took one look at the sticks, then picked up a fistful of feathers.

“Right—”

“Okay, that’s enough, I’m not going to let you keep massacring my feathers like this. What even is this?" He picked up a feather from the floor. It hung limp between the heel of his hoof, frayed and torn. "These chickens died for nothing!"

“What am I supposed to do while you do all the work if I can’t help?” Tommy was pouting, his face so full of vibracity and energy it looked as if he was choking.

That was it. Techno's face twitched. 

“Maybe if you sit down and stay quiet for a minute, I can come up with an idea!”

Surprisingly, Tommy did. His face flushed red with embarrassment. 

And Technoblade realized he had screamed at a scared, struggling sixteen year old child covered in scars. 

> do you feel powerful now

> OOOOOOO

> You should kill him

> Betray Tommy!

> betray tommy

He dragged a hoof over his face. The gesture was easier with hands.

"Look. . . Tommy. You're clearly not good at fletching arrows. Why don't you go lay down in your racoon hole?"

Technoblade’s plan had been, surprisingly, one of altruism. He wanted to teach Tommy how to make arrows so he could value the ammunition. He had a tendency to complain about. . . well, everything, but specifically running out of supplies. Techno hoped this would teach him how valuable they were. Not in resources, but as assets. In the heat of battle, every shot mattered.

After Tommy had made a quiverful of arrows, Technoblade planned on taking him out to his practice range. Inexperienced hands nocking an arrow were shaking and quick to flinch. Archery hurt. It was a difficult skill to master; the art of shooting an arrow required the fletching to run through the archer’s fingers. If their hands were smooth and uncalloused, the projectile would cut through their fingers like a blade in water. His hands (and hooves) were roughed up to the consistency of leather from arduous repetition. Tommy hadn’t had that experience.

Technoblade had made leather gloves for that exact reason.

And now that plan was ruined.

While his retirement home was the definition of picturesque, Tommy had come to ruin that as well. The foundation had made Techno's house uneven. The ground was unstable and it had started to sag north. 

Tommy had literally dug up and unsettled his life. 

Somewhere in there was a metaphor and a moment for some much-needed introspection. Technoblade ignored it. 

Snow had sloped onto the roof heavy, the sound of monsters outside crunching feet of the stuff. The cold had choked out the will of any invaders at the cost of isolating them together. The house’s floor was insulated with stone, then covered with wood. The chimney doubled as a source of light, warmth, and a way to heat the floor. Technoblade had learned how to make heated floors from Chat. The quality of life improvement was immense.

Tommy hadn’t understood how, but he did enjoy it. Too often he had slept in his boots, curled up into a jacket or blanket or whatever he could find. But this? This was a luxury that could lull him into a rest like no other.

And Tommy needed a good sleep after Logsteadshire.

Still, his spirit reignited despite his body's protests. He stretched his arms upward in attempts to hide his yawn. 

He stomped his foot. 

"I'm not tired! We need supplies, we need—We need to get back the discs."

That was going to be a hard habit to kick. The kid needed a break; his eyes were ringed in black. He sat hunched over with awful posture, looking pitiful. Technoblade held back the urge to call him a racoon again.

Despite the warmth, Tommy was shivering.

Exhaustion. Techno knew it all too well.

The Piglin man took off his cape, folding it over his arm. It helped increase his bulk, his size when intimidation was necessary. When he was home its purpose became a blatant unnecessity. Still, he often found himself falling asleep in it, curled up in a tiny pile against the wall where no one could hurt him. 

It was important.

And he tossed it to Tommy. 

"We'll get back the discs after you go to sleep. If you fall asleep in the snow you'll freeze to death and die."

Then he stoked the fire with an iron pole, minding Edward's head. He couldn't be bothered to kill the creature just yet. The flames roared up, consuming the cold air in the room and up the chimney. 

Tommy held the crimson cloak in his arms. He stared for a second, then twisted to wrap it around himself. It was enormous, swamping his thin figure in fabric and comfort unknown for weeks in exile. He pushed himself further into the corner with the fletching table, close to his hiding box.

"The 'and die' is kind of redundant, 'innit?" Tommy muttered, head poking up from the fluff of the cloak’s collar.

Technoblade sighed. 

They were going to keep talking in circles. He would make a general statement, Tommy would overload him with non sequiturs and nonsense sentences until Technoblade tuned him out with Chat. However, he couldn’t ignore Tommy here. If he did, the boy would never go to sleep, and the cold of the night didn’t need a cold shoulder on top of it. A cranky Tommy and an annoyed Technoblade was a recipe for disaster, overthrowing governments or otherwise.

There was only one way he knew how to talk in times like this:

“Let me tell you a story.”

It was an offer more intimate than Tommy knew. 

Naturally, he rejected it.

“What if I don’t want to hear a story?” Said teenager shifted in his cozy corner. 

“Too bad.” He pushed the crown up from where it was slipping off his head. If he was going to coax the world's most energetic child to sleep, he needed to let down his guard. 

“Why do you even wear that thing?”

“What, the crown? It’s not like I use it in combat or anything, it's just for fun. Fun is banned? You're banning fun now?" He laughed. "Good luck getting anyone on your side."

“I don’t have a side. Or rather, my side is your side? Now you’ve gone and got my head all confused.” Tommy’s voice had grown softer. 

Techno couldn’t have that.

“There’s no ‘our side’. We are not a team.”

Tommy huffed. “Until we get the discs back.”

“Will you let go of the discs for a minute? They’re not going anywhere.”

“Could go into a fire.”

Techno huffed heavier. Puffs of true flame curled out from his snout. Not the metaphorical risk clouding Tommy’s mind. He was already headed towards the pitfall he wanted to avoid. It was time to change the subject.

“Considering your limited knowledge of Greek classics, you wouldn’t happen to know Homer?”

“Who what now?” 

A solid ‘no’ would have sufficed, Techno thought.

“You probably haven’t heard of Odysseus, then.”

“With a name like that, I reckon I should of. Wait, this is one of your myths again, isn’t it?” Tommy kicked himself up, back against the wall to look at Technoblade as they spoke.

“I like a certain section of stories. Is that so wrong?”

“Is this story about you?”

The Blade tutted. “No, no, no. I don’t have any family. Orphans killed my parents. Family is useless, it slows you down unless you’re exacting revenge. In that case, family is excellent. Nothing better than dead family.”

"That doesn't make any sen—"

"Keep interrupting and I'll make you sleep in Carl's stable."

Tommy pouted. His hair stuck up in every which way, active as he was.

“Odysseus was a king of his own island. He lived in peace with his family on Ithaca, and he was known as a wise man.” It had been a while since Technoblade had told a story like this. His rhythm was lacking. “He was the favorite of Athena, the goddess of battle and wisdom.”

“Gods aren’t real.”

“You’re looking at one.”

Silence. “Yeah, right.” 

"Moving on.” He wasn’t willing to indulge Tommy in that story when he was preoccupied with telling another. “While Odysseus was a king, he wasn’t the chief king. At that point Greece was broken up into various city states, other little countries that refused to be conquered. While it was all Greece, there was a difference between a Spartan and an Athenian. Too many fights for power and the geopolitical landscape had torn them apart. Odysseus had his friends, though it would be more accurate to call them his allies, his country with whom he had sworn an oath to fight alongside. Each of those kings would be headed out their own separate way.” That felt right to Technoblade. “They were brothers in arms, finally called to war for the sake of their nation. But Odysseus ended up alone.”

“Why?”

“The people around him broke the rules. They went up against the sun god, and so they were punished.”

“What’d they do?”

“Oh, uh. Ate his cows.”

Tommy gasped.

“No!”

“Okay, so you get it. The Pet Skirmishes but on a much, much bigger scale.”

“Where’s Sapnap?”

“Tommy, it’s a myth, it’s not about your friends. They’re gods.” 

“Dunno why you’d tell a story about a bunch of boring, stuffy gods. Hey, why’re you such a bad storyteller?”

That was it. "I'm trying to monologue here! Chat, Chat see how impossible this is?"

“Tell chat that you’re a pussy! And I’m the coolest! TommyInnit is the coolest, got it?” Tommy’s eyes, which had held the murmurs of sleep, were now alive and vicious.

Undoing all of Technoblade’s work. And proving he didn’t understand Chat.

“Bruh.”

“I am!”

“For the third time now, if you will let me talk, I’m trying to tell the story.” 

“Right, right, sorry.”

“Odysseus was the only one who knew the warning signs. He had encountered the gods before, and he would rather starve to death than offend them. Because sometimes, Tommy, not offending people is a good thing, and making needless enemies makes the situation ten times worse.”

Tommy bit his lip. 

Techno continued.

“But no one ever listens to Odysseus. That’s one of the ironies of the story, Tommy. Often being right lets the hero escape with his life. Doesn’t mean he can save anyone else. Most of the time he doesn’t even save himself.”

“What?”

“I mean, I tried telling you. Heroes are doomed the moment they call themselves heroes. Odysseus never did, he was smart. It was the people that came later and told the story that did that. A hero is born through the crossing of the stars, something divine. Special. For all of his worth, the burden of expectation is put on his shoulders and then he battles with his pride. The Greeks had a word: hubris. It’s the hubris that strikes the killing blow. It’s never the beast or the gods themselves, it’s someone the hero has wronged. Odysseus wronged a monster, a cyclops, but even that was too far.”

Tommy was quiet. All of his focus was pooled into Technoblade.

“Odysseus played the part of warrior. Now it was time for him to be a survivor. See, it didn’t matter what the gods put him through, the trials or the tribulations or the meaningless delays. He had a mental image of what his home was. Ithaca. It had stopped being a real place. Instead it was an idea. A concept.”

“Oh.”

“And even when he was gone, trapped by witches and beasts, he kept that vision of home in his head. Because he was going to get there no matter what. It was all he had left of the world he knew. Even when he was offered another life, another world in what might have been a better place, he turned it down. Because it wasn’t what he wanted. He learned what being a hero meant, and now what he wanted was the opposite: to go home. To be normal. But the thing is, life doesn’t wait around for us to come back.”

Tommy glanced down to his neck. The lodestone compass shimmered in the dim light. His Tubbo.

“The world doesn’t care what your aspirations are, your nation, or your ideas. It doesn’t even care about your friends. The world doesn’t care if what you want does not want you. It doesn’t care, period. It’s cold. Survival is survival.”

-

"I want to be a hero when I grow up!"

"Oh, you do?" The man chuckled, furloughing his spade to sit down on the steps beside him. 

"What's the point of having a name like Technoblade if you're not a hero?" He shut the book in his lap, face beaming.

The young man's mouth opened before a scream rang out from inside the house, followed by shouting and yelling. 

The blond haired man sighed. He smiled back, then rolled his eyes. The man reached out and tousled his hair.

Techno laughed as the man’s voice echoed:

"How are ÿ̸̻͓́̑͐́͗̽͝͠ö̶̝͖̱̫̈́̑́͌͒̋ǜ̴͍͖̝̑̋ ̴̢̛̛̮̼̲͖̠̻̼̝̥̗̻̩̲̼̂̽͌̾̇͂̈́̾͐̅͘̚t̷̤͔̥̤̫̫̟̀̐̈́̿͐ḧ̴̡̘̦͔̠͎̰̬̼̜̺̮͎͚͛̈́ͅȩ̵̦̦̠̬̼͔̰̩̯̻̍̈́͐̌̓͆̀̉̑͗ ̸̪̤̣̏͒̚͜ͅm̸̗͇̘̮̥̮̪̤̯̤̞͉͗̾́͜ą̸̡̖̭̣̭͉͎̥̫̝̑̿̅̄̓͐̽̊̂͂̆͠͝ͅţ̶̮͚̰̂̀̈́̐͆͑̍͆͗͝͠ü̶̢̻͔̼͓̹͖̺̯͙̅̂̔̊̐̅ͅr̴͔̐̾͛ẽ̴̱̰̣̀̓̉̀̆̓̈̄ ̸̛̱͇̺̂̿͑̏̍̋͊͊͗̋̇̆͝o̴̬̙͚͇̳͎͆̇̌̐̿͂̓̄͛͝ͅn̵̨̈́̈́̂̋̐ͅe̷̛̟̱͖͙͙̩͆̊̆̓̂͒̈̍?̸͖̟̺͇̬̗̰̭̺͇͆͐̀͊́̄̍̀̅́͜

-

> home. 

> Tommy's still looking at you, you haven't spoken in a minute

> do you feel sick?? whats going on i just got here

“Blade?” And there was Tommy, with a drop of concern in his voice.

Technoblade shook his head. Late joiners. The memory crumbled to dust. 

He continued. “The Isle of Ogygia. That was where Odysseus’s survival took him. He stayed there, in the lull of the witch Circe, who wanted him for herself—”

“That’s sexist.”

“W-What?”

“The witch!”

“You think the witch is sexist?”

“No no no, the hero! He gets called upon—lured—by this woman just because he’s what, the hero?”

He could not believe this. “Tommy. I didn’t write it.” 

“I’m just saying!”

“The Isle of Ogygia. Or Atlantis, some people think it could be Atlantis, it honestly depends on what version you’re reading but that’s not important. Odysseus spent countless years there, safe but soulless. His heart was gone from his body, kept at bay with thoughts of home. Of family, of kinship. He was out of his body and mind for seven years. He was at the gods’ mercy, but fortune smiled upon him and he escaped.”

Techno took a moment to return his attention to his listener.

Tommy was transfixed, eyes wide.

For some reason, that made him smile.

“He made his way to one of his allied kingdoms. The gods, though, had shifted his appearance. This was to know how he still stood in their eyes. When so much time passes, relationships and bonds fade. Only his dog recognized him. The home he’d wanted for so long was plundered, practically destroyed. His wife—”

“He had a wife? That’s unrealistic.”

Technoblade repeated, annoyed: “His wife and his son didn’t recognize him. Only the dog.”

Tommy continued to ignore his point.

“Well dogs are good like that. I reckon dogs are better than most people."

Moving for the first time since the beginning of the story, he took a step towards the corner.

“Tommy, I’m trying to tell you that even though he won—He got everything he wanted, he got to go home—He didn’t win. His home was different. And he wasn’t the same man.”

“That’s—That’s sad.” 

Tommy stood up and Technoblade crossed his arms.

“It’s not a happy story.” 

"Then why are you telling it?"

“Forget about it.” If Tommy didn't understand, he wasn't going to waste any more time explaining. 

Tommy moved, shifting the cloak on his shoulders crooked. He opened the spruce doors, a strange expression on his face. Like a mixture of horror, fear, and anger. Technoblade recognized the anger first. Tommy looked back, stepped into the snow, then shut the door.

Techno thought, what? He’s going to throw a tantrum because a story doesn’t go how he wanted—

-

A white substance flitted down through the air like snow. Small, unburnt hands grasped upwards to try and catch it. They had only seen snow, never this new, fluffy, off-white plume.

The boy coughed up ash. 

“Hello? D̸̫̦̳̰͐̉ã̸̲̦̞̺͆d̶̗̒̐̕̕?”

-

Technoblade grabbed the edge of the box, stumbling. 

The memory—No, vision—was incompatible with reality. How would he have gotten to the Nether as a child? And Techno never had a father, never depended on anyone, never needed—

Before he could even begin to understand the implications, he was thrown back in.

-

He was lost. 

He was alone. 

And he couldn’t have known that enough inhaled ash will scar your lungs, burn your skin, and bury you beneath a mountain of suffocating fire the moment you stop moving. He couldn’t have known that the Nether contains biomes of this stuff.

Ash has suffocated him. It burns, searing his skin and cooking him alive. It’s like the fall of Pompeii. He read a book on Pompeii once. Perhaps in some distant time an archaeologist will discover the hollow shell of his remains and theorize what happened here, or a traveler, a survivalist happening along the same paths years later when he’s just a mound.

He read another book, once. About a volcano. It’s similar to that pyroclastic flow, a mix of awful molten core and heat. There’s no way to swim in lava, not truly. It doesn’t stop a thirteen year old boy from scraping for the surface in a pit.

He was going to die here.

It’s his coat that saves him. Handcrafted and made with love. The bottom half tears, and he loses a precious gift but gets to keep his life. 

Everything is burning. Is he screaming? His clothes are torn and he’s burning, he’s burning—

-

As quickly as it had come, it was gone.

Technoblade was instantly brought to the sensation of cracklings coals. He jumped at the sound, then looked down at his hands.

Hooves, right. Hooves.

This was too much to process.

Techno looked up.

He watched Tommy waddle to the front of the house in front of Carl’s stable, trudging through the snow the most inefficient way Technoblade could imagine. He was wiping his face.

For some reason, he thought it was something his good friend Philza would have a laugh at.

> PHILZA!!!

> Philza Minecraft?

> Philza would love it here

> The child is annoying, I hope he freezes to death

> I miss Philza

> Countdown to Philza visiting!

“Chat, you’re screaming into my ear right now.” He needed clarity, not a thousand voices in unison chanting for a friend.

Even from here, he could see that tears were pooling in Tommy’s eyes.

Technoblade didn’t bother with a coat. He ignored the sounds of the fire and how the heat made him feel uneasy, instead opting to climb down the ladder and go out the front door. Tommy was muttering to himself, a hand petting Carl.

“‘s not a happy story—What’s the point of telling a story if it’s not happy? I reckon he’s just one big downer. Downing all the time.”

It was then Techno decided to speak. 

“I’d say talking to yourself is a bad habit but since I can’t really do that without coming off like a hypocrite, I’ll tell you that being quieter usually means people can’t overhear sensitive, secret information.”

Tommy didn’t jump, but his shoulders hitched.

“I don’t care about secrets.” Tommy crossed his arms.

“Everything’s a secret when you can’t understand basic information people are telling you.”

“You don’t tell me anything!”

“I’m trying to tell you why people tell sad stories.”

“If I were his family, I would have recognized him.”

“No you wouldn’t have! That is literally the point of the story. You’re like five now, you think you’d recognize someone you saw as a baby?”

It happens a third time and Technoblade’s world spins.

> Recognize recognize recognize

> Is he finally remembering????

> idk, not yet?

> Ugh, someone get me when something interesting happens

> your dead, whats stopping you from watching all the time?

> It’s actually ‘you’re’

> where

> where?

> WHERE DID I ASK—

-

There is a house on a hill in the forest. It looks familiar, with a basement, a middle floor, and a top floor with stairs leading up from the outside.

There is a house beneath a hill in a fierce tundra. 

There was a house on a hill in a forest. It was a home too, once.

Both can theoretically exist at the same time. The house on a hill in the forest is perfectly ingrained in his memory, enough for him to replicate it bit by bit.

There is a boy with a beanie, taller than him. He wears a scowl.

There is a boy smaller than him with a bandage on his cheek.

Sunlight flows through the curtains like honey, oozing in warm delight. There is something resting on the bridge of his nose, and his fingers fly to adjust it.

He laughs.

The tiny freckled boy smiles and it shows his tooth gap.

A deep, tenor voice calls from downstairs and they rush to where storage is, the chests the dining room.

Their father is tired. There are bags under his blue eyes, but his smile lights up the room like the honey-light and like his brothers’ faces. He takes off his hat to sit at the table, a cape swishing behind him.

They’re singing at the table. Four humans with perfect harmony. They sing together all the time, how could he forget?

 The candles on the cake are flickering, and it’s a world away from the fires of the Nether.

“Happy birthday T̶̡͆̋́͝—”

-

Nothing else but static noise and Chat going wild.

“I’m sixteen! I am an adult man!” Tommy’s fists are balled as he stands, beating against his chest to each word and anger burns in his eyes until he sees his hero’s face. “Technoblade?”

His heart pounded.

-

The boy that Technoblade has been seeing through the eyes of is not an adult. Now he is a teenager. He is taller, the clothes more unfitting than before. There are stitches to fix the jacket, now forced to be a half-coat that tucks into his shirt.

He looks like the mockery of a man.

Actually, he doesn’t look like a man at all.

-

Technoblade remembered this part.

The rest had to be a daydream, the machinations of a tired mind. Separating his identity from his mask is impossible.

Literally.

-

He has forgotten what snow feels like. He has forgotten snow. There are many things Technoblade has forgotten, but the name of snow sticks. Snow. It sounds like a dream, like the deranged ramblings of a piglin who lost his mind, and like a fairy tale all at once.

He liked fairy tales, once. 

Now they’re just unrealistic.

The piglin group he is trailing turn to look at him. He’s been following behind them, scavenging whatever food they decide to discard and bartering whatever he can get his hands on. Their eyes are vacant, white. His eyes are present, despite his appearance. Alert. He has to be, it’s one mistake and death. 

The Nether is not forgiving.

He notices when their behavior shifts.

The piglins decide to attack. 

Technoblade sighs.

He doesn’t want to attack this one. There have been too many packs, too many attempts at communication, too many tries at a family.

Technoblade has no tools. He’s forced to work with his fists and some metal the pigs scrapped, which with enough tempering he’s made into knuckles. Netherite knuckles, but that knowledge will evade him until years in the future.

He busts one of the pigs’ heads open, then shoves another’s head into the netherrack wall. Blood spills on his boots. A tusk is embedded in his hand; he puts pressure on the wound then yanks it out, stabbing it into the head of the third. The fourth pushes into his back, and Techno slams his head back into its skull until it fractures.

The fifth runs off. 

And all at once, an uproar, a chant from a place and group he cannot see or hear.

It sings that Technoblade never dies.

-

All at once Chat was unanimous:

> Technoblade never dies.

> TECHNOBLADE NEVER DIES

> technoblade never dies

> blood for the blood god!!!

> Techno never dies

> Technoblade never dies!

He nodded in agreement.

“Technoblade.”

Tommy laughed.

Techno realized he had convinced the child he was fine.

“Is that how you get the girls, Blade?”

“I’m not interested.” The art of combat and potato farming interested him more than girls. Or anyone, for that matter. 

“Are you crying?”

“No.” Tommy sniffed. 

“Here, let go of Carl.” Technoblade pulled Tommy away.

“But I wasn’t—”

“I killed everyone that ever touched that horse.”

“Okay, fine.” Tommy doesn’t move.

Techoblade can’t sigh because he’s already sighed too much and anything that exacerbates the situation will give him a headache. Instead, he picks Tommy up and lifts him over his shoulder. He chooses to say nothing in response as Techno headed inside and down, down, until they were both in Tommy’s little nest of shiny things and stolen goods. 

Tommy struggled to stay on the bridge of consciousness. Technoblade takes his hand and walks him all the way there, staying down in the pitiful hole until Tommy has tired himself out from the sound of his own voice.

It was hours before he risked stepping away from the bed.

Snow fluttered down. It was cold and wet, but it was snow; a miracle all the same. 

Technoblade stretched out a hoof. It was not the hand of a small child that was trapped in the Nether. It was a Piglin beast who had believed he'd never feel the cold again. 

Technoblade glanced out the shutters. Tommy was inside, falling asleep. The silence of the home told him as much. 

He pulled his hand back inside. 

The fire of the top floor crackled. Techno dipped his head forward. His hands clasped around an invisible buckle, hidden underneath his hair. 

As easy and simple as changing clothes, Technoblade the human stood in his retirement home. His height was the same, scars still present, but now a long unkempt braid of hair trailed down his back. It was ill-maintained, tangled and disgusting. A liability.

Without thinking twice, Technoblade took his sword and slashed the braid off.

-

“You don’t know when to quit, do you?!” Dream yells. It feels like the ground is shaking beneath them.

Techno stands firm. He’s towering above him, sword at his side.

“Nope. I’ve been told it’s one of my best qualities.” His voice is monotonous as always.

The green fiend stood hunched over his stomach, shoulders rising and falling to the tune of his ragged breaths. He knew that they didn’t need to breathe. It was all theatrics, even in the middle of a fight. Still, Dream’s voice was frantic, jittery, shaking, and loud; something Chat assured him they altogether had never seen in their combined existences.

Technoblade felt smug.

Technoblade made the grave mistake of hubris.

In a flash, the god is behind him. The god that can see the straps of his mask, the god that slices it off with a well-placed swordstrike and grabs him by his braid.

“Y’know, I really didn’t want to kill you. I’ve heard about you, a little bit. I just didn’t care.” He whispers into Techno’s ear as the pain tears into his scalp.

It only took a half-second for him to find a solution.

Dream was guarding from the left, expecting another hit to his mask. 

Technoblade swiped at the right.

In a flash, he’s cut off his braid of pink hair and freed himself from the clutches of his enemy.

He smirks, and pulls out his axe. He doesn’t need the mask to fight, it’s already a part of him.

“C’mere, Dream.”

-

That one. That memory is real and he has all the proof he needs of that. He turned over his hand and pushed up the brass knuckles to see the gashes along his finger from where he held the grip. He sets the hand-to-hand weapon on the crafting table as he massages his hands.

Soaking his fingers in instant healing should alleviate the pain. Even for a moment. 

Dream hit hard. The wounds never left. 

But Technoblade hit harder.

A burned hand reached out to the snowfall. 

The snow didn't burn back. 

"He's not me, Chat. We're keeping it that way."

If there was one thing Technoblade was good at achieving, it was his goals.

[highpope]

Silver Keys - Chapter Five

JJ Maybank x OC x Topper Thorton Soulmate AU

warnings: none, let me know if there ever are :)

notes: first, I know this took agesssss I'm sorry but I've been sitting on a couple chapters so you guys should be getting some updates for a while. Second, I lost my tag lists. so lmk if you want added to this one or my general tag list. I've been writing a lot more to cope with my anxiety so... things are coming bahaha. Love you guys, thanks for your support recently - J

Silver Keys Masterlist

June probably wouldn’t admit it to anyone besides her sister and Kie, but going out with Topper was fun. When he had asked her out to have dinner at the country club, she was worried she wouldn’t fit in at all. June was convinced she’d make it about 15 minutes before she bailed and met everyone back at the Chateau. She had on shoes she could barely walk in and a dress she found at goodwill, no doubt someone’s from a homecoming dance in years past and she was fighting the urge to pull her hair up all night. But then she realized they had talked straight through appetizers, dinner, and the waiter had come by twice for the check. The two of them had fallen into a comfortable understanding with each other that had continued into the following weeks.

He picked her up from work on most days, driving around in search of the perfect chocolate chip cookie. June argues that the small bakery run out of one of the local’s houses has the best cookies, but Topper is determined to try every option before making a decision. It had started as kind of a joke, but now it was just an excuse for them to hang out.

Currently, they were at the island’s movie night, chairs propped up near the back and various snacks shared between the two of them. Topper’s arm rested on her shoulders, something she had become accustomed to the past few weeks. June found herself more relaxed with him, it was easy being with Topper. She didn’t have to think or worry, June could just be.

They were playing The Sandlot, arguably the best movie of all time and June had to hold back from saying the iconic lines with the characters. She had grown up watching this movie with her sister and had practically begged Topper to go see it.

“Really?” He had asked the day before, “The movie nights aren’t really our thing.”

“Yeah, that’s because you guys always cause trouble and then get kicked out.”

He shook his head.

“Yes, you do. Besides, you’re gonna be with me and I am a model citizen.”

He laughed then and again in the chair beside her now.

She found herself leaning into him naturally, even with the arms of both their chairs in between them. It was something she had never had previously. June didn’t do relationships. In high school, she mostly stuck with the pogues and focused on school and not getting in trouble with the cops. Sure, she had the occasional crush or hookup with a touron, but nothing was ever serious. Not that this was, but it was closer to that than anything else June had experienced.

The next morning June had her last piano rehearsal with Mrs. Hana before the recital. The Saturday coming up was the big dress rehearsal. The one with the kids from all over the island and hundreds of different schools and programs. And the weekend following that was the recital. Her whole family was going. Her dad had even surprised her by getting a hotel room for all of them and making a whole trip about it. He had to work night shifts for two weeks, but he assured her it was worth it. Not that that added any pressure.

At rehearsal, June played nearly perfectly. She had only messed up a couple of notes near the end. She’d be lucky if Saturday went as smoothly as this. Mrs. Hana corrected her posture and made her go from the top. They went on like this the whole lesson: June playing and her correcting one thing at a time before making her start over. Normally, June would argue, but she knew it was because Mrs. Hana understood how important this was. This could set her future up, get her off the island if she wanted. She could do something she loved every day.

The night before the recital, June was laying on a hammock in John B’s backyard.

“Nervous?” Kie questions.

June shrugged, “Kinda, yeah.”

“I’m sure you’re going to do fine,” Pope said with confidence. It was only the three of them. John B and JJ had ventured out to get snacks and beer but hadn’t been back for an hour. June’s guess was they found a party and couldn’t bother to text an update. That or they got arrested. Which probably would’ve earned a phone call quicker than the first option. She chuckled thinking about this.

“It’s just a rehearsal and Liv is driving down with me so I don’t really have anything to worry about.”

“You seem to have this all figured out,” he said with a laugh.

Kie said, “And I cannot wait to celebrate when you get back! It’s gonna be so fun.”

June could only imagine what her best friend was thinking when she said this. She was sure it would end like most nights did, tipsy and watching movies on John B’s couch. Her favorite way to end a day. The three of them drift into a comfortable silence, lost in their thoughts. June starts to hear a familiar melody, but can’t quite put her finger on it. She was sure it wasn’t anything she had chosen to listen to, but couldn’t figure out where she had heard it before.

She was brought back to reality when John B and JJ come strutting into the yard, cases of beer on their shoulders and grocery bags in their hands. Kie and June both started cheering.

They set down the stuff on the closest table.

“What took so long?” Pope asked, getting up and rummaging through the bags. He pulls out a bag of chips before turning around.

“You’re not even going to believe it.” John B starts, taking a seat.

“Hey,” JJ yelled at June, “Gummies?” He asks and holds up a bag of gummy worms.

She nods her head and he tosses them over before grabbing his own snack and beer and joining her on the hammock. They all listen to JB’s story, JJ adding in his own variations and making everyone laugh.

“And who ended up being in front of us at the grocery store?” He paused for dramatic effect, “Sarah Cameron.”

June realized a beat late that she was supposed to be reacting, “Sarah Cameron!” she repeated.

JJ turned his head to keep from laughing.

“Am I supposed to be excited?” Kie asked, an annoyed expression on her face. She and Sarah used to be friends before they drifted into different friend groups.

“Yes, Kie. It was like fate.”

JJ spoke up, “I would hardly call it fate.”

John B just rolled his eyes at his friends and took another drink.

“What happened to Molly Fields?” Pope questioned. That was the girl we had gone to elementary school with, the latest victim of John B’s soulmate search.

“Nah,'' he dismissed, “This one’s different.”

“Well, I hope it is, JB,” June spoke up. He looked over and smiled at her.

The next morning June and Olivia jump in the car and start towards the concert hall where her dress rehearsal was being held. She had been up for hours, too excited and nervous to sleep. June had gotten ready, done her makeup, changed three times, and called Topper twice all before Olivia had even woken up. Downstairs, their mom had made some breakfast and June couldn’t bear to tell her she was too nervous to eat anything. So, she grabbed a pancake and thanked her parents.

They listened to music the whole way down, Liv was always determined to get June to listen to the most mainstream pop music she could. She always argued that she wouldn’t understand anyone’s references and it would be an embarrassing mess. June made sure to point out that she had made it 18 years without that ever happening, but nonetheless she persisted.

When they arrived, they parked the car and decided to window shop. They were still about an hour early from call time and Liv was restless enough as it was. June was trying to push her nerves down. She didn’t want to come across that way to the instructors. June had a vision that she would walk across the stage, take a deep breath, and be transported by the music. She didn’t want to have the weight of the competition on her shoulders or the constant confusion about her soulmate circling in her head. That was a new development. June found herself lying awake at night going over everything Topper had said or done and trying to place it into this mysterious soulmate cut out she had in her head. She was trying to do a puzzle with the wrong number of pieces. And she wasn’t even sure if it was the right picture on the box.

….

“Okay, turning the key a bunch of times isn’t going to do any good if the battery is dead,” Olivia said, snapping her head to look at June from the passenger side.

After the dress rehearsal, June had called Liv and the two of them had eaten in the cafeteria with a few other performers. June was practically glowing after being there for a few hours, she couldn’t imagine how she would feel at the actual recital. Everything was going perfectly.

Until they got back to the car and realized the battery was dead.

“Well,” June sighed, “I don’t know what else to do.” Her voice pinched.

“Can’t we call a mechanic?”

“Liv, you know we can’t afford that. Especially in this area. We just need a jump.”

She surveyed the empty parking lot and tried to think of what to do without panicking. They were too far from home to have someone just pick them up and there were no cars in sight. Even if there were, they didn’t have any jumper cables. Maybe they could take the bus home and get help tomorrow. June probably had enough cash in her purse for two bus tickets.

“Isn’t there like a trick with distilled water? That could get us somewhere.”

“You think I have distilled water in my car? Besides, I have no idea how to do that.”

“I’m just trying to give you ideas here,” Olivia said, unbuckling her seatbelt and getting out of the car.

June leaned her head back and closed her eyes, thinking and thinking.

She was interrupted when Olivia opened the driver’s side door and handed her the phone, “here.”

Confused, June lifted the phone to her ear, “hello?”

“June? What’s going on?” JJ’s voice was on the other end.

“J, we’re fine. Just a little car trouble.” She rolled her eyes at her sister.

“We’re stranded!” Olivia yelled so that he could hear.

“We’re fine,” she said, shooting her sister a look.

JJ speaks up, “Doesn’t sound fine. June, I’ll just come out and help. No problem.”

“No, no. We just need a jump-”

“I’m already in the car, just send me your location.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yeah, but I’m going to.”

Defeated, June agrees and sends him the address of the music hall.

About 45 minutes later, JJ pulls into the parking spot opposite of them, “Hey,” he says as he turns the key and gets out of the car.

“Oh thank god! JJ, do you have AC? I’m melting.” Olivia yells. She’s already getting in his truck and rotating the fans to blow her hair back before he can process what she’s just said.

“I’m sorry,” June starts, but he interrupts her.

“Eh, no big deal”

“I can give you gas money for coming all the way out here.”

He shakes his head, “Nah. Here catch.” JJ throws one end of the jumper cables to her, “You know how to put them on?”

June scoffs, “This isn’t my first jump, Maybank.”

Once everything is sorted out with June’s car, the three of them drive to the nearest ice cream shop. Mostly because Olivia was being dramatic and promised to pay for herself, but also to thank JJ for driving the whole way out here just to get them home.

“I don’t know, it’s like what if my soulmate doesn’t like ice cream? Ew, or worse, orders mint chocolate chip.” Olivia said as they headed to a table outside. The spot they had picked was really nice, there were picnic tables with umbrellas lined up on a patio in front of the window they had ordered from.

June just laughed, a conversation the two of them had had more than once.

“What’s wrong with mint chocolate chip?” JJ asked.

Olivia made a face, “only everything.”

“Isn’t the whole point of a soulmate that you overlook those flaws and-”

“Please. Don’t lecture me.” She begs.

“She’s kinda right though,” JJ replies, looking at June for a second and scrunching his nose. She smiles back, looking down at her ice cream.

“Have you heard it?” She asks him.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, “the other night at John B’s.” He meets June’s eyes. “I fell asleep on the pullout and the storm woke me up. So I was just laying awake and that’s when I heard it. It was really faint. Mad weird though,” He finished and took a bite of his ice cream, making June shudder.

She remembered the night he was talking about. It had stormed for about two days last week. She thought about what she was probably doing at the time, practicing for the recital, maybe reading until

she drifted off.

“Do you think you know who it is?” Olivia inquired.

He shook his head, “No, haven’t thought about it.”

“You don’t wanna know?”

“I mean, sure. But if I’m gonna find out anyway by force of,” he struggled for the right word before landing on, “the universe, then why stress right now?”

That answer seemed to have satisfied her enough because she nodded her head and stopped asking questions.

When she finally pulled into her driveway, June had a phone call.

The three of them had left shortly after ice cream, JJ following them most of the way back before he went off towards John B’s and June continued straight, with a quick wave behind her.

Olivia had practically jumped out of the car before she had even parked so now, June answered her phone, unbuckling her seatbelt.

“Hey,”

“Hey!” Topper said on the other end, “I wanted to see how everything went. I stopped by your house just a little bit ago, but your car wasn’t in front.”

June groaned, “That’s because we just now pulled in. The practice was great! Everyone was so talented and I got to meet a couple of instructors. It was really cool.”

“That’s amazing, bub.”

“Yeah, it really was.”

“What took you so long getting home?”

“Oh, uh. I just had some car trouble, no biggie.”

“Oh, is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just needed a quick jump and then we were on our way.” June chuckled, nervously. She hadn’t even thought to call Topper when her car wouldn’t start. Truthfully she hadn’t thought to call anyone, but she still felt nervous to tell him what happened.

“So someone had cables? That’s pretty lucky.” He pressed.

“Uhm. No, actually. We had to call JJ for some help and then we were good to go. It drove perfectly on the way home.”

There was a pause before he spoke again, “You could’ve called or texted me.”

“I didn’t want to bother you. I wasn’t even the one who called JJ, it was Liv.”

“Well, I could’ve helped.”

“It’s fine, really.”

“I would’ve called a mechanic for you, had someone come out and get you.”

“And I would have really appreciated it,” June laughed nervously, “Next time I promise I will call you.”

He stayed silent for a long time before speaking, “It’s just your first thought wasn’t to call your boyfriend. Forgive me if I’m a little upset.”

She pondered over his words for a moment, skipping over the mention of ‘boyfriend,’ “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come off that way.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, “yeah, you’re right. I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”

June nodded even though he couldn’t see her and hung up the phone. She huffed, threw her phone in her bag, and marched up the sidewalk inside.

[pearl-pilots-in-chains]

Come to My Window (All the Little Lights #2)

Fandom: Neon Genesis Evangelion

Ships: Asurei

Rating: T

Summary: Rei doesn't like summers much. She usually ends up spending most of her time alone. One afternoon, an open window changes things. Meanwhile, Asuka's unpacking is going great . . . just great. She's just about had enough when she's distracted by the sound of a familiar song.

Notes: It's time for Asurei to Asurock! This is the second part of my All the Little Lights Evangelion high school AU. A slight warning, there's some content in this fic that might be offensive/triggering. I tried to avoid getting too graphic or dark, but there are some clear depictions of depression and bullying, as well as allusions to familial issues. I just wanted to make sure I put a bit of a disclaimer. That being said, I think those parts are important to Rei's character, so I didn't want to leave them out.

The first song Asuka recognizes Rei playing in this fic is "Always With Me, Always With You," by Joe Satriani, and the band shirt Asuka is wearing in this fic is based on the art to the album "Karmacode" by Lacuna Coil.

This was originally posted to my AO3 on May 25, 2020. Hope you enjoy!

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Rei slumped down into the chair, letting her head fall back, her gaze tilting upward, until she was scrutinizing the ceiling. The faux-sky formed on it looked down on her, the painted stars flares of cream and flame that sliced out of the navy base. She thought it was a nice view. It had the power to draw her back, pulling away years to reach innocent memories. She could recall when the sky was first cast onto her ceiling. It had been her father’s idea, and it was his hand that brought it to life. She remembered watching him from her bed, sitting on top of the plastic wrap they had laid down, crinkling the glossy tarp between her fingers. It half-seemed to be a fragment of another world, a remnant of a different life. Now, the mural served as the sole reminder that her father’s presence had once filled her room.

She had thought about asking Shinji to help her paint over the false sky. She knew there was a can of paint in the garage that could match the ceiling’s original shade well enough. She could return it all to a blank canvas. Erase the constellations, fill the vacuum with blinding light. And yet, she never asked. She wasn’t sure Shinji would be willing to help if the request was made. There was a picture on top of his bookcase. It wasn’t in the front. Its frame stood behind one that displayed Shinji and Toji after a track meet, celebrating their respective performances. But it was still there, half in hiding, half revealed. She knew the day it had been taken. December 24, 2000. On the eve of their last Christmas as a quartet. Her memories of that day were nebulous, lost to the childhood haze that the painting day had managed to emerge from. The picture spoke enough to make up for the lack of recollections though.

Her mother was holding Rei in her lap. Rei was looking away from the camera, down at the floor. She looked far wiser, far sadder that a child should. She looked as though she knew too much. Yui was looking up towards the camera, a smile plastered on her face that failed to hide its fraudulent nature. It was took curved, too hooked, too forced. The eyes told the truth. Distant, worried, ashamed. Shinji was sitting by Gendo. He was trying to imitate his father, pressing his face into an amalgamation of the mask the adult wore. It was a shoddy disguise though, as his lips looked seconds away from tremble, and there was water in the corner of his eyes. Gendo wore the true mask. His gaze bored directly into the lens’s eye, staring it down, as though he was willing the time to work correctly through sheer willpower and determination alone. Or, perhaps he was merely compensating. The tinted glasses he normally sported were nowhere to be seen, which left his eyes naked, exposed, without a shield to fume behind. It was possible that the tight, angry smile which ripped through his lips and the needling glare in his iris were designed to make up for this. They had the opposite effect, however. Whereas his traditional spectacles contained and concealed some degree of his emotions, his posturing revealed the true extent of them. His spite, his wrath, his pride, all laid bare.

As a general rule, Rei didn’t keep photos in the same way her brother did. He had a greater appreciation for the physical mementos, the tangible preservation of a moment for posterity. Rei treasured the fleeting nature of seconds, minutes, days. The ephemeral essence of life. The truth that nothing was everlasting, nothing endured. Consequently, there were three pictures in her room. One of her standing by the front door, the day before her first day of elementary school. She looked brave in it. It wasn’t just a front, Rei realized. She had felt brave that day. Time had taught her, however, that there was a thin line between bravery and foolishness.

The second picture showed Shinji and Rei, mouths broken in laughter, dancing through the backyard, Shinji lunging out in an attempt to tap her shoulders. They had been playing hide-and-go-tag, as they referred to it, and he had found her secret spot behind the rose garden. Yui had snapped the shot the moment before Shinji discovered that his sister was faster than he had anticipated, and had ended up face down in the grass after his ill-fated leap.

The last picture was the newest of the three, though now passing the age of six years, another family photo. This one was dated August 16, 2005. The smiles were more genuine, even if they looked more worn. Gendo was over four years absent.

Shinji visited his father. He had since second grade. Sometimes once every other weekend, sometimes once a month, depending on how their schedules worked out. Rei never visited. She hadn’t seen Gendo in person in a decade. She was perfectly fine with her only memories of him being mostly vague, indefinite impressions of youth. They were painful enough as they were. She didn’t want to imagine having concrete memories.

Yui had never made either of them visit him. She never would. She understood while Rei chose not. If anything, she understood better than Rei herself. Rei was truthful unsure why Shinji chose to go. Perhaps out of guilt, perhaps out of regret, perhaps out of pity, perhaps some combination of the three. Whatever it was, Shinji chose to see his father, and Rei chose not to ask her brother to help remove the last physical trace of their father from her space.

Even beyond Shinji though, Rei felt a reluctance to erase the ceiling, to restore it to its first form. Her mind shied away from the choice, became anxious, and fell silent. Rei knew far, far too much about anxious silences.

She was the “Silent Ikari,” after all. That was one of the names which had been ascribed to her. One of the kinder ones, really. She was never called them to her face, of course. Not that people said much of anything to her face. She supposed that it might be out of respect for her brother, the Ikari most people liked. But they still spoke, in voices loud enough and near enough for her to make their ‘observations’ out. Maybe they thought she was as deaf as she seemed mute. Maybe they just didn’t care if she heard. After all, they could reason that she had no real ‘excuse’ for being withdrawn, closed-off, that ‘emo girl in the corner.’ She just thought she was ‘too good for them.’ The genius who was smart enough to have skipped a grade, who could probably skip another, but ‘just didn’t feel like it.’ The one who all the teachers thought was practically perfect, even if they worried she was ‘a little on the quiet side.’ The one who had a friendly, and moderately popular brother, but was herself too ‘stuck up’ to even bother talking with anyone. And if they didn’t play up that she was cold and arrogant, they played up that something was wrong with her. That she ‘wasn’t all there,’ or had never figured out ‘how to be a human.’ There were words that stung even more, especially when she was younger, when she learned what they meant, but she preferred not to reiterate them in her mind. She didn’t need to give the speakers that power, that lasting blow. All the same, a memory crept into her head unbidden.

It was one of the first times she had sat away from Shinji and his friends. She had felt like a burden to her brother, and she had been tired of always hanging on to him, even if he had never minded. Even if he had wanted nothing more than to make sure she was okay. He was smart enough to know her reputation, even if people avoided saying things in front of him. He had gotten into a fight, a real fight, with someone who he had called a friend before it, over a passing comment the friend had made about Rei when he thought Shinji wasn’t paying attention. After that, Rei had decided to give her brother space. She didn’t want to be the weight that he felt bound by. She didn’t want to be the shadow that he felt as though he had to protect. He hadn’t been happy about it, but he had understood and agreed when she had talked to him. If there was one undeniable fact about her brother, it was that he always did his best to empathize, even when it was clearly difficult for him.

She had picked out a table along the fringe of the room to sit at. Somewhere out of the way, to avoid unwanted attention. She hadn’t wanted to be alone. She never had. But by then, it had seemed too late to change the perception of the faces she saw. The disregard, the amusement, the disgust. They had seemed immutable. And so, she hadn’t tried. She had done her best to be invisible. Because it was easier than fighting against a tide than felt overwhelming. She was too afraid of drowning to do otherwise.

She had heard the boy’s conversation with his friends before he approached her. Her hearing had always been above average, and when you heard your name spoken in first cautious, and then careless, tones behind your back, you got used to honing in on it. There had been a dare. A bet as to whether or not he could get a date with the ‘broken girl.’ They had all been at the age where suddenly, exploring previous unknown urges and interests seemed of the upmost importance. Well, most of them had been. She hadn’t. She still wasn’t. Not in the same way, anyhow, or to the same degree. At least, she didn’t think so. They spoke of crushes, and flirting, and love, and sex, like objects on fire, that burned the skin when they were handled, but were worth the flame. She thought of them in muted terms, as though she was touching the same once-scorching objects, but after they had passed beneath a waterfall, the flames all-but vanquished, only the occasional ember remaining. They were safer to hold, to handle, but the appeal, the allure in the danger, was gone, their extinguished state irrevocable.

His stance had been casual as he walked over, but there was a cruel, cocksure glint in his eye. His tone betrayed just what he thought of her, and what he thought of himself. She was an object, a means to an end (the money involved in the bet), and that was all. He was the lad who was going to win the bet, and she should feel lucky to be used for that purpose.

“Hey.” His tone had dripped smooth self-importance, self-exaggeration. “I’m Maximilian.” He had used his full name, not the Max he went by, as though he could make her persuade by the sheer power of possessing what he no doubt thought was an ‘exotic’ name.

“Hello.” Her reply had been quiet, not really timid, though it could have been mistaken for such. Any who had been less caught up in himself would have recognized that it instead bespoke that she had no interest in talking to him, was aware of what he was doing, and want no part of it.

“I’m going to sit here.” It hadn’t been a question, hadn’t been a request, had been a statement, had almost been a command. A command to accept the fact that she was in his presence, and should treat him with the respect his conceited conscience told him he deserved.

She hadn’t said anything in response to that at first. He had taken that as the acceptance he desired, and taken the seat across from her. “So, you’re Rei, right?” The tone was aggressive, as though he was going to dismiss whatever she said, because he was certain he knew who she was. She had imagined that if she said, simply to deny him, he would have ignored it and preceded ahead as though she had said ‘yes.’ He had been the type of boy who could go either one of two ways. On one hand, he could cross too hard of a line earlier enough that he still had a chance to learn how to be something better. On the other hand, he could grow up to be a man who refused to acknowledge refusals, because he felt he has the right to what he wants. The worst kind of person, Rei thought. The kind who thought that others very selves were second to their own desires. Rei wasn’t sure which path he had ended up taking, but she was very glad that they had gone to different high schools, although she felt bad for whoever ended up being the target of his interests there.

Instead of saying ’no,’ or merely staying silent, Rei had cut to the chase. “I don’t want to go out with you. Please leave me alone.”

This had thrown him for a loop. That much had been clear. He had expected her to at least hear him out. His opinion of himself was high enough that he hadn’t even considered outright disregard, the very same treatment he had intended to give her. The result of course, had been that he had become angry. Furious, really, she imagined, though his sheer pride kept him from making a scene, considering he cared too much for his image as the ‘cool guy.’ Instead, he had leaned in, breaking into her bubble, to spit the words in her face. “You don’t know what you’re missing, stupid bitch. It’s not like anyone ever going to ask out a freak like you. The most attention you’ll ever get will be from some white coat in a psych ward.”

She hadn’t flinched. She had known that it would be her downfall if she did. That breaking was what he wanted, her visible suffering was what he was craving in that moment. He had realized she wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction after a few seconds, and strolled off, still cocky, but surely fuming internally over the fact that he hadn’t managed to get a reaction out of her. Not a twitch in her lips, a blink in her eyes, something to show that she was shattering beneath the calm exterior. Not that she wasn’t. She just knew how to delay the collapse. It had happened later that day, in the safety and solitude of her room, a silent sort of disintegration. No tears, no screams. Just a widening hollow feeling that consumed her from the pit of her stomach, reaching up into her chest cavity, groping at her lungs, sucking the air into, folding her in on herself until she felt small enough to simply stop existing altogether. It wasn’t an uncommon experience in those days. Before she learned how to grow numb to the words, numb to the spite. That came later though. You had to experience enough pain, enough cover crumbling, to learn how to ignore the barbs that brought it on.

She had never told her brother about that particular incident. She hadn’t wanted him to start another fight on her account. She wasn’t sure if he had ever found out. She guessed it was likely he had, although she wasn’t sure what he had done about it (though she thought it was probable he had done something).

The abuse had never been physical, never public, rarely direct. There had been no retaliation for that incident either. She supposed on all accounts that it was because people were afraid of what her brother might do. Or perhaps not her brother, but more accurately, her brother’s friends. She liked them for the most part. The track team members her brother was close to were an anomaly, in that they were some of few decent people she had ever met in the schools she had attended. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. Knowing that she didn’t have to worry about making her brother choose between his sister and his friends. At least not anymore. He had discarded the ones that had tried to sway him away from the familial choice. She supposed then, that he had already made his decision. She felt guilty for that. She felt guilty often, when it came to her brother, and what she perceived as the difficulties she brought into his life. She knew how much he worried for her. Worried that she was afraid, worried that she was hurting, worried that was lonely.

The most painful part of the guilt was knowing the her brother’s fears weren’t altogether unfounded. No, she supposed, they weren’t unfounded at all. She would characterize her feelings as more anxious than afraid, but the other two concerns she knew he held were accurate. The latter led to the former, in a way. She had discovered there was nothing quite like the feeling of isolation, of division from others, to exacerbate preexisting pain. To make it metastasize, grow into something greater than itself. Seclusion bred sorrowful things when it revealed what was latent.

She had never had her brother’s power with people. He had a natural sort of charisma about him, as awkward as he could be at times. He seemed to draw people to him. More important though, words came easy to him. He could carry a conversation when it dashed against rocks, and somehow bring it out to the far side relatively unscathed. Whether it was a matter of skill, or a matter of luck, social things seemed to turn out positive rather than negative for him more often than not.

Words had never come easy to her. Not when she was talking to someone other than her mother or her brother. She could read cues, interpret signs, and understand context well enough, but there was somehow a disconnect when it came to putting all of that into play when encoding something herself. Ironically, and perhaps appropriately, she couldn’t articulate why. She only knew that it made everything harder. That the persona she conveyed caused people to say she was ‘cold,’ or ‘dead,’ or ‘inhuman.’ Those her knew her well knew this wasn’t the case, but aside from her family, the only people who fell into that category were Shinji’s closest friends, who had spent enough time with him, and by extension, with Rei when she was around, that they read her demeanor differently. She didn’t really have friends of her own, she knew that much. It had been that way since she was a child. She had worried her teachers in kindergarten by the fact that she seemed to turn away all the kids who tried to connect with her. This hadn’t changed, and by the time she headed to junior high, no one tried anymore. The teachers had kept worrying of course, but as she got older, this worry had been offset by their satisfaction and appreciation of her academic performance; apparently, at the end of the day, even elementary school teachers cared more about a child’s grades than her ability to fit into classroom society.

She hadn’t understood it then. Hadn’t understood why her responses, her reactions shut others down. It was only after hearing the covert comments too many times that she had realized what other people thought of her. And by then, the road to remake her reputation had seemed entirely too insurmountable.

That perspective had resulted in her leading a life that was half-spent in sequestration. The silver lining to that, of which she constantly reminded herself, was that she had devoted plenty of time to pursuing her passions, even if it was at a solo capacity. The filled bookcases in her room were one testament to that. The filled folders on her laptop were another, and the guitar resting in its stand by her desk was a third. The lack of company had done wonders for her creativity, she supposed. Was it a worthy exchange though? That was all in the eye of the beholder.

Pulling her gaze away from the ceiling, Rei brought it to rest on the guitar sitting by the desk. The chrome elements of Stratocaster-imitation form glistened in the sunlight from the window above her desk, opened to let the breeze flow in (a partially successful attempt to offset the heat without resorting to blasting the AC, because Rei preferred a more natural solution). She knew it would be at the earliest, four hours before her brother made it home. His shifts had been extended recently, on account of another employee quitting. And of course, her mother wouldn’t be home for at least another hour after that, a timetable that had become the new normal over the past several months. There wasn’t much for her to do in the meantime. Shinji was officially the house chef, because he argued that it was a way for him to ‘destress,’ which was his way of saying that cooking was one of his favorite pastimes, and that he didn’t want anyone else in the kitchen, which he had unofficially declared his ‘dignified domain’ in one of his more emphatic (and comedic) moments.

Rei didn’t particularly like summers, primarily because of how empty they often ended up feeling. This summer had been particularly forlorn one, as with her brother spending nearly all of his time either working or in the company of his new friend Kaworu (she suspected that the her brother and the ashen-hair boy would be dating soon, not that she resented Kaworu; from the two brief interactions she had had with him, he seemed quite nice actually), she had been left to her own devices for days on end. At this point, her routines, as much as she appreciated them, had begun to feel somewhat monotonous. She had taken to browsing blogs lately, in search of a new potentially hobby she could try out to add some diversity to her day, but so far, she hadn’t had much lucky finding anything that she had gravitated toward with any great enthusiasm. She had briefly considered trying out her hand at archery, before swiftly coming to the conclusion that as enticing as her visions of Legolasesque prowess were, the actual effort that would undoubtedly be required to achieve any degree of proficiency wasn’t something she quite felt up to. The fact that even if she did manage to become a competent archer, her chances of being able to skate down a staircase atop a shield would most likely remain negligible was also a bit of a buzzkill. And so, at least for the moment, her current hobbies would have to suffice. She decided that tomorrow, she would take a walk down to Off the Shelf! If she was going to stick with what she knew, it wouldn’t hurt to at least get some new reading material. Well, new to her anyway.

With a barely audible sigh proceeding from her lips, Rei pushed herself up and out of her chair, and left the corner of the room, strolling over to her desk lackadaisically. She retrieved her guitar from its stand and plugged it into her practice amp, positioned alongside the desk. Flipping the amp on and turning the volume to a decent level, satisfied with her other levels. She then set herself down in her desk chair and rolled her volume knob up. She paused for a few seconds, thinking of a good song selection. After a moment, she made her decision.

The first palm muted notes sprung out from the guitar as she picked through the intro, before launching into the melody itself, the pensive tone pervading the room. She allowed the traces of a smile to steal onto her face. It was a beautiful song. One which promise never to leave, never to vanish. One whose titled she liked to think vowed to be with her always. It was a piece she was content to return to. That always seemed to make her day a little less lonely.

Perhaps then, the particular events brought about by her playing that afternoon could only be considered highly appropriate. If one was to take this view, then perhaps it could be called an act of fate, rather than a mere coincidence, that Rei did not think to close her window before she started playing on that particular occasion, something which she habitually did, half out of shyness and doubt of her own talent (unfounded doubt, of course, as anyone who had heard her play could attest to), and part out of respect for her the elderly couple who lived next door, whom she suspected were probably not fans of some of the more ‘enthusiastic’ music she played (which was to say, progressive metal). It would, however, be unfair to Rei to blame her for failing to realize that the elderly couple had moved across the country several months before to live closer to their family. It wasn’t as if she interacted with them frequently, or in fact, paid much attention to them at all. They had kept to themselves, something which she also did. On the other hand, a better case could be made to label Rei a bit on the oblivious side for not noticing the new neighbors who had moved in several days before. That had been a bit more of an affair, though not one which either Yui or Shinji could have been aware of, considering it occurred during the day while they were both absent. Rei, on the other hand, had no such excuse. Her excuse would be, if one were to ask her for it, was that she had been particularly engrossed in rereading one of her favorite books on that specific day, which was in fact true. All the same, it meant that she was unaware of her new neighbors. And furthermore, unaware that one of them would soon hear her playing. And of course, logically, this also meant she was unaware that her life was about to change. However, a lack of awareness rarely averts something from happening, and it certainly did not in this case.

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Asuka glared down at the figurine in her hands, scowling. “Dammit,” she grumbled to herself, pulling away the now-severed head from the body of the dragon, and inspecting the jagged break. She spared a glance at the unraveled square of bubble wrap in the box below. “Well that’s just great.” With a sigh and a shake of her head, she set the broken figurine down on top of the bookcase. “I’ll have to fix you later. Gotta ask Misato if we have any glue, or if it’s lost in one of the boxes out in the garage.” She scowled, and turned back to sorting through the contents of the box. She extracted two more figurines from her their bubble wrap entombments, and was pleased to see that her cobra and sorceress were both still intact. Setting them on the shelf beside the beheaded dragon, she grab one of the discarded pieces of bubble wrap and held it up to the light coming through her window. “I guess you didn’t totally fail,” she remarked dryly, before crumpling the strip in her hand and listening to the series of satisfying pops that occurred as a result.

Tossing the now-pointless piece of plastic into the trash bin by her door, she set her hands on her hips and surveyed the pile of boxes that had yet to be unpacked, a hoard still big enough to lay claim to an entire corner of the room with a vengeance. What next? She ran her eyes over the bare walls of the room, finding the off-white coloration unappealing, to say the least. When was this designed? The 80s? Posters it is.

While she now had a goal in mind for the next step in her unboxing/room design (she preferred the latter description, because it sounded more dignified in her mind, and didn’t serve as quite the same reminder that she had just moved, but in all reality, the former was the more accurate description), finding the objects she needed to accomplish that goal was easier said than done. Opening yet another box, and discovering once again that the objects of her intentions were not within (said box instead contained several stacks of CDs, relics of a time before MP3s were the absolute norm), she set it atop the growing pile of boxes that had failed to contain her quarry, with a derisive glance at the blurred face of Avril Lavigne that stared back at her from within. “Why do I even still have you?,” she muttered as she folded the lid back over. And more importantly, why the hell didn’t we label more of these? I blame Kaji. Because yeah, the person who basically didn’t pack up any of my stuff is to blame for why I didn’t label it. Right.

With a roll of her eyes (mostly directed at herself, if she was being honest), she grabbed one more box from the trove. If they’re not in here, I’m taking a break. This is so stupid. As she opened this particular box, she was at that point not surprised to find that rather than the posters she sought, it instead contained two tight rows of game cases. Well, at least I found something decent. Box in hand, she made for the living room. I’m pretty sure Misato left the bottom shelf of the tv stand empty for these.

She was partway through the process of shelving the games when she felt her pocket vibrate. Pausing her activity, she pulled out her phone and looked over the text that had just arrived.

Tiffany H: How’s day four of the move-in going?

Asuka considered the question for a moment, before writing her response.

Asuka R: About as well as the first three lol.

Asuka R: As in, tedious

Asuka R: How’s life in Terahburg?

Tiffany H: Oh, fun. Same as always, tbh.

Asuka R: Aww, and here I thought you’d be sweet and say it was boring without me or something ;)

Tiffany H: Oh, I mean, you’re right! Whatever will we do? Life’s lost all purpose now that you’re gone xD

Asuka R: Now that’s more like it!

Tiffany H: We’re all lost without you Asuka! We’ll never see the light again without you!

Asuka R: And don’t you forget it!

Tiffany H: In fact, the entire town might perish out of sheer sorrow! Our lives our meaningless now!

Asuka R: Okay, that might be a bit of a stretch. . .

Tiffany H: Ya think? Lol

Asuka R: Hey, don’t stop on my account!

Tiffany H: I’m running out of material here *shrugs*

Asuka R: And here I thought you were a true thespian!

Tiffany H: Yeah, but talking about you gets boring after a while. ;)

Asuka R: I’m hurt. Deeply hurt. *turns nose up*

Tiffany H: There, there, you’ll survive. Just don’t drink the Asherdale kool-aid and forget we exist. Lol

Asuka R: Asherdale kool-aid? Seriously?

Tiffany H: Like I said, I’m running out of material here. Don’t @ me.

Asuka R: Uh huh

Asuka R: Right

Tiffany H: So, what’s the ‘dale like? We got any competition?

Asuka R: I’ll let you know when I figure out what the ’the ‘dale’ is

Tiffany H: Ur 1mp0ssebl3

Asuka R: My eyes are scarred now, thx

Tiffany H: You deserved it. So, what’s the ‘dale like?

Asuka R: Best adjective = boring

Tiffany H: RIP

Asuka R: No competition so far, so you don’t need to worry. The best they have going for them is an

arcade.

Tiffany H: An arcade?

Asuka R: Yeah, I saw it when we were getting into town. Looked it up, it’s some sort of retro deal.

Tiffany H: Retro arcades? Is that a thing now?

Asuka R: Apparently it is in the northwest.

Tiffany H: Whelp, sounds great

Asuka R: Oh yeah, fr

Tiffany H: Well, enjoy ur arcade. I gtg get ready for work.

Asuka R: Ok, say hi to Amanda for me!

Tiffany H: Will do! Ttyl!

When she had finished shelving the games, Asuka made her way back to her room, a determined glint in her eyes (not an unusual expression for her). Alright, now it’s poster time! I don’t care if I have to go through every damn box in that corner, I am finding them! I’m not going to let an outdated 80s color palate get the best of me! And plus, her mind added as an afterthought, Once they’re up, maybe it’ll actually start feeling a little more like my room. And less like someone else’s room, that I’m just staying in. A frown briefly crossed her face, but she tossed it away, steeling her mouth into a resolute line.

Approximately forty-five minutes later, the stack of boxes was no longer a stack, but instead a small pond spread across half of the room. Asuka, meanwhile, was red in the face, and looked as though she was a few steps away from steam vents cartoonishly bursting out of her ears. One final, unopened box sat in the corner, the last remnant of the toppled tower. She knelt by it, her face spelling murder, and began to cut through the tape with her pocket knife. . .

“Verdammt, wo sind sie?! Das ist lächerlich!” (Dammit, where are they?! This is ridiculous!)

She punched floor next to her, gritting her teeth as she looked down at the contents of the last box, namely a set of drum skins, and her stick bag. Still glowering, she removed these items and headed to the spare room. Might as well put these with my kit anyway. She couldn’t deny that one positive of this house was the presence of the extra bedroom, which meant that her designated practice space was no longer a garage. That was definitely a positive. Even if it one of the only ones so far.

Setting the sticks down by her stool and the drum skins alongside her drum cases in the corner, she looked over at the kit with a degree of temptation in her eyes. I should probably at least try to finish unpacking, now that I covered my entire room. But . . . I mean, it could help me calm down. And ignore the fact that we probably forgot the box with my posters somewhere. Walking over, she took her seat behind the kit and grabbed a couple sticks from the sling that hung off the floor tom. Just something to blow off steam. I don’t need to practice a song or anything. She was about to count herself off (out of habit rather than necessity, really), when an adventitious sound reached her ears. She blinked, pausing. That sounds . . . oddly like “Always With Me, Always With You.” She looked around, searching for the source of the faint guitar playing she had picked up. Her eyes locked in on the window behind her, which until that moment, she hadn’t noticed was partially open. Rising from her seat and dropping her sticks back into the sling bag, she walked over to the window and looked out.

This particular window looked down on the strip of the yard which ran alongside the building, and faced the house next door. She couldn’t be certain, but it sounded to her as though the music was coming out of one the windows of that house, which also happened to be opened. Her interest piqued, she decidedly to get a closer look. She headed for the stairs.

Emerging out into the backyard, she made for the wall that marked the border between her family’s yard, and the neighbor’s property. It wasn’t much of a wall, really. It only reached slightly higher than her midriff. She looked down at it skeptically. Well, I could practically step over this is if I wanted to. Guess they’re not too worried about trespassing.

Outside and closer to the guitar playing which floated out into the air, it was relatively easy to determine that its source was indeed the window she had identified earlier. Glancing up toward said window now, Asuka pursed her lips, faced with a bit of a decision. One one hand, she could forget about it and head back inside. She had determined the location of the unseen guitarist, and considering he or she was her neighbor, it seemed like there was a decent chance she’d be able to find out who the guitarist was eventually. On the other hand, going back in and continuing with her unpacking wasn’t the most enticing of options. In the end, she chose the path that let her procrastinate on facing her bedroom’s recently introduced ground cover.

Climbing up over the half-wall, she jumped down into the neighbors’ yard. She decided that if she ran in to any sort of trouble, or said neighbors turned out to be less than thrilled by her trespassing, she could book it back to her house with relative ease. It wasn’t as if the wall would provide any significant barrier. Plus, it’s not as though I’m going to try to break into their house or anything. I mean, I’m going to go ring the doorbell. Though I suppose I could have just gone out to the street from my house and gone over that way. Oh well. This’ll be fine.

Still listening to the solo (which, as she heard more of it and paid greater attention, she had to admit sounded quite good) rolling down from the open window, Asuka walked up along the side of the house, and curved around to the front until she found herself standing directly in front of the door. Alright, here we go. Plan ‘avoid unpacking’ #1, activate! Reaching up, she pressed in the doorbell and waited. She heard a bell-toweresque recording play from somewhere close by the door inside in response to the ring. That’s an interesting choice for a doorbell. Sounds sort of like an antique clock. That might not be a good sign . . . I can’t imagine anyone under the age of fifty using that for their doorbell. Oh well. If it turns out the guitarist is a retiree or something, I can always still act polite or something, say I thought his or her playing sounded pretty good, and then bail. Simple enough.

Asuka waited for a good thirty seconds, wondering if someone was going to come to the door. After a few more moments, she decided that the answer to that question was probably a definitive ‘no.’ Hmm . . . now the question is, do I ring the doorbell again? Or do I just head back home? On one hand, they might have heard it and just don’t want to answer, and in that case, I don’t want to be the jerk who can’t take a hint. On the other hand, maybe they just didn’t hear it the first time. That’s a possibility too. Which means it might not hurt to wring it again. Asuka pulled out her phone and looked down at the clock on the lock screening, waiting for it to change. I’ll give them another minute. If no one comes by then, I’ll ring it one more time. And if no one shows up after that too, I’ll head back to my place.

Watching the digits on the screen, Asuka gave a small nod to herself as the moment passed. She reached forward and gave the doorbell a final ring. Once again, she heard the recording play from within the house. You know, I think I’d get pretty tired of that if it was my doorbell. Just imagine what that would be like if someone tried to prank you by ringing it repeatedly. That would get real annoying, real quick.

After another solid twenty seconds or so, Asuka came to the conclusion that no one was coming to the door. Shrugging, she turned and headed back out toward the sidewalk, content to make her way home. Well, I tried. Guess I’ll find out who the guitarist is another day. Unboxing time it is then. Lovely. However, as she turned away from the path up to the door and angled herself back toward her resident, she heard the faint sound of the guitar carrying out from alongside the house. This time, however, it was a different song. She paused, narrowing her eyes in focus as she searched for the title. Oh, come on, I know I know this one. It’s not Satriani though . . . I don’t think it’s Vai either. Dammit, who is it? She shook her head, disgruntled with the fact that she couldn’t place the tune. Fantastic. Now that’s going to be stuck in my head and bugging me for the rest of the day. Presque vu sucks like that. It was at that instant that another thought snuck into her mind. The guitarist could be the only person home. That would explain why no one came to the door. If they’re practicing, they might have earbuds in or headphones on, which would mean they couldn’t hear me. So, I’d have to get their attention with something else. And their window is open . . .

Asuka practically sprinted the short distance back to her house, a confident grin across her face. When she finally emerged from the back door roughly five minutes later, she was glad to hear that the mysterious musician was still playing. Once again, the guitarist had moved on to a new song. This one, however, Asuka recognized. “Tender Surrender,” she murmured. “Not a bad choice.” At this point, Asuka was almost certain that whoever was playing was probably a good bit older than her. I mean, seriously, Steve Vai hasn’t been big since the nineties. At least, I don’t think so. I mean, I only know him because of Kaji, so that definitely says something. But hey, I’m not a guitarist though, so who knows? Maybe they still adore him or something. All the same, her desire to avoid completing (or at the very least, returning to) her unpacking process outweighed her potential concerns. Plus, her new plan kept her even further away from the person whose attention she was trying to get. Which meant that if they didn’t care for her methods, she could be long gone before they could do much about it. The logic of her strategy was moderately convincing, if she did say so herself, even if it was purely designed to give her a somewhat rational justification to her better judgment for her own procrastination.

Pulling herself up and over the sad excuse for a dividing wall, Asuka found herself in the as-of-yet-nameless neighbors’ yard once again. She strolled over a little closer to the house, positioning herself so that she was in a direct line with the open window. I have to say, this is one way I never expected that year I pitched for the softball team in middle school to come in handy. She looked down at the construction in her hand, the centerpiece of her quickly-concocted scheme. Guess all of that packing newspaper might turn out to have a second purpose too. Hopefully it’ll do better at this than it did at keeping Misato’s shot glass collection intact. With a chuckle to herself, Asuka rolled her arm back, lifting the paper airplane into the air, and let it fly toward her target. It soared upward, its arc accurate, and slipped straight through the open window, disappearing from her view.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rei was nearing the close of the song. Her plectrum had been relegated to a secondary position, pinched between her pinky and ring fingers, to keep it from obstructing her fingerpicking. Only the pads of her skin now met the coils of steel, coaxing melody from the taut metal. Though the piece was not an anthemic one at any point, never attaining any great summit or volume in its course, it had still diminished from its peak, drifting back into itself as the notes grew more wavering, less forceful. They now resembled soft, intermittent tears intermingled with trembling gasps, though whether these expressions were borne out of sorrow or ecstasy was a mystery offered up to the beholder’s mind for judgement.

In her mind, Rei could hear, could feel the presence of the band about her. Every feature, each individual auditory fragment of the track came to her as she moved her fingers, by memory rather than sight. She listened as the band’s accompaniment slowly gave way, dissolving into pleasant stillness, sending its light and focus toward the guitar’s shuddering cry, until it was the only sound left to fill the emptiness, in soundscape both physical and mental. But fill this space it did nonetheless, each caressed, drawn note wandering through the fold’s of her shut eyes, dancing over the defined, stringent edges of her desk and shaving them down into something smoother, unbroken, winding. Blurring the room she half-saw through the image she conceived, transfiguring the elements of the space to abstraction, melting the absolute and the tangible into the fantastical, the speculative.

As she glided into the final phrase, she slowed even further, elongating the notes, letting their voices sing louder than her conducting digits. She had led the song to its conclusion, she let the song itself lead what was left. It extended, sweeping over the growing seconds, echoing as it reiterated, reprising and refusing to fade. Rei followed the draw, her fingers seemingly moving of a will other than her own, glad assistants in the art. At last, the final reverberation arrived, pleading, yet peaceful. There were seven notes left, which dwindled to six, and from there it faded to five, a receding handful.

The fifth note was about to declare its presence when the moment was broken. Something struck Rei’s forehead, fracturing her concentration and dream state alike to shards. Her fingers fell from their unconscious ballet, the necessary pressure absent. The string buzzed against the fret before it died an abrupt dead, cut off by its impact against her lax digit. The song was stripped into nothing, the ending cumbersome and unheeding, true closer beyond its grasp. Rei’s eyes tore open as her hand plunged away from the neck, dropping limp to her side as she stared sightlessly at the desk before her, her blank visage betraying no hint of her acute bemusement.

Rei dropped her pick onto the top of the desk, and lifted the instrument from her lap, returning it to its stand once more. Slanting her head downward, she reached out and retrieved the ostensibly offending object from the floor by her feet. Lifting it into her lap, she rotated it around in her grasp for a few moments, examining the shaped newsprint, complied into a new structure, a form capable of flight synthesized from ink and pulped fibers. Adjacent to weightless, an insubstantial avian, an artificial imitation. Its name was derived from bellowing metallic brutes that claimed the skies as their domain, raging turbines thrumming, incensed engines clamoring, the bellow of war on their wings and a cold caterwaul in their grinding wheels as they wrenched away from the ground and took their place in the belly of the beast. Such a marked difference, an undeniable dichotomy, between this tenuous newspaper lark and those titanium pterosaurs that prowled the clouds at humanity’s behest. To think that both such beings were constructed and christened by the same species was a perplexing, confounding concept, one which spoke to the multitudinous nature of sentience. It could give attention no less assiduous than the sedulous scrutiny bestowed upon the architecture of alleged advancement to the most minute of pursuits. The value of each undertaking determined by the engineers, by the consumers, by whatever society observed its progress.

It was curious, the capacity which such a seemingly innocuous, inconsequential object possessed to act as a conduit for contemplations of the existential and philosophical varieties. Nevertheless, Rei pulled her thoughts away from such metaphysical meanderings and extracted her eyes from their glazed gaze, elevating them from the errant examination. Equally curious were the origins of the airplane. Her emphasis adjusted accordingly, Rei rested the newsprint coated craft on her desktop and rose from her seat to survey the yard from her window.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Asuka watched the empty window closed, scrutinizing the vacuum that had devoured her airplane several moments earlier. It showed no signs of providing any sort of reaction to that consumption. However, Asuka was nonetheless certain beyond any shadow of a doubt that her newspaper agent had fulfilled its intended purpose. Moments before, the song, which had crawled to a languid and hazy, yet subtly rapturous, finale, had come to a clipped conclusion. There was no mistaking that the ending was unintentional. The last note had been mostly-dead, the tone dulled and buzzed out, a quickly recognizable accident, that had been replaced by silence in an instant, the bum note sheared from existence before it could linger. That . . . was rough. Ooops. Well, hopefully they don’t get too annoyed.

At first, Asuka had expected that the guitarist would take one of two routes. On one hand, the musician might immediately make an appearance, due to the sudden interruption, and apparent derailment of the song. This had seemed to be the most probable outcome to Asuka. After all, most musicians didn’t appreciate being disrupted while they were in the midst of a piece. On the other hand, the guitarist might first finish the song, and then come to the window. Though the second possible outcome seemed somewhat less likely than the first, Asuka knew that there were many individuals who took their musicianship seriously to the extent that they would merely continue onward as if they had never been disturbed in the first place, until they finished their performance. Of course, given that the guitarist was practicing rather than performing, Asuka didn’t expect that this would be the case.

This was all to say that Asuka was not prepared for the reaction occasioned by her action. Or, to be more precise, the lack thereof. Asuka had firmly expected the guitarist to do something. Which was why she grew progressively more and more agitated, albeit it in an understated manner, as the seconds flew by and it appeared as though her ‘delivery’ had prompted positively no response whatsoever. No one appeared at the window, nor did the playing resume, and furthermore, there was not so much as the slightest audible outburst in response to the disruption. Aside from the botched note and the vexatious silence, there was nothing to indicate that the guitarist had even noticed the paper aircraft.

Asuka tilted her head as she continued to stare up at the window, her cheeks and lips creasing downward into the beginning of a frown. Come on, do something. Or are you actually going to just ignore that? Of course, there was no answer to this question, given that Asuka had inquired it of her own mind, rather than posing it out loud. The stillness stretched longer, no termination in sight. Asuka rested a hand against her hip, before dropping it back to her side. That might send the wrong sorta message when they finally decide to show up. If they decide to show up. Asuka’s frown had now passed its infancy, maturing into a full-blown line of irritation. Which is looking less and less likely. A measure of tension had filled the air, as anticipation of a reaction had turned to exasperation, and perhaps a portion of perturbation as well. The tension gave no indication that it had any intention of abating prior to Asuka’s departure. Well that’s just great. Dammit, I guess it’s back to my lovely, most definitely not covered in a mound of boxes room. Fantastic. Rolling her eyes, Asuka half-turned to withdraw, when a figure suddenly appeared in the window. Asuka hastily righted herself as her gaze locked in on the arrival. Took you long enough.

The person looking out of the window was not who Asuka had been expecting. The figure’s blue locks glistened vaguely in the sunlight as it touched them. Her eyes were dark, a rich, bark-like brown, the hue of tilled soiled moistened by a smattering of a rain. They practically gleamed with racing thoughts, deep pools of incalculable deliberation. It was the overall aura of her face, however, that knocked Asuka from her stride. It was expressionless, utterly unreadable, beyond the definitive certainty that the mind behind worked tirelessly and furiously. Asuka could discern no trace, however slight, of any sentiment or emotion in it. The emptiness, the absence, was uncanny. Asuka’s mind raced as well now, seeking an explanation for the void she beheld. Maybe I’m just too far away. After all, I’m a good distance from where she is. Maybe if we were closer, I’d be able to tell . . . something. Her attempts at persuading herself that this was a reasonable explanation failed miserably. The argument was woefully, blatantly incorrect. There was no denying the simple fact that the girl’s face, despite the fact that it appeared as if she was no older than Asuka, perhaps even younger, could have easily belonged to someone who spent years perfecting the perfect vizard. Somehow, I get the feeling that she’s never lost a poker game.

The duo’s encounter began in silence, both parties merely taking in the other, no words exchanged. Asuka did her best to hide her own feelings of confusion, as well as residual irritation. Can’t match her poker face, but I might as well try to not look too worked up. When the silence had lasted long enough to become uncomfortable, especially when combined with the force of the girl’s undeviating gaze, Asuka decided she would have to break it, as it didn’t seem feasible that the supposed guitarist would be the one to do so.

“Hey, you sounded good!,” Asuka called up, doing her best to sound both amicable and positive, in spite of the fact that these weren’t the foremost sentiments in her mind.

The girl said nothing in response, though Asuka briefly thought she spotted the barest, vaguest hint of a smile alight on the edges of the girl’s mouth for a split second. Well, no news is good news, right? And who doesn’t like a compliment? Guess I might have to do the heavy lifting in the conversation though. “That was Tender Surrender, right?”

The girl remained silent, but gave a small nod of her head, her expression unchanged. Asuka decided she would interpret this as an encouraging reaction. I mean, she doesn’t seem angry that I disrupted her earlier, so all things considered, I’m going to take this as a success so far. “Steve Vai is pretty cool. Classic 80s guitar, you know?”

The girl nodded again, blinking as she did so, before resuming her stare. Is that the first time I’ve seen her blink?, Asuka wondered. Because I think it is, and that’s more than a little bit unnerving. Because I’m almost positive she’s been staring at me for a couple minutes. No way, she must have blinked earlier. People don’t go minutes without blinking. That would be . . . unusual . . . and most likely not healthy for your eyes.

Asuka decided to try out a different subject. There’s got to be something that will get her to talk . . . right? Maybe? Hopefully . . . ?

“Anyway, I heard you earlier, and I wanted to see who the good guitarist was.” She bookended this with an agreeable chuckle, that was roughly eighty-five percent forced. “I’m Asuka Kaji. I just moved in to the house next door,” she pointed back over her her shoulder, “a few days ago.”

The girl tilted her head as she received this information, giving Asuka the impression that this was in fact new to her, and she was taking some time to process it. A few more seconds passed, and at last, the girl spoke. “I’m Rei Ikari,” she paused, and then added, “Thank you.” Her voice was soft, but carried down from the window fairly well all the same. It had a calmness to it, that matched up perfectly with her reserved demeanor. It was nearly a monotone, but not quite. There was a note of inflection in it, an element of what Asuka thought was cheerfulness, though it was difficult for her to be certain.

This time, Asuka was the one who tilted her head. Well, at least I got her name. Not sure why she’s thanking me though. “What for?,” she inquired, maintaining her amicable exterior, which was somewhat less forced than it had been several seconds earlier. Perhaps only seventy-five percent at this point, possibly even seventy.

Rei answered in the same voice, devoid of all but a hint of pleasantry. “For the compliment. I’m glad you like my playing.” Asuka hung on to that hint of pleasantry, decoding it to mean that Ikari was genuinely happy. At least, I hope that’s what it means. Although, she could just be putting on a front just like me. I’ll say she’s genuine for now though. It’s easier to be friendly when I don’t have to constantly second guess the other person.

Asuka smiled again, an expression which was mostly real. “No problem. Like I said, you sounded good.”

Rei nodded to this, but didn’t say anything immediately. Instead, she looked down, at something obscured from Asuka’s sight, and then back up at the other girl. “Would you like to come to the door? You won’t have to shout up from there?”

Asuka wasn’t quite sure that the volume she had been speaking at could be deemed shouting per se, but in comparison to Ikari’s subdued volume, she supposed she could see the logic in the other girl’s words. “Sure. Sounds like a good idea.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Rei intoned, not deviating in the slightest from what appeared to be her default voice. Stepping away from the window, she disappeared from Asuka’s view. Asuka set off along the side of the house, making for the front door, considering their conversation so far as she did so. Okay, saying ‘default voice’ might be a bit harsh. Makes it sound like she’s a robot or something. I don’t think she’s AI. I mean, probably not. She allowed herself a quiet little chortle as she rounded the corner and strolled over to the porch. She paused in front of the door. Guess I don’t need to ring the doorbell. Which means I get to avoid the antique clock. Or bell tower. Whichever one it sounds like. Probably both. Either way, not hearing it is a positive.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the door in front of her opening. Rei halted in the doorway, looking at Asuka. Up close, Asuka couldn’t discern any substantial differences from what she had already observed of Rei’s demeanor. However, the hints of a smile which she thought she had spotted earlier were more pronounced now that Asuka had a better view, making Ikari look moderately more genial to Asuka’s eyes. Huh, maybe I was right. She’s more friendly when I’m not looking up at her framed in a window. And I thought that argument was absurd. Even though it was my argument. Ha! Shows what you know, me!

Asuka smiled back at Rei, the most genuine one she had offered Ikari so far. Abruptly, Rei held out a hand toward Asuka. She looked down, and her smile fell a bit. The blue-haired girl was holding out the paper airplane to her. “Is this yours?,” she asked, giving no signs that she was angry, which threw Asuka off once again. Alright, maybe she’s just at good at hiding when she’s upset as she seems to be at hiding when she’s happy. Then again . . . I don’t see anything. Not in her face, or her posture. And she still smiling. Well, if that’s what that is, I mean. Maybe I didn’t actually disrupt her? Maybe she just messed up on her own? Or maybe she really doesn’t care?

Asuka nodded slowly, assuming an empathetic expression, less cheerful and slightly more chagrined. Just slightly, however. She wasn’t one to act particular embarrassed, even if she was. Not that she “Yeah, that’s mine. Sorry if I threw you off, by the way.”

Rei extended her hand a little further, offering the miniature parody of an aircraft to the redhead. “It’s okay. I was nearing the song’s conclusion anyway.”

Asuka accepted the offered airplane. “You sure?”

Rei nodded. “Yes. Your technique isn’t bad.”

Once again, Rei managed to say something that Asuka was not anticipating. My technique? Where did that come from? This is kind of getting on my nerves. A little bit, anyway Who just randomly switches topic mid-conversation like that? “What technique?”

“Your folding technique. It’s effective. Do you make origami?”

Oh. That is not what I expected her to say. “Ah, okay. Thanks. But no, I don’t.” I mean, technically I have, but I don’t need to tell her about how great that went. Damn cat. Since when do cats eat paper anyway? When did that become a thing? And to think people say dogs are the ones who will eat anything.

“I think you’d be good at it if you tried,” Rei said sensibly.

“I’ll let you know if I ever try it out.”

Rei nodded, her faint smile becoming somewhat more defined, as if this was the most logical and appropriate response, and she appreciated that Asuka had used it. Asuka decided it was time for her to get in another question, before the conversation took an additional unpredictable turn. “So, do you go to Sarea High?” Might as well figure out if she’ll be going to the same school as me in the fall. It wouldn’t be a bad idea at all to know some people before I get there.

Rei only nodded again in answer to this question.

“Cool. I’ll be going there in the fall. You a,” she made a quick estimate of how old she thought Ikari looked to be, “junior?”

Rei shook her head. “I’m a senior.”

Well, I was only off by a year, that’s not too bad. “Me too.” You know, for expecting the mystery guitarist to be some guy in his forties, it turns out we have a lot more in common than I thought.

Rei didn’t respond to this information, but merely continued to look at Asuka, her head tilting slightly to the side, the smile on her face seeming more prominent than ever, though still more of a light impression than a defined expression. Asuka met the girl’s gaze for a moment, and matched the bluenette’s smile with a wider one of her own. I mean . . . she’s kind of unusual, but she doesn’t seem so bad. Could definitely do with talking a bit more, but whatever. “Are you in band?”

Rei shook her head. “No. I’d like to be in jazz ensemble though.”

Asuka grinned, and remarked, “I mean, from how you sounded earlier, I’m sure you could tackle jazz. Plus, it’s fun for guitarists!” Is it my imagination, or is that a tiny tint of blush I see on her cheeks right now.

“Thank you. Again,” Rei said softly. “I haven’t auditioned though.”

Asuka’s smile faltered, and she pursed her lips. “Why not?”

The imprint of a smile and the vague reddening slipping from her face, Rei shrugged. “Nerves, I guess,” she answered.

“Ah. I understand.” I’ve been there. Who hasn’t? But hell, she’s definitely good enough to make the cut! Especially in a town like this. I highly doubt they have a great jazz scene here or anything. Asuka paused, but then set off again, more animated, “Well hey, you should audition this fall! I’m going to be there! So there’ll for sure be someone else there who knows you’re a fantastic guitar!”

The mild coloring that Asuka suspected was a blush most definitely returned to Rei’s face with this comment. Without meeting Asuka’s gaze, a strange change from her pattern up to that point, she replied, “Maybe so.”

“Well, think about it at least.”

Rei nodded, and after another handful of seconds had elapsed, asked, “What instrument do you play?”

“I play drums,” Asuka answered.

Rei looked back to Asuka once more, her indistinct smile back on her face. “Are you going to do marching band?”

Asuka shook her head. “No, I prefer playing with a full kit. That’s why I’m going for jazz ensemble instead. It’s what I did at my old school back east in Terahburg.”

“That makes sense.”

“Yep,” Asuka stated smartly. A new idea had emerged in her mind, one which didn’t seem like a half bad one. “You know, we should jam together sometime. Since we’re literally next door to each other.”

Rei said nothing at first, but Asuka noticed that the blue-haired girl’s eyes looked more distant now, practically looking straight past Asuka. She was tempted to turn around, to see if there was something behind her worthy of attention, but she somehow doubted there was. She’s probably just appraising the idea. She seems like the type of person who thinks things over. Thinks things over intensely, to be precise.

When the space between the two girls had lapsed into silence for approximately thirty seconds, Rei spoke up. “What type of music do you like?”

Asuka gave a small shrug in response to this. “The short answer is, I like a lot of stuff. I’m open to pretty much anything. And the long answer is, well, long.” She let out a little laugh to accompany her quip. “But, you might be able to tell,” she shot a pointed glance down at her shirt, which featured an image of a man removing his face from his skull to reveal a bundle of bandages beneath it, an action which was surprisingly depicted in a manner that wasn’t particularly gruesome (which she personally thought a rather unusual choice for a gothic metal album cover, but she enjoyed the art nonetheless, a fact evidence by her possession of the shirt), “I like metal.”

Rei’s eyes followed Asuka’s indication, and studied her garment, taking in the image. “That is interesting,” she commented, giving no real suggestion of her actual opinion of the artwork. “However, I’m not familiar with Lacuna Coil.”

Asuka curled her lips into a wry half-smile. “Not enough people are. They’re pretty awesome though. If you like gothic metal, that is.”

Rei nodded gently, in a manner that came across as fairly noncommittal. “I’ll have to check them out.” Her tone didn’t particularly evince true interest either, thought Asuka couldn’t say that it suggested the opposite for that matter. It fell in line with almost all of Rei’s speech, in that it was nothing if not neutral and more than a little ambiguous. I guess you could call it balanced. It could go equally toward either side.

“So,” Asuka began, “What about you?”

“As in, what type of music do I like?,” Rei countered, seeking clarification.

“Yep.”

“I enjoy instrumental music. Especially when the guitar is the main focus.”

“I get ya, that makes sense,” Asuka remarked with a nod .

“But, I am open to many types of music as well,” Rei added.

“That always cool. Variety keeps things entertaining.”

“Indeed,” Rei agreed, though her voice showed no particular enthusiasm. The sentiment more closely resembled an acknowledgement of a basic principle that could only be recognized as a fact of life, rather than an identification with a specific, shared perspective. After this observation, she fell silent once more. Asuka tilted her head to the side, waiting for the other girl to continue, but she did not seem eager to break the silence which had descended. Well, she basically avoided that question. Or at least, she avoided giving a direct answer to it. I could press the issue, or save it for another time. Oh come on, I’m not one to save things for another time. She doesn’t seem to mind me too much so far. I’m gonna roll with that.

Asuka decided to reiterate her point. “So, what do ya think?”

“About what?,” Rei asked, her eyes twitching momentarily.

“About playing together sometime?”

Rei tilted her head to the side, before righting it and nodding. “I think that would be a good idea.”

“Cool!”

“Yeah,” Rei concurred, the smallest vestige of excitement briefly filling her voice. Asuka picked up on the alteration, as quickly as it passed. That sounded encouraging!

“Well, hey, let me give you my number, so you can get in touch with me when you want to. That work for you?

“Okay.” Rei extracted her phone from her pocket, a movement which Asuka mirrored.

It was when she glanced down at her phone that Asuka noted the time. Her eyes widened for a brief second. Crap! It’s that late already! Seriously, I’ve been here that long? I probably need to actually try to finish unpacking at least some of those boxes today. If only so I can move across my room without climbing on top of them. Oh well . . . all good procrastination has to end eventually.

Rei cradled her phone in her hands for a few moments. Asuka got the impression that Rei was a little hesitant (for whatever reason) to hand it over for Asuka to put in her number. Selecting a different strategy, Asuka opened her contact profile and held the phone out for Rei to see. “Here, you can just copy off of that. If you don’t want me to put my number in yours, I mean.”

Rei looked at the offered device for another moment or two, and then nodded. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Rei inspected the displayed information for a moment, and then quickly typed something into her phone. “Got it,” she announced.

“Awesome.” Asuka withdrew her phone and slid it back into her pocket. “Look, I gotta bounce. I still have lots of unpacking left to do.” She grinned and chuckled. “My room looks like a minor tornado or something tore threw it. So that’s fun.”

“It was nice to meet you,” Rei responded quietly, but the expression on her face gave the words weight. The impression of a smile that had lingered there for much of the conversation at the door had finally blossomed into something which could be firmly identified as a smile, even if it was a small, uncertain one.

“You too!,” Asuka agreed cheerily. Alright, now the question is, what will she interpret as a proper goodbye? This question proved unnecessary, as Rei gave Asuka another small nod, and then retreated into the house, closing the door behind her, in a startlingly swift burst of activity. Asuka blinked, shrugged mentally, and turned to go, trotting back out to the sidewalk.

Well, all things considered, I’d say that counts as an utter victory. Mystery guitarist turned out to be both under the age of thirty, and overall, pretty likable, at least, I think so. Not to mention I have someone to practice with already, and I’ve only been here a few days. And she lives next door. That’s a pretty great coincidence, I can’t lie. And best of all, I avoided unpacking for a solid half hour more. That’s the real success story here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rei didn’t leave after closing the door. She remained in the hall, watching the girl through the peephole as she departed. She couldn’t say exactly why she did it, only that it felt like the appropriate thing to do. When at last the redhead disappeared from her field of vision, she turned away from the door, and made her way to the kitchen. A strange sensation had developed in the pit of her stomach as they conversed. As with her logic for remaining at the door, the reason behind it barely escaped her mental grasp, as did an appropriate name for it. At best, she could characterize it as an unsettling experience, but not an unpleasant one. The feeling of a warbling tremor creeping up toward her chest, and then shying down and away once more. It played just beyond her reach, content to lurk there. Her first thought had been that perhaps food would lay the disturbance to rest. However, as she sat at the table and contemplated the granola bar she had retrieved from one of the cabinets that ringed the kitchen proper, she came to the abrupt realization that she lacked both the appetite and interest to eat it. Dropping the item in question back onto the tabletop, she tilted her head back to consider her kitchen ceiling. She decided that she preferred this view to the similar one she had observed earlier in the day.

There were fewer unpleasant memories wrapped up in this one. At least, that was the explanation she provided to herself, citing it as being the rationale reason for her mood. Because, clearly, it made perfect sense that studying the structure of the kitchen ceiling would fill her with a disconcerting, apprehensive excitement, but excitement all the same. Any other explanation would beg further questions. Questions she thought it was far, far, far too soon to be even touching upon. And that was without taking into account the fact that the excitement shied away from analysis. She suspected any efforts to investigate it would only yield confusing results. Results that led to the very same questions she wished to avoid. The safer alternative, then, was the ceiling. She was excited over the ceiling. Surely, if inspecting the ceiling of her bedroom could trigger a cascade of doubts and memories, inspecting the kitchen ceiling could make her feel giddy with an opaque happiness, until her brain was too muddled to focus on the shapes in the plaster and they meshed together into an indistinct collage of lines that made her eyes water when she tried to trace the maze she envision within it. Right?