#she's not in the fic yet

[aro-tarot]

Updated the tags of my fic, Paper Butterflies. I always suck at tags, but I knew there was a few more I could with some of the last chapters and a few that are coming.

[puppppppppy]

who is your favorite AA character? 👁️👁️

ziska… I hope capcom brings her back someday

[dapper-lil-arts]

You should read The Princess and the Peasant it's really good lol

[horsechestnut]

There are so many Dick, Bruce, or Tim kills the Joker fics on AO3, meanwhile Barbara was the one talking about how The Joker should be the exception to the No Kill Rule years before Red Hood Jason even existed.

[mysnoopyvalentine]

can't help myself

kim doyoung x reader

word count: 12.3k

genre: soulmates!au, fluff, parallel universes, strangers to lovers (ish)

warnings: implied sex, kissing, swearing

playlist: Can’t Help Myself (NCT 127), I’m In Love with You (the 1975), Say Yes (Loco, Punch)

summary: In a skeptical culture where soulmates don’t always live happily ever after, you begin dreaming of your ideal man long past the average age of soulmate visions. You may love Doyoung in every universe, but does that really mean you’re meant to be? Even when the Doyoung of your reality is an idol?

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It happens when you least expect it.

You get ready for bed early on New Year’s Eve without the intention of staying up late to ring in the new year.

Your phone vibrates on the nightstand, displaying the contact picture of your best friend Meg.

It would be easier to ignore it and pretend like you’re busy, but you know that Meg is nosy enough to check your location. She’ll see you’re at home in an instant and call you a million times anyway.

“Hey,” you feign ignorance as you pick up. “What’s up?”

“I know that your ass is not at home right now,” she groans. “You should’ve told me! I would’ve taken you out with me and David!”

“Come on, you know I don’t really go out for New Year’s anymore.”

You stopped doing so a couple of years back due to the fact that it just made you feel more hopeless for the upcoming year. You have plenty of luck in your career and general day-to-day life, but the men you encounter in the dating pool are horrendous. New Year’s was just one of those holidays that made you feel lonely even in the midst of a fulfilling life.

“I know you hate third wheeling on New Year’s Eve, but I still feel like it’s a good opportunity to try meeting someone. Come out and meet us downtown!” Meg insists.

You look at the clock. 9:59PM. That’s not nearly enough time to get ready, uber downtown, and desperately try to ensure a New Year’s Kiss. You don’t have the energy to flirt with strangers these days, anyway. “Hell no. I’m good.”

Meg tries to persuade you for the next five minutes, but no amount of free drinks, food, or money can convince you to leave your place. At the end of it all, she finally concedes. “Fine, stay home.”

“That was the plan,” you say coolly. You love her, but her persistence in treating your singleness as a condition to be cured grates on your nerves.

“Want me to manifest a soulmate vision for you tonight instead of a New Year’s kiss?”

You snort. “Now you’re really being delusional. I don’t think my soulmate exists, considering that I’ve never had a single soulmate vision in all these years.”

The concept of your soulmate was the fallback argument of most people as a last-ditch effort to prevent you from giving up on dating. Usually it comes off disingenuous, like they’re just dangling a carrot above your head for romantic motivation. Meg and David, however, are soulmates—meaning they serve as a genuine reminder that soulmates do work out. Sometimes.

Everyone knows the common signs of a soulmate bond. First, the visions: 90% of all soulmate pairs report experiencing a series of visions about a stranger. They don’t appear as a background person either—soulmate visions are vivid experiences characterized by their extreme detail. Most of the time each soulmate experiences the other’s memories. Rarer, some soulmates would even share visions, allowing them to interact before meeting in the real world.

Dreams are the most common manifestation of this phenomenon, but there’s enough people that don’t have theirs linked to sleep to justify the term ‘vision’ instead. Most pairs start seeing their other half during their teenage years; others, like Meg, meet their soulmate so early that they barely experience any visions at all.

For those who do experience them, one fact is absolute across the board: all accounts of soulmate visions end once you see them in person.

The second, less pleasant aspect of having a soulmate is the intense physical reaction towards seeing them physically for the first time. Symptoms appear spontaneously with fainting, vomiting, and migraines being the most common. Around 30% of soulmate encounters end up with at least one party requiring some form of medical attention.

On this night, experiencing dreams of a stranger or feeling violently ill don’t sound like the most appealing things on the planet. You’ll pass.

Meg says your name, snapping you to attention. “…You really don’t have to ice me out for a soulmate joke, I can just stop.”

“No, you’re good. The soulmate thing is funny.” You force out a laugh. “If I happen to have a soulmate vision on New Year’s Eve, maybe that’s a sign that things will actually work out.”

“Oh, shut up, there’s no way for him to resist if you do have one.”

If. The word bounces around in your head. Of all people, even Meg wasn’t sure that you had a karmic link waiting for you.

“Well, you shouldn’t let my singleness ruin your night with David. I’ll talk to you guys later.” You hang up the phone before she can answer.

You see a text notification pop up on your phone, but you place your phone facedown on the nightstand instead. You lean onto your side and turn off your lamp.

The quiet of your apartment has your mind churning. Even if you do have a soulmate, would it even work out?

While a good number of the population encounters their soulmate in real life, the amount of successful relationships resulting from that encounter are surprisingly low. Confidence in soulmate pairings had lowered with the younger generations, especially with researchers studying the science behind soulmate dreams and reactions. Hopeless romantics believed wholeheartedly in soulmate pairs, while more pragmatic people posed the same question—if scientists are able to explain why dreams and physical reactions happen between two people, is there anything truly fated about it?

You’re not certain where you stand on the matter. Scientists aren’t close to discovering anything concrete anyway, so you deal with this big philosophical question in the best way you know: ignoring it.

No use thinking about it anyway, when you’re long past the average age of experiencing initial soulmate dreams.

You let your mind wander elsewhere as you close your eyes and drift slowly to sleep.

That’s when he appears.   

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Flowers surround you in an open field. The sunlight warms your face, and the breeze carries the soft, fresh scents of springtime. You balk as you look down at your hands; you’re holding an artist palette in one hand and a paintbrush in the other.

An easel right at the edge of your vision catches your eye. You turn towards it in hopes of making sense of the situation—maybe this dream was fulfilling a brief childhood dream of becoming a landscape artist—but you feel your heart drop.

The painting lacks any landscape at all. Instead, it depicts a near-finished portrait of the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

His eyes, dark but warm, catch your attention first. Combined with his pouty lips and slender face, he’s the epitome of your type. What’s the most striking to you, however, is the gentle nature captured in his expression. The pose you’ve chosen depicts his shoulders turned away from the viewer, yet his gaze stares at you directly. His lips are curved slightly upwards in a playful smile, as if he’s just teased the viewer. Unequivocally handsome features softened in all the right places.

There’s a quiet sound of shoes shuffling on the grass. A tuft of black hair peeks up from over the canvas.

“Do you need anything else from me?”

After a beat of silence, a full head pokes out from the side of the easel, and everything stops. It’s the man from the painting in front of you—smooth skin, soft smile, and perfect everything in all. He says your name once in the tone of a question, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Is everything okay? Are you upset because I moved?”

You open your mouth to speak—to clarify that no, everything is not okay and ask who are you, anyway? —but something else emerges from your lips entirely.

“You can move. I’m almost done. Do you want to see it?”

The words are yours, technically. You feel and hear yourself saying them, but your thoughts and emotions are completely disconnected from your body. The same goes for your movements; this artistic version of you mixes paint absentmindedly.

The man from the painting fully emerges from behind the canvas, revealing his full height. He’s dressed in jeans and a simple white button-up. His face in the spring daylight looks otherworldly; it’s clear why you’d chosen to paint him in this lighting. You’re certain that you’ve never seen him before, in your real life, but something about him feels familiar. Comfortable. He walks up beside you, peering at his likeness from over your shoulder.

You shift your weight from left to right. “Do you like it?”

He hums. “Well…”

You scoff. “You can be honest.”

“I’m kidding,” he laughs. It’s the kind of good-natured laugh that’s both contagious and friendly.

You’re about to say something else when he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest.

“You know I think you’re a genius,” he says softly in your ear. “That’s one of the reasons why I fell in love with you.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead as you feel your dream fade away to consciousness.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Light passes through a gap in your curtains and warms your face, waking you up from your springtime dream.

You sit up, blinking out the sleep from your eyes.

Your phone is in your hand and Meg’s number is dialed before you can even think by yourself.

“Happy New Year, bitch!” Meg’s voice chirps over the phone. “What’s up?”

“I think I just had a soulmate dream,” you say, breathless.

Silence. Then, her scream peaks the mic on her phone and nearly makes your ears bleed. You wince and move your phone away from your face to put her on speakerphone instead.

“You’re messing with me!” She shrieks. “There’s no way!”

“That’s the thing.” You rub at your temple, as if that will stop the ringing in your ears. “I’m not completely sure. Most people see their partner’s past memories, right?”

 There’s some clicking on her end. “I wouldn’t really know, but I can look it up for you.”

“Most soulmate visions involve seeing past memories from your soulmate’s perspective,” she reads. “However, at least 20% of soulmate bonds report experiencing a vision of their futures instead. Does this sound like you? Did it seem like you were seeing something from the future?”

“Not unless I suddenly gain enough art skill to become an artist.”

For once, Meg is speechless. “You’re kidding.”

“Not kidding. I was painting his portrait. A very well done, professional looking portrait.”

“That’s crazy,” she snorts. Like you, she doesn’t even try to entertain the delusion that it could be a future version of yourself. You can barely draw a stick figure. “Well, some people see parallel versions of themselves, apparently?”

“Parallel versions?” You echo.

“Apparently some pairs claim that they see each other, but in other versions of reality,” she reports. “Sounds kind of romantic to me.”

“What’s the percentage of that?”

“No official numbers on it because it’s so rare. Mostly anecdotal stories.”

You snort. “Yeah, right. Sorry to get your hopes up. All that soulmate talk before bed probably just made my brain a little overactive.”

Meg’s line is quiet. “Well, I don’t think we can really rule it out yet.”

You don’t let yourself dwell on it. As many soulmate skeptics as there are, there’s an equal amount of people embellishing stories to try to strongarm others into believing. You’d believe in the idea of parallel universes when there’s something more than an online reddit thread to go off of.

“You can hold out hope. I’m moving on.” You rack your brain for other topics. “I still have that date tomorrow with that guy, if that makes you feel better.”

Meg floods you with questions—What are you wearing? Where did you decide? Can you send me his profile? You would normally regret opening yourself to too much questioning prior to any date, but you’re just relieved to steer her away from the concept of your soulmate.

The rest of your day goes by normally. You’re a little more fatigued than usual, but with the day off from work you’re able to finish all of your errands with extra time to rest.

You’re relaxing in your room as you watch YouTube videos on your TV with a face mask cooling your face. You open your laptop absentmindedly to parse through your emails.

One promotional ad catches your eye – Try a Spring Art Class for Free! You click it; the ad is for a local crafts store that you’d visited for a friend’s birthday gift. The store lists five promotional classes. You hover your cursor over a hyperlink titled Fundamentals of Portrait Drawing.

You nearly slam your laptop closed as you come back to your senses. One beginner class wasn’t going to turn you into an artist. You don’t have time to balance a whole craft with the demands of your full-time job, anyway.

Your phone vibrates. It’s Evan—your second date for tomorrow.

Excited to see you! He texts.

You type back a similarly empty message before turning off your phone. Your first date with him had been fun enough to warrant a second, but you don’t expect much this time around. That was a recurring issue Meg didn’t let you live down—every person you talked to seemed to be lacking in at least one area. Your ideal partner needed to be communicative and emotionally intelligent. They also needed to be ambitious with their own goals and community. All while having romantic chemistry with yourself.

Evan was lacking in the communication department, and you’d felt your interest wane since the first date. You wouldn’t have even considered the second date if it wasn’t for Meg in your ear to nag that your standards were too high. Sometimes, although you’d never admit it out loud, you wondered if you were even capable of a romantic love like that. It seemed too easy for everyone else.

At least your time with Evan would be mindless and relatively expectation-free. With that in mind, you drift off into an easy sleep.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Lips brush against your forehead as light as a feather. “Are you awake?”

You grunt your assent without opening your eyes.

A huff of laughter followed by another peck. “Very convincing.”

You blink your eyes open at that. A pair of dark brown eyes gaze back at you in the dim light. Your heartbeat, already strangely fast for someone asleep, quickens in your chest at the sight.

It’s the man from the painting. He’s propped his head up on one arm as he smiles down at you in open affection. His bangs are pushed away from his forehead, although the black hairs still cling slightly to his skin. His bare chest heaves as he breathes in deeply.

You sigh. “See? I’m awake.”

He laughs louder this time. His eyes crinkle when he laughs and his smile—his real smile—exposes a faint pink line of gums over his teeth. You understand why another version of you would be compelled to capture his likeness through art. You couldn’t explain it to someone if you tried; there’s something about his presence that’s ethereal.

“Why are you smiling?” He asks.

You kind of look like a rabbit, you want to tease, but, again, you’re unable to move your mouth on its own accord.

“Just looking at you,” your voice responds nonchalantly.

His smile softens at that. He reaches his free arm over and caresses the side of your face. His hand follows the length of your neck before travelling further down your back. Your bare back. It dawns on you that, underneath the silk covers, you are completely naked.

Your breath catches as his hand rests on the curve of your hip. His thumb draws small circles around the skin, which makes the nerves underneath electric to his touch.

“Hey now,” you laugh shakily. “What are you trying to do?”

He only raises an eyebrow before pressing light kisses down your neck. “What do you think?”

Your heart flutters. Against your thoughts, your mouth mutters, “I think I’m going to be extra tired taking care of the kids tomorrow morning.”

His kisses drift back up and stop with a final peck behind your ear. “I’ll look after them in the morning. You sleep in.”

“That may be the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He huffs a laugh but pulls away from you.

You lean forward to re-close the space and plant a soft kiss on his cheek. “I’m joking. What’s wrong?”

His expression turns thoughtful. “Do you need me to pick up more things around the house? Leave work earlier? I know having two under the age of five is rough already…”

Your heart warms. You run a hand through his hair, smiling as he leans into your touch. “I love you and our kids more than I’ve ever loved anything else. Our life together is perfect.”

He presses a kiss into your open palm. His eyes turn playful. “You know what could make it more perfect?”

“What?”

He catches your lips in his, kissing you deeply. Your lips move against each other in a way that’s clearly familiar—soft to the touch but intense enough to take your breath away.

“Well...” He murmurs against your lips in between kisses. “What do you say we turn two into three?”

You’re pulled out of the scene before you can hear yourself respond.  

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You hear the wind rattling against your office windows as you leave for the day. It’s a chore to even get outside in the first place, on account of the wind pushing back on the lobby door.  When you finally manage to exit the building, the wind threatens to blow you over with each gust.

You curse under your breath. It’s just another inconvenience added to today.

You’d shot out of bed with your heart pounding through your chest. Even someone like you couldn’t deny the obvious truth of the situation—you had officially experienced soulmate visions. While it’s unclear why your visions manifest this way, you cannot ignore the magnetic pull and strange familiarity tugging at your core whenever you see him. It’s unlike anything you’ve experienced before.

And you hate the idea that people might be right; that someone’s entire universe could halt and re-align at the drop of a hat with no rhyme or reason. Bitterness lines this worldview for you—clearly, you had been able to make a name for yourself without the promise of a fated partner. You love your job, you love your friends, and you’re at peace. All possible because of the time and effort you invested into yourself.

You’ve considered cancelling your date with Evan multiple times to fully sort out your emotions, but you push on. Your date with him feels like something bigger–a loose end that might tie all the chaos in your life together in a cohesive picture.

Evan leans against the brick walls of the restaurant. He straightens his posture as you approach. He’s much taller than you remember; you’d basically been sitting the entire time during your first date, and honestly you’d begun to forget specific features about him.

“Hey!” He grins as he holds the door open for you. “How have you been?”

“Pretty decent, all things considered,” you say as you duck under his arm. “Same old stuff.”

He laughs at that–a little too hard, considering what you said was not meant to be funny at all. “Come on. Nothing exciting on your side of the city?”

Yeah, let me tell you about the sensual yet also incredibly domestic dream I had about another man, you think. He’s probably my soulmate too, by the way.

“That weather is probably the most exciting thing about my week,” you lie with a pinched smile.

Evan lets out a laugh that’s again too loud as he pulls out your chair for you.

Throughout all of the small talk and pleasantries, you can’t really fault Evan for anything specific. He’s polite, relatively cute, and likeable. He actively listens and remembers the small details from your stories while also contributing to the conversation. He also seems really into you; his gaze lingers on your features and hangs on to every word you say.

You try to be an attentive date, but your mind keeps drifting elsewhere. You order another drink, but each sip of alcohol seems to make your mind swirl away even farther.

What do you say we make two into three?

Considering you don’t have a serious partner, you hadn’t thought about the possibility of kids in a long time. The caring tone that he used towards you still makes your heart race when you think about it.

Our life together is perfect.

Your own voice feels like a weapon stabbing at you over and over. It’s one thing to exist in these visions already; experiencing them without free will seems to shove all the possible outcomes down your throat. Is there really someone out there that can make you feel that way?

“Ready to head out?”

You snap back into attention as Evan stands by, waiting to pull your chair out for you. You appreciate his acts of chivalry even when you don’t deserve it.

Partially out of guilt, you let him take your hand as he walks with you through some nearby Christmas lights that the city has failed to take down. The atmosphere is perfect; there’s hardly any other people nearby, the weather has calmed down, and your date is kind and attentive.

Yet everything still feels wrong.

When you draw closer to your initial meeting point, he strokes the top of your hand with his thumb. “May I kiss you?”

Under normal circumstances, you would not kiss him right now. But another part of you urges you to try it. You technically know Evan more than the mystery man from your dreams. The likelihood of you feeling something with him should be just as high.

You nod with a swallow. Evan leans forward and presses his lips to yours. It moves too quickly, at first–he’s so nervous that he nearly misses your mouth, and you’re so on edge that you almost forget to reciprocate.

All to say that your first real kiss in forever is a complete dud. You move your lips mindlessly and calmly against his until you withdraw with a polite smile. Evan, for his part, looks mesmerized.

“Thanks for today,” you say with a smile.

“I…” He runs a hand through his hair. “My offer to drive is still on the table, you know. I could drive you back to your place. Or mine.”

Your stomach drops. “I–”

You must have a look on your face because Evan cuts you off before you can say anything else. “I’m just joking.”

It’s not a joke, clearly, but you accept the out. “I have some errands to run, and I don’t want to make you go all over the place for me.”

“Right,” Evan says after a pause.

The moment lingers another beat too long.

“Today was a lot of fun,” you lie. “I’ll talk to you later!”

You turn on your heel and walk away casually until you turn the corner. Then, you duck into the nearest convenience store and call an Uber.

Later, you hear the disappointment dripping from Meg’s voice.

“No, it was the right call to do what was comfortable for you,” she hums. “But did you really have to be thinking about your soulmate the entire time?”

“It’s hard not to when I just found out that I actually have one!” You frown, as if she can see you. “I tried.”

“I know,” Meg sighs. “Well, let’s hope you see him in your dreams again soon.”

An entire month passes. Specifics about the contours of your soulmate’s face and details of his body start to blur from your memory, but what you remember most is the kindness dancing in his eyes. The care in which he spoke about you and your little family. You fall asleep early each night in anticipation only to be let down in the morning.

Instead, it happens next on an irrelevant day. Your shoes are kicked off after a long day of work, and you’re halfway across your living room when a bright light sears behind your eyelids. You throw yourself onto the couch with what little consciousness you have left before plunging into darkness.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Meg brushes a stray hair into place. “There you go.”

The soft tones of a piano drift through the glass doors in front of you. You see the blur of a crowd outside, although it’s hard to discern through the frosted glass panes.

“Does everything look okay?” Your throat feels tight and your voice comes out breathy.

“Beautiful.”

“I’m scared,” you hear yourself whisper. “What if I’m believing in soulmates too blindly?”

Meg snorts. “A little late for that, don’t you think? If anything, you’re giving me the hope that I’ll meet my person. The two of you are absolutely disgusting together; if this doesn’t work out then all the rest of us are fucked.”

You don’t respond.

Meg rolls her eyes, tugging your arm to turn you to the left. A floor length mirror leans against the wall. It contains a lettered seating chart for all your guests with some names familiar and some foreign. You swallow at your reflection through the text.

It's truly an image out of a dream. Fabric drapes and hugs you in the ways you’ve always wanted. Your bouquet is made of elegant white flowers apart from a few blossoms popping out in shades of light pink. You’d so long put romance in the back of your mind that it’s jarring to see yourself like this. You smile at your reflection, embodying the image of elegance.

“It’s time then,” your voice rings, more confident than before.

The doors open in front of you, causing the crowd outside to rise from their seats. The piano transitions into a slow melody. The flower girl, waiting by the entrance with her mother, steps a few paces in front of you to begin dropping pink petals.

You walk down the aisle with your head held high. If you’re still shaken by your cold feet minutes prior, it doesn’t show anymore.

You’re not surprised to see a familiar lean figure at the end of the aisle. You are surprised, however, when he sees you for the first time.

His face lights up in pure elation. His smile broadens so big and wide that his gums peek out a little. There’s a light shine to his eyes that makes your heart clench. It’s as much your reaction as it is for this version of you. It’s almost too much to bear. He already looks ridiculously handsome in his wedding tuxedo, but the open emotion in his face (for you) makes him all the more mesmerizing.

You stop in front of him. This version of you has grown a little shy; your face warms as you raise your eyes up slowly to meet his.

You barely hear the officiant over the sound of your pounding heart. It’s only once the vows start that you catch what’s being said. What he’s saying.

“One thing I want to start off with is saying that we weren’t supposed to meet that day. I was helping my best friend, Taeyong, who was too hungover to pick up his phone that he’d left at a girl’s house…”

There’s a slight pause as a chuckle passes through the crowd. One groomsman—presumably Taeyong—rolls his eyes with a smile. It’s clearly a story that everyone knows well.

“The last thing I ever expected was for the girl’s very cute roommate to open the door. Let alone have the realization that they were the soulmate I’d been seeing in my dreams.” His eyes lift up, sparkling and happy. “Meeting you that day changed the entire course of my life. You are the best thing to happen to me…my best friend, confidant, and greatest love. Your love and endless faith make me a better man. I promise to protect you and be there by your side when things get hard. I promise to show up for you in all of the little moments—not just the big ones. I choose to love you in this lifetime and all the others that may be. I love you.”

You feel your mouth moving, but your mind races from the realization. This lifetime. All the others that may be.

This, like the dream of yourself as an artist, was not your life. Was Meg right? Were these glimpses into other versions of yourself?

You’d been completely different in the first vision. There is no chance of you becoming an advanced artist at this point, that’s for sure. The second dream had no identifying differences, other than the fact that you had two children with this man. This version of you seemed more like yourself, but Meg was the biggest outlier. She clearly hadn’t met David and doesn’t even fully believe in soulmates.  Additionally, you’d been out of college for years—meeting him during school could not be a future possibility. Soulmate visions of other universes seemed so rare and far-fetched that you’d found it easy to dismiss it as a tall tale, but you didn’t know what else could explain this.

“I…” You startle back into this reality as you speak your own name. “…vow to take you, Doyoung, as my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”

Doyoung, you think as he slips the ring onto your finger. I finally know his name.

“By the power vested in me by the support of this community and strength of your love, I now pronounce you wed. You may kiss.”

Doyoung squares his shoulders to yours. He’s a little too stiff in the movement, which makes you giggle. The sound of your laugh relaxes a smile to his face. He tilts your chin up with his hand so that your eyes meet his.

“I love you,” he whispers before pulling you, finally, into a deep kiss.

His lips are velvet soft and fit perfectly to yours. The crowd erupts into whoops and cheers that begin to fade into the background.

Not now, you think, distantly. It would be nice to stay here. For a while.

You’re pulled out against your will. You let yourself be lost in Doyoung’s touch until the end.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You type and erase strings of characters on your phone.

“…I enjoyed our time together, but I think we should see other people,” you read aloud. “Too dramatic?”

Meg waves a hand dismissively. “Who cares? You’re not seeing him again.”

“He’s a nice guy, Meg.”

“He’s boring, and you’re being toonice,” she replies. “Just send it.”

You do a quick onceover of your message before pressing the send button. You immediately turn your phone off and flip it upside down.

“Now that was dramatic.”

You glare at Meg from your position on your couch. She sits on the other side, scrolling through something on her laptop.

“So!” She says with a flourish. “What’s the plan?”

“…The plan?”

 “Do you want to meet Doyoung?”

You’d had a handful more soulmate visions since learning Doyoung’s name. Your lives together spanned endless locations intertwined with different professions—from what you gathered from your visions, other versions of you had met Doyoung through school, work, and even a particularly strange meet-cute of being his regular barista. The peek into these various lifetimes left you curious and a little bit weary; each subsequent vision was harder to leave than before, and you’d experienced so many that slipping in and out of these other realities felt like second nature.

Without fail, however, Doyoung stays the same. Each version contains the same kindhearted nature you’d glimpsed ever since the first. You’ve never seen the same version of Doyoung twice, but you feel like you’ve known him your entire life.

Yet even so, the idea of hunting down your Doyoung sends a wave of uncertainty through you. It has nothing to do with him and everything to do with you.

“I…don’t know if I want to meet him,” you admit out loud.

You expect the worst reaction from Meg—a shriek, gasp, or even straight up shouting—but instead, she purses her lips. “Why?”

“I’m not sure he’ll be very impressed with me,” you say. You try to pick up your phone to look busy, but you glimpse Evan’s name on your screen instead.

Thanks for letting me know. I hope you find—

You put your phone back down.

Meg stares at you. “You think he’s going to be unimpressed because you have your shit together?”

“Well—”

“What if he’s a loser?”

“He’s not!” You shriek. In truth, you have no idea what your Doyoung does or where he is.

“Then what do you know about the Doyoung here that’s so larger than life?”

You don’t answer.

Understanding flickers across Meg’s face. She groans. “You didn’t even look him up?!”

You cross your arms. “I don’t think I want to know.”

“You’re so impossible,” she types furiously into her computer. “Do…young…”

You roll your eyes. “Like you’re gonna find him by googling his first name only.”

“It’s unique enough,” she protests, whirling her laptop screen around toward you. She wiggles her eyebrows. “Imagine if a guy this hot appeared in your dreams?”

Everything muscle in your body freezes. A strangled noise rips out of your throat.

Meg’s jaw drops, and she looks between you and the screen with open disbelief. “You’re fucking shitting me right now.”

Doyoung’s picture smiles at you clear as day from Meg’s laptop. Singer and Actor.

Wordlessly, you reach over and click the images tab. Pictures of Doyoung—your Doyoung—flood the entire page. He’s photographed in various styles, even modeling with big brands. You’d known that he was ridiculously good-looking, but you hadn’t expected something like this. You even recognize his friends Taeyong and Johnny that you’d seen in some visions; they’re clearly friends in this universe too, seeing as they’re posing in many group pictures together.

“That’s him…” you whisper.

“Holy shit.” Meg regains her senses and starts clicking through different website links rapidly. “Holy shit, dude! He’s famous!”

“I can see that!” You say as panic rises up your chest. Of all the perfectly normal Doyoungs you’d seen, your Doyoung had to be a celebrity?

“I was going to tell you to find him anyway, but this is insane!” More clicking. Meg shows you a digital tour poster that reads NCT 127 – THE MOMENTUM. “Dude. They’re touring. I’m buying tickets.”

Your head spins. You’d meet him by buying tickets amongst all of his fans. Your soulmate has a fanbase.

“Don’t,” you choke out.

“How else are you going to find him? Stalk him?”

She’s right. Regardless, you feel tears pricking in the corners of your eyes. Your voice comes out so quiet that it’s barely audible. “I’m scared.”

Meg’s expression softens. She sets her laptop aside as she envelops you into a hug. “I know. Let me just buy the tickets for you for now, and then we can think about it more. It’s in two months, so you have some time.”

You nod with a sniffle.

“Besides,” Meg smiles as she pulls back. “All of your visions have pretty much been sickly sweet, right? I doubt anything will change now.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Doyoung pulls you out of a restaurant through a gathering crowd. Flashes go off all around you.

Most of the group is made up of women shoving their cameras in your faces while completely hiding their own. There’s a slight murmur amongst them that’s still eerily quiet.

You pull the brim of your hat down lower, the fabric of your mask higher as you try to shield yourself from the attention.

Security opens the door to the black SUV first, ushering Doyoung inside first. It’s a brief pause that’s long enough for a fan to get you within her sights while security is distracted.

“Ugly whore!” She screams as she arches her arm back. You react too late as a plastic cup hits the back of your head. A cold liquid drenches you starting from your face and drips down your entire shirt.

You stand there in shock. Flashes and shutters sound off rapidly around you. The only thing that moves you, finally, is the security staff member physically lifting you into the backseat. The door slams after you, drowning you in silence.

The driver turns to hand you a towel, which you accept with trembling hands.

“Looks like our whereabouts got leaked, again,” you laugh, but the sound falls flat into the silence.

Doyoung’s eyes rake over your appearance. His expression contorts into hurt.

You want to massage the deep frown from his face, but you can already feel the tears threatening to surface. Instead, you dab at your clothing to dry what you can. The fan must have thrown a soft drink of some kind, since the drink leaves behind a sticky residue on your clothing and skin.

Doyoung looks like he’s on the brink of tears himself. “This is my fault,” he says simply.

You expect your voice to come out weepy, but it comes out hard instead. “It’s not.”

“It is.”

“It’s not! This is the work of people who don’t understand boundaries! You should be able to enjoy your free time without being stalked!”

It’s clearly a point of contention that’s been hashed out before. He settles into silence for the entire drive. The car eventually stops in front of a high rise building that the two of you walk into together. It’s clearly your shared apartment, traces of him and you strewn throughout the space.

“You should go shower and clean yourself off,” he says absentmindedly as he types something into his phone. “I’m going to make a quick call.”

You still hear Doyoung’s voice through the door when you emerge from the shower.

“Right. I was just hoping….yeah, you’re right. I’ll talk to…No, that won’t be necessary. Thanks.”

 You pull on your clothes and exit your bathroom into your master bedroom in the most nonchalant way you can manage. You falter still when you see Doyoung sitting at the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.

You join him on the edge of the bed. “Doyoung?”

He looks up at you; his eyes are rimmed with red. “Hey.”

“You talked to your manager? How was it?”  

“As expected,” Doyoung says while avoiding your gaze.

“Is your company going to take any action?”

He frowns, then takes a deep breath. “They said they’ll do what they can.”

“Which means?”

“Just that. They’ll ‘do what they can,’” Doyoung's voice drips with sarcasm, “but it’s unlikely to actually deter anyone. These things might still happen to you as long as you’re with me.”

As long as you’re with me. Alarm bells ring in your head.

“Don’t.” The you of this reality must pick up something more because your concern swiftly rushes into anger. “I know this fuck-ass company is recommending you some fuck-ass solution. I thought we said that we would handle this together. We survived the leaked photos in the media—we can handle this.”

Doyoung doesn’t look at you. “It’s my idea.”

For the first time, the weight of this reality’s emotions flood over your own. You feel her shock down to your core, which is quickly replaced by raw heart ache. Your throat is so tight that you’re barely able to choke out the words. “Okay. Say it, then.”

“I can’t keep watching this happen to you because of who I am. There’s still three years before my contract ends. Who would want to go through any of this for that long?”

“I would,” you say quietly, “I will for you. What we have is too special to throw it all away.”

“I can’t let you do that.” Doyoung’s shaking his head. “It’s not fair to you.”

“Who decides what’s fair to me? Isn’t that my choice?” You snap, your temper flaring up again. “It’s pretty unfair that you’re disregarding my entire opinion in this.”

“We’re soulmates,” he murmurs. “Meaning you felt a biological pull when we met.”

Your heart drops. “What the hell are you saying?”

 “You didn’t have much of a choice but to be drawn to me. Despite my lifestyle.”

“You don’t believe that. You believe in soulmates more than anyone.”

He avoids your eyes by opting to stare at the ceiling instead. “Well, maybe I’m starting to think differently.”

“So this is it, then?" Your voice trembles. “After all it took to just find each other in the first place?”

“I’m leaving tonight." He still doesn't meet your eyes. "This apartment is yours, but I won’t be coming back.”

You’re still absorbing his words when he rises toward the door.

“Doyoung.” Your voice is laced with despair. Still, you force out the words. “Say you don’t want me.”

“What?” His brow furrows.

You stalk after him, only stopping when your noses are nearly touching. “Say you don’t want me. Say that all of this was a mistake, and you don’t need us anymore. If you’re going to end it like this then you need to take ownership of it.”

Doyoung's mouth flattens and his bottom lip quivers. He takes a deep breath before exhaling and meeting your gaze. “We might be soulmates, but I no longer think that we belong together in this life. I wish the best for you, and the best for both of us is separating.”

It’s the worst he could say. Agony swirls in your chest. You collapse to the ground in a mess of sobs before he’s even left, but he continues out the door without looking back.

This version of you haunts the rooms of your house in a broken haze. You take to combing through every drawer, cabinet, and shelf as you search for anything that belongs to Doyoung. Nothing is safe; everything from clothing to picture frames get thrown onto the ground between bouts of hysterical crying.

Internally, panic courses through you. You’ve never felt stuck in a vision like this. Or felt the emotions of a vision so strongly. Everything about this vision is too real; this version of you feels everything so poignantly that you struggle to differentiate between your emotions and the emotions of this reality. You can barely think for yourself. Every sob comes equally from your soul.

Finally, when it’s deep into the night and your eyes can’t swell up any further from crying, you’re released from this nightmare. The you of this reality is left alone in a dreamless sleep.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

That’s only the first of a month-long string of visions. You’re thrown into visions at least once every day. They change between elated moments of intimacy to tormenting heartbreak at the flip of a coin. Destined to be together one day, doomed to fail the next. It gives you karmic whiplash.

The hardest part is dealing with the other versions of you. It’s increasingly difficult to separate your thoughts and emotions from whichever reality you’ve entered. Sometimes you stay so long that you think that you’ll be trapped in another body forever. Even when you finally return, all of the emotions follow you out.

After the latest nightmare, you wake up gasping for air. Not real, you remind yourself. You dig a nail into your palm until it bleeds, just to confirm that you’re in control of this body. Not my Doyoung.

You rub the sleep out of your eyes, pausing as the back of your hand comes back wet. God, were you crying?

Shaking your head, you get up despite the heavy ache of your muscles. Your neck is so tight that you feel like it could snap off your shoulders.

Your phone lists a barrage of text and missed call notifications from Meg. A series from an hour ago that starts with a brunch request and ends with I’m coming over.

Sure enough, Meg sits at your dining table. There’s some take out containers on the table in front of her along with two cups of coffee.

“Sorry I missed your calls,” you sigh while taking your seat across from her. “Visions.”

Her eyes scan over everything from the deep bags under your eyes to the gaunt lines underneath your cheekbones. You ignore it and bite into a piece of toast.

“I’m worried about you,” Meg says.

You grunt and take a swig of coffee. “Why?”

“You look like you haven’t slept in ages.”

Your tone comes out too harsh. “Well, no one told me that soulmate visions during nighttime actually take away from any REM sleep. I’ve been having them almost every night for the past, you know, two months, so I don’t think I’ve really slept in a while.”

“I never really had many,” Meg mumbles from her spot. “So I didn’t know.”

“Sorry.” You know that you’re behaving like a colossal asshole, but you can’t help it. You’re haunted by what could come next. Visions of Doyoung plague you night and day. You still have yet to achieve full autonomy within a vision, which means that you’re trapped inside another’s body as you witness interactions that you will never have—different people, different universes, and different outcomes. It’s terrifying.

“There is a way to end it,” Meg starts again. “I have the tickets.”

You tighten your hand on your cup. “No.”

“Why not?”

You slam your hand down on the table. “Because sometimes it doesn’t work out, Meg!”

Her eyes widen.

“I’ve seen so many universes where it does work, but I’ve seen the pain and hurt that’s possible when it doesn’t,” you continue. “I love him in all of them, but better versions of me still fail to make it work. There’s no way that I stand a chance when Doyoung’s literally an idol with a million options at his fingertips.”

“You never know,” she reminds you softly. “He could be seeing you too, for all we know.”

“And with his infinite number of resources, he’s never tried to find me?”

That shuts her up.

“I’m starting to lose it, Meg,” your voice is barely louder than a hush. “I don’t know what’s real and what’s not half of the time because of these visions—it’s like my soul is fighting to be outside of this reality. Isn’t that a sign? All these other versions of me have so much more to offer. I’m the worst version of myself, and he’s the best.”

Meg reaches to grab your hand. “You’re not the worst. Not even by a landslide. Your soul is just trying to be helpful by showing your amazing connection.”

“For this life it’s only an amazing outcome for me,” you say, sourness oozing back into your voice. “I can’t do that to him.”

“You can’t do this to yourself, either. Have you considered that you’re already doing something to him?”

This time, she’s lost you. “What do you mean?”

Meg sighs, a sure sign of her patience finally running out with you. “There’s no way in hell that he’s not experiencing some sort of vision himself. Isn’t that worse for him, since he’s touring? You’re probably disturbing his practice and rest time.”                                                         

You’ve been so caught up in living these alternate lives that, admittedly, you hadn’t considered the insane work demands of an idol. For all you know, he could be experiencing all of these visions at the same time. You had no way of knowing if your Doyoung was also witnessing everything without a chance to speak for himself.

 “It’s definitely worse for him,” you mumble.

“Exactly! And what’s the way to relieve you both of this? Meeting! Taking the chance of this concert in our city to let you both free!”

You hang your head in your hands. “Why do I have to ambush him like that? Isn’t that a lot?”

“You…” Meg stabs a finger in your direction. “…are not a celebrity.”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

“Doyoung…” Meg pulls up the promotional images of him to show you on her phone. “…is an idol with crazy fans. He doesn’t know where to find you. I’m more than sure he has fans all up in his DMs claiming to be his soulmate on the daily. This is the only way you won’t get tackled by his security guards.”

You consider it. Even if he was guaranteed to not want you, even if he is universes above your league, you could at least free the both of you from these relentless interruptions.

I’ll miss it, a small part of you thinks. Being able to feel what we could be. What we are, just in different lives.

You push those thoughts to the back of your head. “Fine. Let’s end it.”

“Finally,” Meg exhales.

“You do realize that we’ll have to fight all of these fans to be as close as possible, right?”

“Don’t worry,” your friend says with an evil smile. “I have my ways.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Meg lives up to her word. After a series of begging and bribes to other fans, you’re at barricade on the far right. To your horror, she’s brought a sign with your name on it in bright neon green letters. You’d try to dissuade her, since there’s no guarantee that Doyoung’s even seen you in visions, let alone heard your name, but she refused to back down.

“Maybe it’s so strange that it’ll catch one of their eyes,” she argues.

It’s certainly catching the eyes of other concertgoers, who glare at you.

Past the surrounding people, you find it hard to remove your anxiety from the situation. You’d tried to influence the tone of your visions leading up to the concert by consuming NCT 127 variety content and their overall discography. In reality, it made the visions worse. Watching Doyoung’s public image in action grated at your psyche; instead of heartwarming, it reminded you painfully of the talent disparity between you two. Not only did it make your visions more taxing, but it also made them more likely to occur. With any hope, even if he didn’t see you, you wouldn’t go unconscious into a soulmate vision.  

Your heart hums with anticipation as the lights dim and the low bass reverberates through your body. The monitor displays a brief, pre-recorded video of the members wearing and removing gas masks. The scene switches to the faces of the six members in a row. You lock onto Doyoung’s image on the screen.

The fans around you scream at the top of their lungs. Your ears ring and numb your senses. Amidst all of the energy you suddenly feel a panicked flush of shame.

Had you really paid this much money for this experience based on what could be hallucinations? Wasn’t it a little…egotistical to assume a man at this unattainable level of fame could be your soulmate?

You swallow the lump in your throat as the big screen splits to reveal the members standing in glass boxes. The box closest to you is Jungwoo on the far-right side of the stage. Your eyes scan down the line, skipping over Mark, Yuta, Johnny, then—

Doyoung

Your first kiss, different every time, yet always leaving sweet fulfillment.

Torn apart by circumstances outside your control.

Finding each other despite all odds.

A soft breeze as you say I do.

Kids, seemingly in every timeline—

It’s as if the world stops. You nearly fall over in place as memories flood your head. They’re both yours and not; movies of past lives—together, good and bad—superimpose over the other. It’s much, much more than what you’ve experienced in your visions. No one has properly prepared you for the feeling. Your head spins and throbs as the memories tuck and cram themselves into any available space.

It’s as physical as it is emotional. Your body writhes as your head feels like it will explode at any second. You’re panicked, overrun by the happiness and sorrow and confusion clouding your judgment. You can’t even tell which of these emotions are yours or theirs. The bright, flashing lights make it so much worse. Bile climbs up your throat before you force it back down with a swallow.

“Hey!” Meg pulls at your forearm. “Are you alright?”

“…Yeah,” you stammer, gasping for air.

She pats the top of your hand, which is paling from the intense grip on the barricade metal. You release your hands and rub at your tender palms.

She processes your appearance for a brief moment before her eyes widen. “No way.”

You nod, too exhausted to reply.

“We were right? Holy shit!” She screams, which ignites the searing pain behind your eyes.

You sway a little. “Did he react at all?”

“I couldn’t tell because of the smoke,” she frowned. “It seemed like he came out a little late.”

Doyoung performs on the stage in front of you. He doesn’t seem disoriented in the slightest. You do notice his eyes flit over the crowd occasionally, but it seems in line with what the other members are doing.

She quickly drapes your arm over her shoulders to stabilize you. “So what, now is the time for the sign?”

You don’t answer; regardless, she unfurls the poster. Her attempt to massage out the wrinkles are largely unnecessary—it’s already past the point of no return—but you can appreciate the effort. You’re barely able to stand up without her help.

Nearly half of the concert passes without any progress. Doyoung has stayed mostly away from your side of the stage, and when he is on your side his line of vision seems to skip right over you.

“How does he not fucking see you?” Meg shouts.

You shrug. Strangely enough, this is the most relaxed you’ve felt in weeks. It’s as if all of your usual nerves have left straight on vacation.

All the snippets of memories are too much to sort through now, but there’s now two sentiments that are finally crystal clear to you throughout all lifetimes.

First: Doyoung must want you too. Either of you can choose to not pursue this connection.

Second: If it is meant to be, love will find a way.

Clearly, your Doyoung exists in an entirely different plane of existence from you. Sure, you might be soulmates, but that didn’t mean that he would choose you. That was his right, as was yours. At this point, you’re ready to accept any outcome.

Still, when the unit has transitioned to a series of ballads, you feel a flicker of annoyance. While your chances of being with him are slim to none, a small part of you craves that acknowledgement.

Can’t Help Myself, your favorite from the album, starts playing. You’ve thrown all expectation to the wind and start singing to the lyrics, even as Doyoung crosses back to your side of the stage.

Meg, on the other hand, raises the sign even higher while she screams Doyoung’s name in a way that is completely inappropriate to the tone of the song. It’s incredibly embarrassing but also endearing.

You’re half-laughing, half-cringing, until it works. Doyoung’s eyes rake over the sign, squint at Meg, then drift over from her to lock onto you.

Mine, your mind says.

Doyoung collapses onstage.

You’re even less prepared for this than you were before. The memories return and suppress all other thoughts. The terrified cries and shock of the crowd completely overtake your senses. It’s all too much.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head. Your body folds over the barricade and hangs there like a ragdoll.

“HELP!” Meg’s voice screams over all the others. “PLEASE, MY FRIEND NEEDS SOME HELP!”

You feel someone grasp your shoulders and pluck your body out of the crowd. Then, you lose consciousness.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Doyoung sits on your living room carpet with your daughter in his lap. He flips through the thick pages of a children’s picture book, sounding out words for her and pointing at each picture.

You stare at his side profile. You’re not under any other will; you’re completely you, from the present day, down to the neon green outfit. The same version of you that’s presumably passed out at his concert. Most importantly, visions should stop once you’ve finally seen your soulmate in person. You shouldn’t be here at all.  

“What’s wrong, my love?” Doyoung mumbles.

You startle. Then, you blurt: “Are you real?”

He laughs softly. “Am I real?”

Cautiously, you settle down to sit on the floor next to him. He says nothing, stroking your daughter’s hair as he waits for you to speak first.

The fact that you can speak unsettles you. After months of visions, why is this the vision that lets you have full autonomy? Why in a moment like this, with Doyoung and your daughter relaxing in the living room?

“How did we meet?” You ask suspiciously.

He raises an eyebrow, but answers regardless. “Through work.”

“Which is?”

Thankfully, he’s much more patient. “Well, I was a trainee,” he starts, “and you were about midway through your rookie year.”

Your mind goes completely blank. “Me, an idol?”

Your daughter rests her head in Doyoung’s lap, eyelids fluttering with sleepiness. Doyoung puts a finger up to his lips.

“Am I your soulmate?” you ask in a lower tone, even though you already know the answer.

“Yes.”

“Was it always obvious that we would end up…like this? Together?”

He snorts. “We broke up after I didn’t debut.”

Your heart stops. “You didn’t become an idol?”

“We were broken up for six months before you reached out to me again.” His slightly sour expression softens. “You were going through a lot of things at the time. There’s no resentment there. You asked me for a month to get to know each other again as friends, then the rest is history.”

“Weren’t you mad that I ditched you once I debuted?”

“No.” He thinks for a moment. “Maybe at first. We all know that line of work is demanding, and you continued to show up after we worked everything out. You proved to me that you’d choose us over everything, and we haven’t looked back since.”

“Choose this, choose that…” You grumble as irritation pricks at you. Then, you hang your head back and wail like a child. “I’m so confused! I don’t know what all these visions are trying to tell me…”

Doyoung doesn’t respond.

“I’m not sure where I end and their memories and feelings begin,” you confess, as if this Doyoung will know what you’re talking about. “They’re not really mine, but they feel like a part of me. I’m scared that I’m getting swept away by the soulmate bond. How am I supposed to choose? What if the skeptics are right, and this whole thing has been a physiological or psychological reaction that can be explained by science?”

You expect him to be offended; by now, you know that his deep belief in destiny and timing are at the core of his being.

Instead, he says, “What if it is?”

You blink. “I don’t think a soulmate is supposed to say that.”

“Well, when we’ve talked about this before, it always comes down to the same last questions.” He thinks for a moment. “Say we get to the end of our lives and find out that the concept of ‘soulmate’ can just be explained as a physical reaction. Will you feel like you wasted your time? Your life?”

“God.” Your eyes flit to your sleeping daughter. “That’s heavy.”

Doyoung shrugs. “That’s kind of what it boils down to. What do you want to happen, regardless of fate?”

“I don’t know. I just want to be happy.”

“I see,” he says noncommittally. Doyoung’s expression is neutral. Your daughter has other ideas as she whimpers a soft cry in her sleep, which prompts him to pick up your child and cuddle her in his arms. “Do you think I can make you happy?”

The sight makes your heart clench. It triggers an ache for a life that isn’t yours; you feel guilty for intruding on this version of life. This Doyoung doesn’t belong to you.

You open your mouth to reply, but the dream lightens and fades around you. This Doyoung smiles at you one last time before you’re ripped out of this reality.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Doyoung’s first soulmate vision occurs on his eighteenth birthday. It’s something that he can’t forget even if he tries. A dream of the two of you, childhood best friends, experiencing the flutter of a first kiss. He remembers the shyness in your face along with the grounded sense of familiarity; even at eighteen, he feels that he’s known you for his entire life.

Doyoung holds your existence close to his chest. He’s already teased enough for being a romantic as it is, and he treasures your connection too much to let others weigh in. It’s only deep into his trainee period that he even divulges anything to Taeyong and Johnny in the late hours of the night.

Visions of you shimmer in and out of his life in ephemeral flashes. Sometimes you’re the only thing holding him together when his throat burns from vocal training and his muscles ache from dancing. He clings to the borrowed memories from these other lives like a promise. There’s no doubt in Doyoung's mind that your life will touch his eventually–it’s not if, it’s when.

Then his visions stop right before the tour. You’ve been such a constant in his life for the past decade that the absence of you leaves a gaping hole behind. He misses you. He’s always tried to find you, but with only your first name to go off it’s nearly impossible. Added onto the fact that, as an idol, maintaining his privacy is of the utmost importance. He doesn’t want to even think about the entities that would exploit the knowledge of Kim Doyoung’s soulmate. 

He retains his professionalism while panicking on the side. What did it mean for his visions to disappear? The disappearance on New Year’s Eve specifically feels like an omen–Doyoung swears to himself that he’ll find you once and for all when the tour ends. All his performances are dedicated in his heart to you and your safety.

So when he registers a poster with only your name on it, he can hardly believe his eyes. The girl attached to the poster is certainly not you, so he keeps looking. 

When Doyoung sees you for the first time–finally, sees you in this life for the first time–all he feels is relief and elation. You found him.

Then a wave of nausea overtakes him, and he collapses on stage. 

After the fact, staff tell him that he laid unconscious for ten minutes. To him, he spends lifetimes. 

He’s inundated with visions of this reality, for once. Doyoung sits through the nightmares with you and sees your health deteriorate with each one. It pains him to see you so overwhelmed. Sure, he had the occasional vision where the two of you didn’t work out, but ten years had given him more than enough time to parse through the philosophical questions of it all. He can’t imagine experiencing this sudden influx so late or needing to decide so quickly. There’s a rush of guilt in knowing that you’ve experienced far more negative visions of him than positive.

It’s his first time seeing you in this universe, too. You’re different from all the other versions, of course, but the core things that make up your identity are as clear to him as ever. Your ambition and drive to make things work despite all odds. Your tenacity. Your deep loyalty and care to your loved ones. 

Doyoung feels at peace. It’s still you.

He wakes up with the wide eyes of the staff all around him. They immediately have someone check him out, and even the medic is perplexed when his only symptom is a mild headache. 

“So strange,” he frowns. “Someone in the front row of the crowd fainted around the same time.”

Doyoung's heart races. “Are they alright?”

“I believe the patient is being held in one of the medical tents.” 

When he’s cleared to perform, Doyoung pops a painkiller, drinks some water, and adjusts his outfit to go out there and finish the show. Before he leaves, however, he pulls his manager aside to whisper some instructions in his ear. He raises an eyebrow but then nods.

Be there soon, Doyoung thinks as he runs to join the others.

Doyoung leaves it all out on the stage. It’s his best, most earnest performance to date.

It’s easier than usual to slip away from the main group, since today’s show had been particularly exhausting. Most of them assumed that Doyoung felt sick and told him to go rest. It’s only Johnny who eyes him sidelong, but he doesn’t say anything in the moment as he heads out to eat.

Doyoung’s heart beats wildly in his chest as he paces in front of your hotel room. He’d met Meg, thanked her for the sign, and questioned her relentlessly on your condition. Meg, from what he could tell, seemed amused as she answered each of his questions. No, you weren’t awake. Yes, the medic said all of your vitals were normal. Yes, it was likely just a fainting spell similar to his own. Yes, you would probably want to see him.

Meg emerges from the hotel room with a nod. Doyoung’s chest tightens as he takes a deep breath to open the door. 

You’re sitting upright in one of the hotel beds while focusing on alarm clock next to your nightstand. 

“Meg, this is much nicer than something you’d usually choose–” You stop mid-sentence as you turn your head to find Doyoung in Meg’s place instead. “Doyoung.” 

Sure, he’s heard you say his name before but hearing it in the flesh makes goosebumps prick up along the surface of his skin. “Hi,” he breathes your name out loud for the first time.

Your expression is wide and dazed in shock as you stare at him. “Is this a vision? Or am I dead?” 

He feels tension between his shoulder blades relax as he laughs. “We’re both very much alive. Together,” he adds at the last minute.

You look down at your hands. “...I see.” 

Your sudden shyness reminds him so much of his first soulmate vision that he wants to gather you into his arms and never let go. Instead, he asks. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you pause. “How were you after collapsing?”

“I was only out for a bit, then I woke up pretty much good as new.” He leaves out the part about seeing your entire soulmate realization journey. “Did you see any vision while out?” He sits in the hotel-provided office chair and rolls it forward so he’s hovering next to your side of the bed.

You grow shy again, this time at his proximity. “I did.” 

“Me too,” he admits. “It’s hard to believe that we won’t see any more.” 

You snort. “Not that we saw them for very long to begin with.” 

Doyoung’s breath catches. He knew the differences between your visions but explaining it out loud to you in person feels extremely different. “...I actually saw my first one just over ten years ago.” 

“Ten years ago?” You nearly shout.

“Frequency of them is on and off, but I started getting them when I was eighteen.” 

He watches your face twist in different expressions as you process the information. Shock and confusion appear first before it settles into something resembling guilt. He lets you get lost in thought. To Doyoung this is just a part of his story that he’s long since accepted, but he knows all of this is brand new for you.

When you finally speak, it’s something that he doesn’t expect. “I’m sorry!” You blurt out. “I hope you know that I don’t expect anything from you.” 

He tilts his head in confusion. “Expect anything from me?”

“I would’ve tried to find you even if you weren’t famous,” you’re talking so fast now that your mouth can barely keep up. “I’m not trying to take advantage of your fame.” 

“I didn’t think that.” Doyoung’s taken aback. Did you see him as the kind of person who would assume the worst? “I tried to find you a few times, but the visions weren’t exactly helpful in finding specific details about you. Meg’s sign was the first time I’d seen your full name.”

“Oh.” 

Your nervousness is palpable. He wishes he could transfer all your bad experiences to himself. Anything to take your pain away.

“Would you prefer it if I left?” He asks softly. “I can give you more time to— “ 

“No,” you cut him off firmly. You hesitate, just for a second, before reaching for his hand.

Now you’re both embarrassed, but you force your words out. “I don’t really understand what any of this means, still. I also don’t hold it against you if you’re disappointed. There are probably a million more interesting versions of me.”

If anything, he’s disappointed that you feel the need to self-deprecate. He sorts through his mind for a way to encompass how he’s felt about you for the past ten years, but it all seems too long winded.

Finally, he settles for a simple squeeze of your hand. “I’m happy it’s you.”

You squeeze his hand back. “I’m happy it’s you, too.”

Doyoung feels the blush blooming onto his face. The space between you is warm yet fragile. Through the haze of his giddiness, he tries to reign himself in before he scares you away. “I know this is still a lot for you, so I can meet you wherever you need me to be.”

The edges of your mouth twitch upwards in amusement. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”

He blinks. “It is?”

“You’re the one who’s seen soulmate visions for ten years with no closure, but you’re more concerned about me,” you lean forward, eyes sparkling like you’re withholding a secret. “Even though I’m the reason why you collapsed at your own concert.”

“It’s not your fault!” He huffs, but you’re already laughing at his pouting. “It’s not!”

You wipe a tear from your eye. “It just made me feel relieved that it’s really you. I’m happy.” After recovering from your laughing fit, there’s a streak of makeup smudged along your upper cheekbone.

“You said that already.” Without thinking, Doyoung wipes the mark away with the pad of his thumb.

Your breath hitches. Doyoung freezes, which means that his hand effectively freezes on your cheek in turn. Then, finally, you turn your head toward his hand and press your lips on the skin. You smile.

The bashfulness in the air is replaced with something thicker and more intense than before. Doyoung’s eyes drift down to your lips.

“Can I kiss you?” The words come out low and raspy. It’s surprising to even him. It’s probably too soon. He should have more self-control, damn it, but he can’t help himself. Every cell in his body craves to be closer, closer, closer.

Instead of a reply, you close the distance between you.

He’s lost track of how many first kisses he’s witnessed through other versions of himself, but this one tastes sweeter than all the rest. It’s more than just a kiss; it’s acceptance. As you lose yourselves in the other’s touch, it feels like a vow.  

“Doyoung,” you mutter between kisses.

“Mhmm?”

“Doyoung!” You pull back briefly, chest heaving for breath. “I still don’t know what I’m doing.”

His heart drops. He knows this risk-averse and self-sabotaging behavior of yours. If not addressed, you’ll convince yourself to choose the safest route to protect yourself. It’s now or never.

He clears his throat. “As I said, I will meet you wherever you need me to be. It’s okay if we start off slow or just as friends. Regardless, I would love to finally get to know you. This you.” He clears his throat. “So I hope you’ll consider it.”

“Of course I want to get to know you,”you say without hesitating. You bite your lip. “Without a doubt, I know that I can care for you and fall in love with you. The last few months have convinced me of that, but I’ve also seen that love can only carry us so far. You want to try pursuing something, even knowing that other versions of us have failed?”

“We won’t fail,” he says with a calm confidence.

“How can you be sure?”

“I’m choosing you—this reality with you. I will do everything in my power to take care of you.” His voice drops to a low tone. “So please trust me. Choose me too.”

With those words, you’re a goner. Truth be told, you aren’t sure if you stood a chance in the first place. He’s too easy to trust and fall into. Doyoung is everything you’ve dreamt of and more.

“Okay,” you say with a smile. “I’ll choose us too. As long as you’re really sure you want to be stuck with me.”

To know you is to love you. Doyoung’s decision was made from the moment he first saw you in his dreams.

“Of course I want to,” Doyoung says as he pulls you into another kiss. “I’ve loved you in every lifetime.”

[magicpiano]

Bruce Wayne had a child that was somehow kidnapped right out of the hospital just hours after being born. He of them ever stopped looking despite how cold the trail had grown.

Years later there is some rouge attack and a civilian child was injured and taken to the hospital. Bruce does a DNA test on the blood found at the scene and concludes that the child is actually his long lost kid.

Dani was planning to sneak out of the hospital the moment the doctors stopped looking at her. Then Bruce Wayne of all people comes in and claims that she is his long lost child. She knows that this is very impossible because she is a clone, but Bruce won't listen to her and she really doesn't want to explain the clone thing to a "normal" stranger.

This does brings up a lot of questions about how Danny ended up living with the Fentons though.

[just-null]

pet..... pet au....? you have.... a pet au for the clones....?

PLEASEEEE SHARE SOME THOUGHTS AB IT😭😭😭😭❤️ I was reading a pet au Hantengu fic way back when and the person never got past chapter 3 and it's been rotting my mind. I love love love pet aus when the dynamics are just right and not weirdly predatory with the pet characters and I love your little ideas for stuff🤗🤗 Share if you feel like it, I'll be eagerly awaiting.

(Also please don't exclude Zoha in this endeavor I love that little man)

The Hantengus!! A lot of cat boys..

Context behind a lot of the language in my pet au!

[Cw! Angst(?), referenced sedation, obsessed catboys.. yandere behavior]

Upon meeting them, they're veryyy excited and sweet on you, to the point where they seem TOO familiar. As if meeting a long distant lover.. With their overly friendly greetings, all the warnings and caution from staff seem like an exaggeration, if not a complete lie.

Records show that they're not even related despite sharing eerily similar features, and having only met not too long ago. You'd never guess by how they're so perfectly coordinated. Using said coordination, they simultaneously surround you.

Constant brushes, crowding, wanting your hands on them so bad, they take whatever you're holding. It's not uncommon that they begin purring just because you're around. They quickly flip from being sweet to eager entitled of your time if allowed.

To say they're overwhelming is an understatement, but the staff practically beg you to help with the bunch.

The boys aren't complaining! They're extremely pushy and insist on staying at your place instead of the hybrid shelter, maybe a few times a week? Please!? Regardless, if you say no, you might find them in your home—and a patched up broken window—when you've been gone a while.

Ah— if you hear knocking at your door, just don't tell anyone that they're here, yeah..? Y'know what? How about you just forget about answering it at all!

Sekido is tolerant when you're around. All the fire left his body, leaving small smoldering embers. His flare ups are only a real issue if there's someone unfamiliar around or giving you a hard time. Otherwise, he's pretty content with lazing about or helping with any work you have. He likes being of use to you. He gets irritated, stressed, when you lift a finger, a habit you can tell he's used to, and swats at you for any bad habits you have. Though that goes out the window if your hand's on him. It's a wonder if he's more of a dog than a cat until he starts scratching. He's just really tired.. Karaku is mischievous but doesn't cause trouble. At least, not like he used to, not as long as he has his daily dose of you. It's like he did a complete switch, the staff say, smiling randomly and rambling in an airy tone about how this is heaven on earth! How could anyone feel down around you? It must be those charms of yours. Staying indoors is okay, but he constantly nudges you to go out with him, or entirely dragging you out. Show him around places you like to frequent so you two can experience it together, maybe have some souvenirs? Wouldn't that be fun? On the days you decline, you can find him staring at the little trinkets from past dates with fondness. Urogi always has so much he wants to tell you. He can honestly talk and pace for days without stopping if it'll keep your attention. If it doesn't, he WILL cry. His mind is faster than his mouth, and stories end up garbled and hard to follow.. Sometimes, they aren't about this life, and when referring to you, it's like he's remembering a version of you.. It always ends the same. His expression gets bleak then snaps back to blissful. A content smile replacing the strained one he wore prior as he embraces you, taking a moment to feel your weight against his. Aizetsu sits in corners and watches you through cracks in the door. You can find him somewhere in your room or general area.. looking at you.. his pupils so dilated that you barely see the blue ring at the edge. He can stand still for hours until you get up or reach for something. He's already got it for you. He's combative with Sekido for that service role. Unlike his "brother," Aizetsu's movements are measured, rushed. Like something will be taken away if he doesn't act fast, so he one ups everyone and reads you before you even ask for something. Zohakuten is annoying but doesn't try to give you a hard time. He's the most demanding, always extending his arms for you to come over and hug him. At first, you can feel the tension he holds all over his body, digging his claws into your side, then like goo, he melts. It's a double edged sword since letting go makes him twice as irritated as before. He'll brat occasionally, pushing something off a counter or banging on the windows, yelling at the stranger on the other side to get lost. No one is the victim of this more than the other four. Whereas Zohakuten would start a fight with anyone else, he just annoys the other four.

The weariness hangs heavier in their eyes than the usual hybrids, but they dont like talking about it in detail. As you could guess, prior to this overwhelming clinginess, there were rivers of agonizing desperation.

———

In this life, the boys didn't have the liberty to grow up together like usual. They were born of different parents scattered throughout the region. This wasn't the first time it happened, but they hated when it did, especially Hantengu.

Each second Hantengu's away from his boys is agony. He spent so long waiting for them to be reborn just so that they're so far away!? All he can think of are the possible ways he might die and restart the damn cycle without even having the chance to see you. He's been alive for a while now, but he's too terrified to go far on his own, so he's barely made any progress!

What if something happens and he doesn't even get to meet you? now THAT would be a fate worse than the cycle.. His caretakers are stumped on what to do with him. Any attempt at calming him down were met with opposition.

The boys are as you expect. They kept acting out in hostility and showed no sign of calming down the longer they're apart. Being moved from shelter to shelter didn't help, neither did getting handled like feral animals even if, in a way, they were.

Only the thought of you kept them going, so did the knowledge that if they found you, there's a high chance they'd find each other. You always seemed to fix everything just by being there, didn't you? So they kept hopping from shelter to shelter, some familiar, some new.

Hantengu was the first to end up in the hybrid shelter near you, then the others trickled in. It would've been decades since they've last seen each other, and based on how they're fairing, no one had it easy.

Sekido was a stray trying to stay out of shelters altogether. He did his best to keep his features hidden, both gathering info about you and the others. He made good progress, pretending to be a potential housing candidate, but he'd always get hostile with people eventually, exposing himself and having the authorities called to force him into a shelter. Each time, it felt like prison because of all the restrictions and drugs.. Like hell if this was gonna stop him. Once his limbs stop feeling like jelly, he's going to find a way out of this damn place!! Again!! In his wait, at least he can pass the time by thinking about his favorite memories of you. Karaku was mostly alright, but transferred often because his very presence made the behaviors of those around him worse. He always used the "I didn't throw the first punch" excuse, but never mentioned his constant goading and spreading seeds of doubt about forgiveness that led to agitation amongst his peers. Not only towards other hybrids but staff as well. Call it sadism or nihilism, but Karaku's favorite pass time was making everyone believe that these rehabilitation shelters were nothing but a waste. The dull, empty eyes staring back at them proved it. In reality, Karaku took pleasure in the fragility of other hybrids. It took the edge off of his own anguish. Urogi always talked about you no matter where he ended up, usually causing a wave of eye rolls. But there's always that one hybrid who doesn't know how to keep their thoughts to themselves. Thus starting Urogi's rampage, watching the red streaks of other hybrids drip down their wounds, spitting at them for daring to talk bad about you. Then came the forced transfers. He loved it, honestly. His mind floated, feeling like he was a bird again, flying to you.. then the plummet when the drugs wore off that he didn't enjoy as much. With a renewed sense of determination and a strong longing for his wings, he began yapping again. Aizetsu, like Sekido, hid his features, calm enough to stay hidden. He kept to himself, mindlessly walking anywhere and everywhere with the tiniest grain of hope that he might find you there. No terrain, weather, or event would stop him from trudging through miles of land, following his intuition to where he thinks you could be. He'd be so focused on you that he'd go days without water or food, feet covered in blisters from the endless dragging across the ground before everything went dark. Waking up in a shelter always reminded him how disappointing his body was for collapsing on him. Hm.. he'll stay and recover for now, once he feels ready, he'll take some food and go again. Zohakuten raised hell, frequently ending up in confined spaces. Because he was young, he had more restrictions to ensure his safety. That only made escaping a huge hassle.. He hated being treated like a foolish boy when he's been through horrors worse than adult scissors! The confinement and restrictions ended up being for everyone else's safety after staff realized how common Zohakuten destroyed and mangled anyone in his vicinity. A familiar prick on his skin came after his small bruised hands demolished the common area, then the heaviness of his limbs settled in. Loud thumps came from the deepest part of the shelter as he banged on the walls to be released once the drugs wore off.

Their status as "lost souls" is no secret when they began tormenting anyone who tried to house them and the employees. It seems they've met the other lost and guiding souls in the shelter before with how they interact. For better and worse, at least the guiding souls temper their mischief.

They try forming a plan on how to find you next if this shelter doesn't show any results. It'd be faster to get transferred now that they're grouped up. And like the heavens opened up, they quickly realized that won't be necessary anymore once they catch a glimpse of the light they yearned for these three recent lifetimes, you. It's you.. You!

Any and all complaints are cut short when they make a habit out of gathering near the front glass of the shelter, waiting for you to walk in or pass by. Their demeanor shift is so sudden the caretakers worry they might've accidentally dropped some pills into their food. It's not like that, unless your presence counts as a drug!

[untitledgoosegay]

re last reblog I do see fanfic culture pushing/replicating a certain model of "what trauma looks like," "how trauma works"

this is a problem across all areas of society obviously, but transformative works are, well, transformative. they're about crafting and modifying narratives where the fan-creator sees a flaw or a lack -- often for the better! don't get me wrong, I've done my fair share of "I take a hammer and I fix the canon," it's the main thing that gets my creative gears spinning -- but what happens when that "flaw" is simply a narrative not conforming to popular expectations?

some people just don't get PTSD from events that sound obviously traumatic. they're not masking, and they're not coping; they just straight-up didn't get the permanently-locked stress-response that defines PTSD. they walk away from a horrible experience going "well, that sucked, but it's over now." some people do get PTSD from events most people wouldn't find traumatic. we don't really know why some people get PTSD and others don't. but fandom has an idea of events that must be traumatizing, of a "correct" way to portray trauma. you see the problems with this lack of understanding in e.g. fans pressuring the devs of Baldur's Gate 3 to add dialogue where the player character badgers Halsin about his own feelings on his abuse -- because he must be traumatized, and his trauma must fit a certain mold and presentation of sexual trauma, under the mistaken impression that anything outside that narrow window is somehow "wrong" and disrespectful or even harmful to survivors.

take, for another example, the very common trope of a traumatized character who hates touch or sex "learning" to like touch or sex as a part of their healing process. certainly that can be healing for some people; other people will never like, or want, touch or sex, because of trauma or because they just don't. the assumption that someone who doesn't want sex or doesn't like to be touched must be traumatized, must be suffering from this perceived lack, is seriously harmful -- to asexual people, to people with sensory issues around touch, and to people for whom healing from trauma means freedom to refuse sex or touch.

and there's a secondary trope, one that's slightly more thoughtful but ultimately repeats the problem -- that once someone has learned that their boundaries will be respected, they'll feel it's safe to soften those boundaries. once they feel safe refusing touch or sex, they'll feel comfortable allowing it on their own terms. but many people don't, and many people won't! many people will simply never want to be touched, and never want sex, and they are not suffering or broken or lacking because of it. the idea that proving you'll respect someone's boundaries entitles you to test those boundaries -- the paradox is obvious, and yet this is something i've seen hurt (re-traumatize) people i care for.

people are imperfect victims. people don't heal in the ways you expect. many people have positive memories of their abuse, of their abusers. many people hurt others in the course of their trauma, in ways that can't easily be unpacked in a 5k oneshot. very few narratives of trauma and recovery actually fit the ones put forward by popular children's media and romance novels -- which are the ones I most see replicated in fandom spaces, because they provide the clearest narrative and easiest catharsis, and so they're easy and soothing to reach for.

that's not necessarily a bad thing! i am not immune to goopy romance tropes. i am not immune to teary catharsis. not every fic has to grapple with ugly realities. but there's a problem when these narratives become predominant, when people think they're accurate and realistic depictions of trauma, when the truth of trauma is unpleasant and uncomfortable, and doesn't fit any single narrative, let alone one of comforting catharsis

[laxxarian]

Clockwork has a Human Disguise

Clockwork saved someone many years ago and in return, that said someone owes Clockwork a favor.

After many long years, Clockwork finally knows what he wanted from the man so he went and asked to have his looks be copied so Clockwork could use it as a disguise. Said looks like Ra's Al Ghul.

Now that Clockwork can go in and out of the tower to visit Danny with a human disguise, he can finally nag and guide the boy more often.

But this is also because he's bored and wanted to mess with a certain family in Gotham.

Tucker or Sam would sometimes Livestream or record on their cameras meanwhile Danny would be in the background....so is Clockwork chasing Danny and giving him "tea" that looks strangely like the Lazarus Waters.

Meanwhile in Gotham, it was Damian who had seen the video first and when Bruce saw how obsessed the boy was with it, he watched it too.

And then Tim, then Jason, and then the whole family watched it.

They watched Clockwork who looked so much like Ra's that it might actually be him, they heard Danny call him Gramps or Old Man. They heard the said Old Man giving a speech about proper safety and healthy diets.

The family had to visit the real Ra's and he said, "Yes...that is me..." because Clockwork told him too.

The real Ra's Al Ghul didn't care what Clockwork was doing, just as long as Clockwork won't truly reveal or expose him.

[borgialucrezia]

ARTHUR SHELBY & LIZZIE STARK PEAKY BLINDERS — 2x02

[albon-no]

saw that photo of taylor and literally dropped everything to draw her

[amyrosedaily]

Day 63: Stupid

It's ok to be wrong sometimes.......right?

PLEASE! Donate to help save Safaa and her family! | Main post | Gofundme

[megalomaniacz]

my friend who i flirt/fight with said she wanted me to do some fanfic based us and she’s so academic rival!abby coded so enjoy some texts courtesy of my frenemy with benefits

[changbunnies]

Moonstruck (18+)

♡ Pairing: Changbin x Ghost Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: very loosely inspired by corpse bride, horror in a goofy + silly + fluffy sort of way, ghost / human relationship, love at first sight vibes, smut, takes place vaguely during a time where ppl still use landlines more predominantly than cellphones

♡ Word Count: 6.5k

♡ Summary: Changbin is a scaredy cat– and despite that, he likes to read to the deceased in the cemetery, likes to help the souls that may linger there feel less lonely, likes to let them know they aren’t forgotten. His poems of choice are sweet things, full of love and joy– and his utterances of true love stir you; a soul who died before knowing love, and who craves it even in death. And Changbin decides, then and there, that he wants to give you what you couldn’t have in life.

♡ Warnings: discussions about death ofc (reader is quite literally dead and a ghost lol), i thought making reader the ghost instead of bin would be a fun lil twist as that usually isn't the case in fics like these? just wanted to try somethin a lil different :')

♡ Smut Warnings: sweet + tender smut because i'm a yearner for bin first and foremost!, no intended dom/sub dynamics but i did write a lot of bin begging so :), pet names (baby, honey), exhibitionism, voyeurism, some nipple play, mutual masturbation while cuddling

♡ Notes: my kinktober opened up dark but we are returning to standard form with my precious sweet binnie!! i did originally have something dark planned for bin too but i scrapped it pretty early on cause it didn't feel right lol i couldn't do it!! also the poem binnie is reading at the beginning of the fic is "since feeling is first" by e.e. cummings!

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

Changbin curses the autumn sun for setting so early– why on earth is it already so dark at 6 o’clock?!

The full moon hangs over him, and gosh, he wishes he could've gotten here earlier in the day– maybe then he wouldn’t still be here, in the local cemetery at night, with nothing but his poem book in hand.

He wishes even more that he at least had a flashlight– but the batteries were drained in the one he has sitting in his car's glove box, and it's not like he can leave spares in there; that's dangerous! So all he can do now is keep turning in the moonlight, trying to get it to hit the page of his book just right so he can keep reading. 

Perhaps the reason he's here is silly, but Changbin fully believes in ghosts. Well, to be more precise, he thinks that there are many souls in the world, and that not every soul is here physically. 

Most souls, he thinks, depart for a better place when their flesh dies, but he also thinks there are many that don’t– many that stick around because there is something they still wish to do, or because they have someone they still wish to see. 

That’s what always brings him here when he can spare a moment from his busy life. Because he believes that if spirits do still linger in this world like he thinks they do, if they haven’t yet found peace and moved on, they must be lonely. 

It must be sad– to exist in the world you once knew, but be unable to interact with it the way you used to. For others to no longer be able to see you, touch you, or hear you.. He doesn’t want anyone, alive or otherwise, to feel forgotten or ignored. And if he can make a difference somehow, in whatever small and silly way it is, he’ll do it; because he’d want someone to do it for him. 

Naturally, he didn’t intend to still be here at night; he just got caught up at work, and arrived here later than he typically would. But still, he didn’t want to just turn around and go home– he promised last week that he’d come back today to read! 

And maybe ghosts, or spirits, or whatever you want to call them aren’t real; maybe he spends his time here reading to nothing and no one. But if there’s even a chance that someone can hear him, and who looks forward to the days he returns to keep them company, then he has to keep his promises. 

Still, he’d be lying if he said he isn’t more than a little freaked out right now. He’s been here during the day plenty of times, and you’d think that’d mean he wouldn’t be scared of the place at night, but oh, you’d be so sorely mistaken. 

He jumps every time the crisp, freshly fallen autumn leaves rustle from the wind, and from every shadow cast from the newly bare tree branches. He constantly glances over his shoulder, alerted from every small noise, whether it be an owl hooting or a cricket chirping.

And when a black cat appeared out of nowhere to bump against his leg, he let out the shrillest shriek before erupting into a fit of sneezes. He even jumped out of his skin from accidentally kicking a can while walking– and why is there litter in a cemetery anyways? Whoever left their trash here is so disrespectful! 

Suffice it to say, Changbin really wants to get out of here– but there’s only one more batch of graves he hasn’t read over yet, and he doesn’t want to skip them over. It wouldn’t feel fair to them, especially not if they're waiting for him– the last thing he wants to do is disappoint someone.

“H-Hi everyone! Changbinnie’s back to read again, uhm– s-sorry I came so late, I’ll still read to you like I promised! J-Just give me a sec,” he says, trying to temper the fear in his voice as he continues to adjust the position of his book in the moonlight. Finally, he finds the perfect position for the moon to make the words in his book clear, and for the shadow he himself casts to not obscure them.

He takes one more tentative glance around, takes a breath to settle his nerves before he clears his throat to start. And thankfully, the fear does naturally start to dissipate a bit as he reads– serves as a good enough distraction from his eerie surroundings. "Since feeling is first, who pays any attention to the syntax of things, will never wholly kiss you. Wholly to be a fool while–"

Changbin pauses when he hears an unfamiliar sound, goosebumps erupting all along his skin as he looks up from his book. It was a soft, light and airy sound– almost like a voice, though he’s certain it couldn’t have been; because when he looks around, he doesn't see anyone. He’s as alone as he’s been from the start; so he assumes he's just psyching himself out, mistaking the steadily blowing wind for something it isn’t. 

"Aish, it's nothing! Stop scaring yourself!" he whispers to himself before he continues to recite the words on the page. But he pauses yet again when he hears fallen leaves crinkle and a brittle tree branch snap just feet away from him. It spooks him good, it does– and he lets out an awkward laugh at himself when he realizes it was the black cat he saw earlier that made the sound; hopefully it keeps enough distance that he doesn't get the sneezes again.

Looking away from the cat that is currently working overtime to fray his nerves, he turns his attention back to his book. There's only a tiny bit of the poem left to go, and Changbin is confident he can get through it! No more being a scaredy cat over the little things, no more trembling breaths and anxious stutters– he can do this!

"The best gesture of my brain is less than your eyelids' flutter, which says we are for each other; then laugh, leaning back in my arms. For life's not a paragraph, and death, I think, is no parenthesis."

With a sigh of relief to be finished, he closes his book and prepares to bid the inhabitants of the cemetery, that may or may not actually exist, a pleasant goodbye; and a swear that he's never staying past sundown again. He’ll stay longer next time, he promises, but he has to go home before he loses his mind. 

He really hopes they do exist– he doesn't want to think he stuck around while scared out of his wits for no reason; he hopes someone heard him, and was comforted by his presence. And honestly, he thinks he deserves a pat on the back after all the trials he's gone through in the last 30 minutes!

And as he finishes tucking his poem book in his arm and looks up, he sees someone. Translucent, hazy, floating, just a few feet in front of him– he can see straight through them, can see all the dark trees and short, stone headstones that live in the ground that the figure should obscure were they physically here.

Changbin blinks, almost wanting to cartoonishly rub his eyes and slap his cheeks to make sure he's seeing properly and not losing his mind like he fears. What he does instead is shriek, positively jumps out of his skin once again as he drops his book and falls back on his behind from the fright.

He scrambles backwards, ducks behind a nearby headstone and brings a hand over his racing heart. He takes a few breaths, does his best to calm down before he slowly peeks out from behind the headstone to see if the figure is still there. 

He doesn't see anyone anymore– was he just seeing things? He has been really scared, so he doesn't think it impossible that his mind would start tricking him. But what if he really saw a ghost? The thought makes goosebumps rise on his skin again– God, he needs to go home already. 

"Hello? Can you hear me?" he hears a voice, airy and otherworldly, just behind him. His breath hitches, and hesitantly, slowly, he starts to turn toward the source of the voice. You float there, brows furrowed as you call to him, glowing ever so slightly in the palest shade of blue. 

A chill runs down his spine, and it's not just from how frightened he is– it's because cold air is quite literally radiating off of you. "Y-You– You're– You're a–" You're a ghost, he's trying to say, but the word catches in his throat. It doesn't help that his teeth are chattering now– he can even see his breath with every word he manages to choke out.

And yes, he already thought ghosts were real– the whole reason he comes here to comfort spirits is because he believes in them! But he’s never actually seen one before, nor heard their disembodied voices calling to him. And now that it’s actually happening, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

“You can hear me! I knew it! You can see me too, can’t you?” you exclaim joyously, clapping your hands together in utter delight. You’re less transparent than before, your form less blurry– but you don’t look solid either. If he stuck his hand out to touch you, he’s sure it’d pass right through you. 

He swallows as he watches you dart side to side in your glee, the motions so smooth it’s unnatural. You look around his age, he thinks, though it’s impossible for him to tell exactly how old you are– or rather, were. Your hair is wispy, floats around you in a way reminiscent of being underwater; your long dress does too, light and delicate in appearance. 

“I’m sorry for scaring you, Changbin,” you tell him earnestly as you float down to his eye level, “I didn’t mean to, I just got so excited you could finally hear me– I'm so happy!” 

“You– you know my name?” Changbin questions, bewildered– honestly, he feels like he’s going to pass out. “Of course I do! You come here every week to read to me,” you reply with a giggle, as if the idea that you wouldn’t know his name is a silly one.

“O-Oh, right, yeah, of course, that makes sense,” he mutters. He’s still shocked, but he’s not as scared as before, and he manages to relax just a little. “You, uhm– you listen to me read often then..?” he follows up hesitantly; and it’s probably such a silly question, but you’ll have to forgive him because he’s never had a conversation with a ghost before. 

“Yes! I love when you come to visit and read your poems, it always makes me happy,” you tell him, adjusting your position so you’re sitting down with him– though you aren’t actually sitting on the dirt like he is, but levitating off the ground.

You introduce yourself after that, smile happily when he repeats it, because it’s been oh so long since someone said your name. “If you’re always here, why couldn’t I see you before?” Changbin can’t help but ask after, because now that the fear is dissipating he’s full of questions he wants to ask you.

“Well, the conditions have to be right! You can’t see me when it’s bright out, and you never stay 'til dark. And now I know why, scaredy cat,” you tease him, giggling when he pouts and huffs. You honestly find it endearing that someone as seemingly strong as Changbin is so easily frightened by little things.

“Hey, you’d be scared too!” he complains, though he can’t help but smile as you keep giggling at him. He never expected to befriend a ghost, but you’re obviously a kind spirit, and your delight to be talking to him is evident. And now that he’s over the shock and the fear, and really looks at you, he thinks you’re pretty too– beautiful, even. 

Is that strange? Maybe; but you are still a person at the end of the day. You float, you’re a little transparent, you glow pale blue and cold air surrounds you, but you’re still a person.

And at the same time, he can’t help but feel sad too– death comes for everyone, he knows, but it feels unfair that someone like you is already gone from this world. Someone as young, kind, and beautiful as you should’ve lived a long, full life.

“You need to have strong emotions to manifest, y’know? And the moon helps– when it's full like this, it gives me more energy than I usually have,” you continue to explain when your giggling subsides, and Changbin hums contemplatively, thinking for a moment before he responds.

“You have strong emotions then? Something that keeps you here?” It makes sense that you would– as far as he knows, strong emotions are the only things tethering spirits to the physical world; so if you’re not at rest, it has to be because there’s something within you that feels unresolved, something you needed or wanted but never obtained. 

Tentatively you nod, fiddling with your fingers and averting your gaze slightly. “I do, but.. It’s– it’s silly,” you mumble, and Changbin’s previous lighthearted, curious expression shifts, suddenly turning serious as he gazes at you with a slight frown.

“If it mattered to you– if it still matters to you, it’s not silly,” he says, and the sincerity in which he says it would make your heart race if you were still alive. If you’re being entirely honest, you’re in love with Changbin– and that’s part of the problem.

When you were alive, all you’d ever wanted was love– to meet someone that knocked you off your feet with just a glance, someone sweet, sincere, and tender. Someone that you could marry someday, maybe start a family with while living together in a quaint little idyllic house. 

But that never happened– and the sense of despair and unfulfillment you felt from having your dreams taken away from you are what kept you here. You didn’t know what to do when you realized what happened to you– spent your days wailing in frustration and sadness to the few other spirits inhabiting the cemetery with you over the unfair circumstances. 

What were you supposed to do? How were you supposed to find peace and move on? Maybe the only way would be to learn to accept it– accept that your dreams would never come true, and just let them go. You didn’t want to, but if you kept holding onto them, who knows when you’d finally move on from this world? 

And around the same time you were grappling with such thoughts and feelings is when you first saw Changbin, who came to the cemetery for no reason other than to give you and the other inhabitants some company. And he wasn’t talking only to you, but it always felt like he was– like every word that left his lips was entirely for you alone. 

“I’m here for you, you’re not alone as long as Changbin is here,” “This poem is my favorite, I hope you like it too,” “Did you have a good day today? It’s okay if you didn’t– Binnie’ll hopefully make it better!” 

That’s all it took, really– and suddenly, you weren’t bound to this world because you never knew love; you were bound to this world because you felt it too much. You love him; not just because of his sweet personality, but every little detail about him– from the swoop and curl of his hair, to his chubby cheeks, to his cute, pretty and pouty lips. 

And you long to kiss him, but Changbin is alive, and you very much aren’t anymore– and there’s no way he’ll fall in love with a ghost. Still, you believe him when he says that what binds you here isn’t silly– or that he won’t think so, at least. 

“It’s just.. Well, I can’t have what I want, I know I can’t, but I still want it anyways; like, even though I should just let it go, I can’t bring myself to. I think that’s why I’m still here,” you tell him, deciding it’s best to keep your desires down to their vaguest parts.

Changbin is sweet, and he looks at you with so much care that you’re certain he’d be understanding and sympathetic, but it’s probably for the best that you don’t pour your heart out beyond that. 

“Is there really no way for you to have what you want? If there’s anything I can do to help, you can tell me! I’d do my best,” he expresses sincerely, and though you can’t physically cry anymore, it almost makes you feel like you will. He’s just too sweet, you can’t take it.

“M-Maybe, but I wouldn’t ask for it,” you reply, and his brows furrow a little. “Why not? You don’t have to tell me if you really don’t want to, but I hope you know that I mean it when I say I'd be happy to help you," Changbin says, smile so patient, gentle and sweet that it if you were still alive, your cheeks would definitely be heating up right now. 

Should you give it a shot? What's the worst that could happen? You're already dead, so it's not like you can die from embarrassment if he shuts you down. The worst he can say is no– and that would be okay too, because maybe with his rejection you'd finally be able to let go of what keeps you here.

“You could.. kiss me?” you say after a moment of hesitation, and Changbin almost squeaks from how surprised he is, blinks at you with the cutest flustered expression you’ve ever seen.

“Th-That’s– that’s what you want?” he stutters out, and even in the low light of the moon, you can tell he’s blushing, the soft pink spreading over his cheeks and crawling up to the tips of his ears.

“It’s– it’s what I wanted when I was alive. To kiss someone I love, I mean,” you answer, and it gets Changbin’s heart racing. Not just that someone as pretty as you, ghost or not, wants to kiss him, but the implication that you love him that definitely wasn’t missed by him. 

“It was the poems, wasn’t it?” he says with a bashful little downturned smile a moment later, and you laugh, in your delightfully light and airy way as you nod. “They helped. But really, I just think you’re very cute– and very sweet.”

It’s a little strange, being complimented like this by a ghost, and learning that said ghost has very deep rooted feelings for him– but he likes it. And maybe it’s a little unorthodox, but he’d be happy to give you what you want; especially if it will help you find peace.

“I’ll kiss you,” he tells you, and it’s not because he feels obligated, or like he should– it’s because, believe it or not, he sincerely wants to. He thinks you're pretty, you're sweet and earnest, and you love him– so who cares if you're a ghost; why shouldn't he kiss you?

“A-Are you sure? You really don’t have to,” you assure him, and Changbin smiles at you as he nods, entirely certain. “I know I don’t have to. I want to kiss you.” Your spiritual heart soars and burns with joy– and slowly, timidly, you return his smile before you float your way closer to him, and reach your hand out to touch his cheek.

He doesn’t feel your touch, not really– just the cold that pours from you. Regardless, he closes his eyes for you, purses his lips and slightly tilts his head the way he would if he were kissing anyone else. And again, he doesn’t feel your lips, but the cold– that is, until the feeling suddenly starts to become fuller. 

Slowly, he can begin to feel the way your hand rests on his cheek, can feel your lips slotted against his. He can feel your other hand resting on his chest, right over his heart, can feel the weight of your body on his lap, and he shivers– not because of the cold, but because he can actually feel you now.

Instinctively, he moves his hands to try and touch you– and is pleasantly surprised to find he can. His hands don’t phase through you like he thought they would earlier– he can feel you under his fingertips, as if you’re just as corporeal as he himself is. And so he holds you close, kisses you slow and sweet, over and over until he’s out of breath. 

“You’re still here,” he can’t help but whisper when he pulls away; he half expected you to dissipate the moment you got what you wanted, though he’s not sure if that’s actually how it's supposed to work. And he’s left with a strange feeling– on one hand, he’s sad for you because he really did want to help you move on. On the other hand, he likes that you’re still here, that he can still see you and feel you. 

In reality, you feel like his kiss tethered you even more to the physical world. You’re the happiest you’ve ever been, and instead of it giving you the peace you needed to move on, it bound you here stronger. You're filled with a strong desire to remain here, to be with Changbin, and you feel that it has made you manifest more than you’d ever been able to before. 

You’ve tried many times before, but have never been able to manifest yourself this much; to the point that not only could you be seen and heard, but felt– and whether it’s because the full moon is helping, or because Changbin’s kiss gave you more energy and purpose, or a mix of both, you’re happy.

“I think I like you too much to move on.” you tell him, and he giggles as he squeezes you closer, his nose scrunching cutely whilst he hugs you. 

“I’m sorry– I feel like I shouldn’t be, but I’m happy you’re still here,” he says, and you shake your head, returning his smile as you share the sentiment. “I’m happy I’m still here too.” 

It’s a bit strange, having a ghost for a partner. Sharing a kiss attached you to him; and no longer bound to your grave, but to Changbin himself, now you go wherever he goes. You don’t need to always be right on him, of course– but you do have to be close; and every time one of you steps too far out of that radius, you always end up snapping back to him. 

It’s a generous radius, really– you can go several miles before the invisible tether connecting you snaps you back to his side. It’s more than enough for you to exist in his house while he goes to work– and really, he’s happy to share his home with you; he’s sure it beats staying in the cemetery all day, every day. 

And even when he can’t see you, whether because the sun is too bright in the sky or because you don’t have enough energy to manifest that day, he can feel you– and you make yourself known in little ways. His house is always cold now, but it’s especially cold when you’re nearby. You flicker his lights and turn his tv screen to static to get his attention, or leave a message in the steam from his hot showers on the mirror. 

He’ll get a phantom phone call to his landline, where all that exists on the other line is static– but even if he can’t hear it, he’s sure at that moment you’re saying something sweet. And while he's mostly used to these occurrences now, he'll still jump when he hears a sudden noise before he remembers it’s you; a tapping on the wood of his bed frame, usually– 8 knocks meant to signify “I love you.”

Nights of the full moon are always when you can manifest yourself the fullest and easiest, and you both take full advantage of the time you have before you eventually start to become hazy and transparent again. Tonight is one of those nights; the moon hanging high, bright and beautiful, illuminating his dark room in the same pretty, pale blue that glows off you. 

“Baby, please–! You’re so cold, warn me first!” Changbin cries when you first touch him. He already knows you’re not going to waste any time in getting to touch him when you first manifest, but the chill that radiates off you still jolts him every time.

“You’re just so warm,” you muse happily as you snake your limbs around him, sap him for all the warmth he’s worth under his fluffy comforter, “my big teddy bear.” He huffs, but smiles as he does– he can’t actually be upset with you, after all. 

“You should let me take your warmth anyways– you were so mean, ignoring me all day,” you pout as you snuggle into him, burying your head in the warm crook of his neck.

“Hey, hey! Don’t say that, that’s not fair! You know I couldn’t see you!” he wails dramatically, and you have to make an effort not to giggle, bury your face further into him so he can’t see you smiling.

Of course, you know it’s not his fault in the slightest that he couldn’t see your or hear you earlier today, but you still like to tease him over it just a little– his reactions to it are always so cute. “So mean,” you repeat, your voice muffled by his sweater.

He knows that you’re doing it to get a rise out of him, and you know that he knows. But he likes doing this with you– it’s silly fun, and he loves the precious smile that spreads on your face when he plays along and inevitably dotes on you while begging for your forgiveness.

“Aigoo, my baby is really upset. Guess Binnie just has to make it up to you, huh?” he says, and you lift your head just enough to peek an eye at him. “Tell Changbinnie what you want, he’ll give it to you. He’s really sorry,” he entices you further, and the cute smile he was expecting and loves so much makes its full appearance.

“Want a kiss,” you say, pursing your lips at him in that cute duck shape as you wait for him to comply. He tries to coo at you, but it comes out more like a giggle before he’s lifting his head from the pillow to kiss you, tender and sweet.

“Do you forgive me now?” he asks when he pulls away, and you hum as you pretend to think about it. “Mm, I don’t know. I think I might need another one to decide.”

Changbin fully laughs then, shakes his head and mutters something about you being cute before he kisses you again. He shifts onto his side as he kisses you, making it easier for you to tangle your legs with his. He hisses when your cold toes touch the backs of warm calves, and you giggle an apology, though he knows you’re not actually sorry about it at all.

You always tell him how much you love his warmth, and how it radiates from every inch of him. And he’ll pout and shout, half-heartedly complain when you surprise him by touching him with your cold digits, simply because he knows it makes you laugh; you both know that in reality, he’s happy to be your personal heater.

He shivers when you snake your hands under his sweater; your hands aren’t as cold as they were when you first touched him anymore, but it’s still enough for goosebumps to follow the path of your fingers– or maybe he just has goosebumps because he likes you touching him.

Changbin gasps when you brush over his peaking, puffy nipples, and you take that moment to slip your tongue into this mouth. He moans when you pinch them between your fingers, tweak and twist just enough to have him squirming.

“Honey,” he breathes in a near whine when you pull away from him to kiss over his jaw, and the scar that sits on his chin, while your fingers continue to play with his body. 

“I missed you,” you speak against his skin as you press kisses along his neck, “I heard you earlier– saw you touching yourself in the shower. I wanted you so bad, but I couldn’t do anything about it.” He whimpers at that, squeezes you where his hand rests on your waist. 

Naturally, the fact that you can hear him and see him even when he can’t see or hear you always exists in the back of his mind. Every time he starts to touch himself, it’s something he considers– and he even likes it; likes knowing you’re there, watching and listening.

“I’m sorry, couldn’t help it,” he whines an apology, though he knows he doesn’t have to. You’ve both talked about it, of course– how you like watching him, and how he likes being watched in turn. There’s something naughty about it, and it always leaves him feeling extra desired and sexy when you later tell him what you saw, how much you want him because of it. 

And when he feels a sudden chill run along his body and down the length of his spine, is hit with the inexplicable sensation of being watched, he knows it’s you. It always fuels him, makes him fist his cock faster and run his mouth, hoping you like everything he’s spilling. 

Really, it’s no wonder that you always jump his bones the minute you can. Changbin thinks he’d go insane if the situation were the opposite; if he could see you touching yourself, could hear every little noise of pleasure you release, and not be able to join no matter how bad he wanted to. He’s already desperate for more intimacy with you as is– he doesn’t think he’d be able to take it. 

“Can you do it again? Touch yourself with me right here?” you ask him, and he can’t help the way his face flushes as you continue, “I want you to see me watching you this time.” You can feel the way his heart thumps in response to your request, how it picks up speed ever so slightly before he answers. “Y-Yeah, I can– I can do that for you, honey.”

You meant it when you said you like watching Changbin get off. You like watching his honeyed skin slowly take on more and more pink as he strokes his cock. You like watching his broad chest puff out, his stomach clench, his toned arms flex with every motion he makes.

You like watching the sweat build on his brow, and like to listen to his moans become more breathy and whiny as he gets closer and closer to release. And though Changbin isn’t naked now, you’ll still enjoy watching all the same; because he's beautiful, and handsome, and so utterly perfect when he's feeling good.

He reaches between your bodies, manages to get his pajama pants and underwear down just enough to release his still hardening cock from their confines. He bites his lip as he takes the short length in his hand, looks down at himself as he strokes it slowly before looking back at you.

There’s still enough lingering sensitivity from before that he squirms more than usual, but that’s not all there is to it– it's your attentive stare, the way you gaze into his eyes as he moans before you trail them away to watch him stroke himself, and back again. And you’re so close, body so tangled with his, that his fist keeps bumping into your thigh with each pump of his cock. 

Changbin keens when you kiss him, so affectionate and tender that it makes his head spin. You can feel his thighs twitch as he starts to stroke himself faster, and you pull away to watch for a few moments before you tilt your head back up to kiss him again. He's fully hard now, dripping pre-cum so steadily that the glide of his hand becomes slick and effortless.

He whimpers when you pinch his nipples again, parts his lips so you can slip your tongue back into his mouth. His breathing becomes steadily harsher and uneven, his every moan and whimper muffled by your lips against his. He brings his other hand to your ass, squeezes it as he pulls you even closer to his body, as if the fact that you're not already mere inches apart with your limbs tangled together is enough for him.

And truly, he can't get enough of having you close like this. The way you kiss him, touch him, look at him, all while he’s stroking his cock for you– it really does something to him; makes him feel so good and so desired that he swears he could cum purely from the intimacy of it alone.

“You too, please?” Changbin pleads in a breathy exhale the next time you pull back from kissing him, “Please, want to watch you too.”

“Yeah? You want to watch me?” you smile, almost giggle from the eager nod and the whiny, desperate “please, want it so bad,” he gives in response. You’re sweet to your Binnie, oblige him in an instant, and he watches with eager eyes and bated breath as you dip your hand between your bodies.

Even with your dress already hiked all the way up your thighs, you’re so closely pressed to him that he can’t get a clear sight of your pussy; but watching your hand will be enough of a view for him. He'll be able to tell what you're doing, and that's all he really needs.  

All you can reach while this close and tangled together with Changbin is your clit, and he watches you shudder at the first bit of stimulation to it from your fingers. He mimics what you’d done– alternates between watching your face and your hand, and God, every time your eyes meet again it takes his breath away. 

It’s not the same as if you had a physical body like his– your face doesn’t flush, you don't sweat from exertion, and you don’t grow breathless the way he does, but you feel the pleasure all the same. He can tell from the furrow of your brow, the tremble of your body, and the bite of your lip as you gaze at him.

And you're so pretty, face so close to his that your foreheads touch, that his every breath tickles you. "Oh my god, baby–" he whimpers when you start to moan with him, picking up the pace of your hand when he does, matching his speed.

It makes him dizzy– because when he closes his eyes, he can pretend he’s inside you; pretend that the sloppy, squelching sounds his fist creates are from your pussy instead. He can pretend that when you moan and whimper, it’s because he's stretching you out perfectly and hitting your spot just right. 

He holds your gaze when he opens his eyes again, completely stops watching the motion of your fingers between your legs so he can strictly observe you, take in your pretty face and how you look when you're feeling good with him. It’s intimate, staring at you like this; it makes him squeeze his cock tighter, the motion of his fist quickly becoming erratic as he drives himself closer to release. 

“Does it– do you feel good?” Changbin asks, because even though he knows, he still wants to hear you say it. “Do you like this? Tell me– please tell me.” 

“Feels so good, Binnie, love this, love you so much– you can’t see it, but I always touch myself with you like this, always make myself cum watching you,” you tell him, and he whimpers from your admission, high-pitched and squeaky. 

“Oh, ‘m so close– will you cum with me? Please, need you to cum with me,” Changbin whines and pleads, every inch of his body trembling as he tries to hold his orgasm back long enough to hear your answer. 

“I will, ‘m gonna cum for you, Binnie, just for you,” you promise, reaching your free hand out to cup his face, keeping your eyes locked with his as you watch each other unravel. Your paces are frantic now, bodies bucking together with every combined motion of your hands between your tangled legs. 

You lean forward to kiss him just as your high takes you, and it sends him right over the edge with you, eyes rolling back before they flutter closed. Noises of pleasure muffled by each other’s lips, his hips jolt as his cum spills over his fist, onto your thighs and the hand you have nestled between them. 

He’s sure some of it got on his comforter too, but he doesn’t care– he just keeps kissing you as he comes down from his high, because despite how breathless he is, it's all he wants to do. “I love you so much,” he tells you after another sweet kiss, and you smile at him, tell him you love him too as you wipe the sweat sticking his curly hair to his forehead away. 

You stay like that the rest of the night; tangled together, hugging each other close and kissing tenderly until Changbin’s fatigue prevents him from doing so any longer. He falls asleep like that, holding you to his body as much as he can; and even when your physical form starts to dissipate with the rising of the sun, you stay right against him.

When he wakes in the morning, he can’t see you anymore, but he knows you’re there. He tells you he loves you, and he smiles when you reply with your 8 little knocks to his bed frame. He talks to you throughout his morning, as he always does, because even if he can’t see you, he knows you’re listening. 

And when he decides to go back to the cemetery to read to the other spirits that still linger there, as he promised them he would, you go with him. He saves your grave for last, and you watch as he puts flowers on your headstone before he settles in to read to you; and even when he can’t see you because the sun is just too bright, he can feel you there, sitting next to him and listening to his poems. 

When he’s finished reading, he’ll feel a sudden touch of cold on his cheek, and he’ll know it’s from you kissing him. He’ll smile, place his hand over the spot and tell you again that he loves you. And when Changbin returns home, and the light of the moon helps you manifest again, he’ll kiss you all over and squeeze you tight, with a million promises of forever on his lips.

[idliketobeatree]

Here is one of the best friends he's made in what seems like forever; she's so open and sweet, beautiful and brilliant. It was inevitable, he thinks, that Niko Sasaki would effortlessly endear herself to Charles like a lost younger sister.

(And that is another story entirely, but not one for Edwin to tell.)

He finds it contradistinctive, Niko Sasaki becoming a new source and the easiest target of Charles' spontaneous, affectionate smiles — different than watching him stumble around Crystal. It's well-nigh surprising just how secure Edwin feels, observing their budding friendship, the phantom echo of it spreading around his chest like a slow warmth from a hearth. He harbours no jealousy or hurt at the frequency with which their more private conversations take place. He does not mind the way Niko wraps her hand around Charles' arm as they walk, not one bit, when his best friend's sole attention is focused on her excited chatter. He can thoroughly relate, after all.

As a matter of fact, Edwin suspects that the only thing he'll have to worry about is stifling an inelegant snort when they're all descending a hill in the middle of a legwork-heavy case and Charles picks Niko up for an impromptu piggyback ride.

"No no no no, put me down!", her voice carries over their heads, but Niko's shrieking protest dies in her throat just as quickly as it came to life, turning into an appreciative whistle at the view. In front of them, Crystal turns on her heel and raises her eyebrows in amusement.

"You're that desperate to be the last at home?"

"Please, we'll be there faster than you lot. Right, Niko?" Charles, ever the multitasker, uses his shrug to adjust the grip on Niko's swaying legs. "Edwin?"

He dares to look in their direction, dreading... precisely double the amount of puppy eyes sent his way. His lips twitch in a helpless smile.

"I must agree. The Charles Express is quite a commendable machine. I would not underestimate it, Crystal."

Charles barks out a laugh. Whatever expression Niko must've had on her face breaks through Crystal's composure; she, too, cracks up, a spring in her step as she turns to walk forward again.

"Can barely feel her, can't I? Lighter than my backpack," Charles says, matter-of-factly.

"It's not a race."

"It could be a race."

"I'm not going to race you down the hill in these platforms, be serious—"

"That doesn't sound like a definite no," Niko pipes in.

"Take them off, then," offers Charles.

Edwin glances up at the orange sun set against the milky autumn sky, to his left; the brightest thing on the horizon. He hears her gasps of delight at Charles' cheeky step through the trunk in their way. Something inside him has been shifting and smoothing out for quite a while. Edwin doesn't know how long it will last or what the destination will be. All he knows is that the slope hits his feet once or twice at most.

One afternoon she invites them to watch Scooby Doo together. It's the first time they've gathered as a trio, and Edwin immediately understands why this hasn't happened before when Niko unlocks the door to her room. The bed they usually end up on is narrow to say the least, why hadn't he noticed that before, but it seems too late to make a flimsy excuse and eloign himself from the picture. They were long overdue.

Charles, who looks about ready to turn into an orb of post-case tension, has no qualms about using the threshold for a shimmering quick wardrobe change. He appears right at home, comfortable, downright domestic, in socks, trousers and a polo shirt, sliding his suspenders down and trailing after Niko who heads for the coat hanger.

What Edwin doesn't expect, apart from the rather tight fit for three people - or rather two ghost boys and one living girl - is Niko giving him a knowing look over Charles' head as he unceremoniously flops down on the bed. His groan, which prompts Niko to pat him sympathetically on said head, makes Edwin snap his open mouth shut, suddenly flustered.

He waits politely, pulling down his knitted vest and admiring the decorative sequins sewn onto a flowery cushion, deliberately not looking at the long line of Charles sprawled on the neatly tucked in duvet. He half-listens to Niko as she chatters on, something about needing to show them the more modern rendition of their Mystery Inc. detectives, grabbing her laptop from the desk and sitting down in the very middle, hip-checking Charles' side. Charles sluggishly lifts himself and rolls onto his back, pushing himself up, shoulders halfway up the headboard, neck supported by a plush pillow, hands folded across his chest and long, long legs crossed at the ankles. He must have done this several times now, Edwin's lungs remind him before tightening into knots. The mattress barely dips when he gingerly sits down and settles, too. His back remains straight, and he is barely brushing her arm when she announces out of the blue, "I forgot my snacks. Give me a moment," climbing off the bed and leaving them in — on Edwin's side — suddenly charged, tense silence.

It feels different, of course it does, and Edwin feels guilty that his carefully tucked away thoughts are knocking on the doors of his consciousness when they're in Niko's room, for God's sake. Edwin tries to subtly move away from the overwhelmingly horizontal line of Charles' body. Right now, sitting cross-legged, Edwin's knees are barely touching him, and he bumps his knee against Charles' arm twice before stilling. He doesn't want to hunch down; never again. He stays put.

The sensation of Charles' bony elbow is like the flash of a sharp smile. The room fills with a low hum, something musical and... campy that Niko must have shown Charles on one of those afternoons. With his eyes closed, Edwin compartmentalises the points of sharp heat.

Much, much later, Charles jogs up to the beach where Niko and Edwin are watching the starfish. "What're you doing?", he asks curiously, just when Edwin finishes talking about their lack of a centralised brain.

He hears the shift in Charles' posture more than his opening to say something mouth, and a second of hesitation before it closes again.

He wonders if Charles has noticed their colours.

Niko sends Charles a lingering smile. Her eyes crinkle with mirth. "Luckily, love requires no logic", she says cryptically. They don't notice, crouching down as they are, but his head tilts synonymously with Niko's and Edwin's.

When he dares to peek at Niko, he finds her eyes locked with Charles', with an expression that Edwin knows she must have learned recently, but is not sure when exactly. It says something like, go on. Be brave.

He swallows and clenches his fingers around the red, red sea glass in his coat pocket.

[luxaofhesperides]

For the ghostlights drabbles: “Say my name” with a favor being called in?

Duke had saved Phantom years ago, back when he was just out of high school and working to take down a branch of the government that was kidnapping and experimenting on people, targeting magic users and metas. Phantom had been working on his own to take them down, and they met in the middle, trashing a lab and freeing as many people as they could.

They had managed to shoot his back, knocking him down and making him bleed a glowing green. Phantom couldn’t move, protecting two kids with his body, and Duke couldn’t reach them in time before they were taken away by another swarm of agents. 

He was able to go after them in time, free Phantom and the kids, and evacuated the victims before Phantom rained hell down on the facility.

At the end, standing in the background as they watched paramedics treat the victims and take them towards the nearest hospitals, Phantom had turned towards him and thanked him.

Or rather, he thanked the Signal and offered him a bracelet with a rounded orb of ice, glowing faintly in the dark. If you ever need me, he had said, Hold this, and call me name.

Phantom vanished once the last of the victims were transported to a safer location, and Duke hadn’t seen him since.

He’s kept up with news about Phantom as best he can, but from what he could tell, Phantom is based primarily in Amity Park, Illinois, and the town is fiercely protective of their hero. News rarely leaks out of there, and with them running on their own servers and independent internet, it was nearly impossible to get in from the outside. 

Phantom remained a curious and distant figure in Duke’s life. He holds onto the bracelet still, guarding it carefully and sometimes running his fingers over the ice that never melts.

But he doesn’t call in that favor. He’s never to.

At least, not until now.

Sucking in a breath, Duke prepares himself and holds the orb of ice in the palm of his hand. He’s in civies, unable to hide his identity for this, and closes his eyes. “Phantom,” he says.

For a moment, nothing happens. Duke blinks his eyes open and frowns, mind already forming new plans to contact Phantom. Then the ice goes bitingly cold, almost painful, and the temperature in the room drops dramatically. The ice lifts up from his hand, floating in the air, then cracks open.

White-blue light spills out of it, growing brighter as it seems to swallow up the room entirely. Duke hurries to back up, an arm thrown up to protect his eyes. His breath mists out before him and he shivers as the sound of ice cracking fills the room.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, the light disappears and the cold fades away like a bad dream. 

Slowly, Duke lowers his arm and looks up at Phantom, floating in the middle of his living room with a crown made of ice, engulfed in blue fire, hovers above his head. He looks older, more regal, holding his head high. 

He regards Duke carefully for a minute, then tilts his head and says, “Signal?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Man, I’m so glad you came.”

“You… need help with something? You’re calling in your favor now, right?”

Duke nods. He understands Phantom’s confusion; being in the hero business means that favors like these tend to be used only during the most hopeless of times, when the world is close to ending, when the chances of getting out of a situation alive is close to impossible. It’s exactly the kind of thing Duke was expecting to call Phantom in for.

Not the kid sleeping on his couch.

“You’re a ghost, yeah?”

Phantom blinks at him. “Ghost king, now. Why?”

“Well…” Duke rubs the back of his neck, nervously. “I didn’t really know who else to call, and I can’t do this on my own since I’m not a ghost. But this kid got attached to me and won’t leave, so now I’m taking care of her and I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“I don’t know why you think I have any experience with kids but—”

“She’s a ghost.”

Phantom stops short. “Ah. I see.” He floats down until his feet touch the floor, and then he’s standing like any other person. “Where…?”

Duke looks past Phantom’s shoulder, and Phantom turns to follow his gaze. Chelsea, the ghost girl, looks to be around nine years old and is fast asleep on the couch, curled up under Duke’s softest blanket.

“Signal,” Phantom says quietly, “What, exactly, is the favor you need from me?”

“You can say no,” Duke starts. “I get that this is a lot. But I need help raising her. And since you’re a ghost, I figured you could help me learn about the ghostly side of things. You don’t have to raise her with me or anything! Just… I would appreciate any help you’re willing to give me.”

Phantom doesn’t say no. He doesn’t say anything. He just stares down at Chelsea, an unreadable expression on his face. 

On the couch. Chelsea shifts in her sleep, brows furrowing as she makes a choked noise in the back of her throat.

Moving on autopilot after so many nights of this routine, Duke kneels next to the couch, fishing one of her hands from beneath the blanket. He gives it a few reassuring squeezes, keeping it a slow rhythm to pull her gently from her nightmare. She settles down in just a minute, brow smoothing out as she continues to sleep. 

The silence grows and Duke is all too aware that his heart is the only one beating. 

He doesn’t hear Phantom move. Doesn’t realize he’s right next to him until he sees Phantom’s hand reach out towards Chelsea. When Duke looks, Phantom is sitting on the floor next to Duke, looking at Chelsea with something soft and devastated in his eyes. His hand hovers about her head for a long moment, then slowly lowers to rest on her head. 

The touch looks gently, barely putting any pressure on her head, but it’s enough to make Chelsea’s eyes snap open, suddenly wide awake. She stares at Phantom with wide eyes, then sits up and looks between him and Duke.

“Who are you?” she asks in a small voice that makes Duke want to stand against the world to keep her safe. 

Phantom smiles. It’s casual and charming and makes him look like anyone else, as if he’s not a powerful king from a realm unreachable to humans. “Hi there,” he says, “I’m Danny. I’m a ghost like you. Signal called me and asked me to meet you.”

The Ghost King is good with kids. Who would have thought?

Chelsea looks at him for confirmation and only relaxes when he nods. “I’m Chelsea. What do you mean ghost? I’m not dead.”

Both he and Phantom tense, carefully keeping their expressions neutral. She hasn’t told him much at all, just that her parents were gone and forgot her and she got hurt, so she wanted to stay with ‘Mr. Signal’ because he’s a hero and heroes keep people safe and he was the only one who was Black like her. Duke hadn’t had the heart to say no, and began searching for her family, only to find that her parents had fled the state, and likely the country, after killing their only child through neglect and a dangerous environment. 

It was then that he realized that her powers were not because she was a meta, but because she was ghost.

It still hurts to realize how young she is, how much of her life had been stolen from her in an instant. Duke hadn’t been brave enough to broach the topic with her, instead choosing to let her grow comfortable in his presence, get them both settled into a routine now that he was her primary guardian. 

“I know it sounds scary,” Phantom says, “And you may not want to believe me, but it’s true. I’m sorry that you died so young, but that just means you get to hang out with me and other ghosts from now on!”

Chelsea crosses her arms over her chest and glares at him. “I am not dead,” she says.

“Cici, I’m sorry to say this, but you are,” Duke cuts in. “That’s why I called… Danny. You have new powers as a ghost, and he can help you get used to them.”

“I’m not dead!” she says again.

“Kid,” Phantom begins, but Chelsea shakes her head hard and hops off the couch.

“I’m not lying! Watch, I’ll prove it to you!” She closes her eyes and scrunches up her nose, concentrating. Her hands curl into tight fists by her sides, and the glow around her grows dim. Two faint, stuttering rings of light appear around her waist. They flicker and wobble in the air, as if weak and uncertain of their own existence, then split apart, one moving up towards her head while the other falls to her feet.

Beside him, Phantom sucks in a sharp breath, but Duke can’t turn to see what’s wrong when he’s trying to take in the sight of Chelsea suddenly full of vibrant color, looking more solid that he’s ever seen her, very much alive.

“See?” she says proudly, lifting her arms and doing a spin to show off her right she was. “I told you I’m not dead!”

“No, you’re not,” Phantom agrees, sounding shell-shocked. When Duke is finally able to look away from Chelsea to check on him, he looks awed. There’s the smallest smile on his face, just the slightest upturn of his lips, but it makes him look softer.

Duke turns his attention back to Chelsea before he can be caught staring. “Cici, can you come here for a second?”

She goes before he’s finished speaking, crossing the space between them in a single jump, then grins up at him. Her hair is a bit of a mess, the two buns he managed to get her hair into falling askew. He makes a note to visit the old aunties in the Narrows later to ask them to teach him how to do hair. For now, he holds out a hand and Chelsea drops an arm into it.

It seems to good to be true, having her be alive, but her pulse is steady and strong when he presses his thumb against the inside of her wrist. 

“Well,” he says, leaning back and letting go of her arm. “You certainly proved us wrong.”

Chelsea doesn’t have much time to look smug before PHantom quietly says, “You’re like me.”

“What?”

“You’re like me,” he tells Chelsea. “A halfa.”

She tilts her head to one side. “What’s that?”

“Someone who is half human and half ghost. Both dead and alive.”

Duke blinks, taking in the words, then turns to face Phantom so quickly he’s worried he might give himself whiplash. Halfa, he said. Like me, he said. 

And sure enough, two rings of light, bright and strong, appear around Phantom’s waist before splitting in half, moving over his entire body. 

Gone is the Ghost King, all powerful and adorned in dark clothing with a crown of ice above his head. In his place is a guy who looks to be Duke’s age, eyes a deep blue and his black hair messy, feet set solidly on the floor. He looks completely normal, completely human, and no longer an impossibility.

“You still up for learning how to use all your new powers?” Phantom asks.

Chelsea grins. “Yeah!” And then, with a quick flick of her eyes going from Phantom to Duke that he almost misses, very innocently asks, “Are you going to stay with us then?”

“I… don’t know?” Phantom looks to Duke for an answer.

Already, Duke can see this going two ways. The correct way forward, the normal one, has Phantom popping in every so often, taking Chelsea out for a few hours to work on training her and her powers. It’s easy and routine and they can keep their boundaries uncrossed and be professional. 

The other path is what Duke wants most that he shouldn’t impose onto the literal Ghost King. He could have Phantom living with them while he’s on Earth and out of Amity Park, having a place at the table, a section in the closet for his own clothes, a quietly domestic night together while Chelsea sleeps where they can get to know each other more, get to know each other outside of news reports and texts on a screen.

“You can stay with us if you want,” Duke offers, casually, “It might keep my apartment safe from her powers acting up on their own again.”

“Are you sure? I could always just fly in on the weekends or something.”

“I’d appreciate having you around. So you can help Cici.”

“If you don’t mind,” Phantom says, looking away. Like this, fully alive with a beating heart, it’s easy to see the blush steal away across his cheeks. 

“I don’t.”

“I don’t either!” Chelsea pops in, looking far too gleeful by their awkward conversation.

Duke can’t help but laugh, feeling lighter than he had in ages. The relief of knowing that Chelsea is alive, for the most part at least, eases the guilt of thinking he had been too late to save her, that there was no chance she could have made it out and had a future, makes him feel weak. All the exhaustion of the past few weeks hits him all at once and he wants nothing more than to collapse in bed and sleep for twelve hours.

“Alright, squirt,” he says, reaching out to pat her head. “It’s late. We can talk more in the morning, so go to bed. In your actual bed this time, not on the couch.”

Chelsea stands up taller, ready to argue, but Duke gives her a Look™ and she quickly shuts her mouth, nods, and drags her feet back to her room (the former guestroom he can never give any of the other Waynes ever again, once they find out about her). 

Sighing, Duke collapses onto the couch once he hears the door shut behind her. Phantom joins him after a few seconds, sitting tentatively on the edge of the couch. The cushion moves beneath his weight, another reminder of how solid and alive he is right not.

Duke wants to touch him, to reach out and feel for himself his pulse, the warmth of his body, his chest lifting with each breath. 

He doesn’t move. He stays where he is, hands carefully still, and tries to think past the dizzying thoughts of she’s still alive, I’m not too late, he’s still here, he’s alive.

“Rough week?” Phantom asks, voice purposefully light.

“Something like that.”

“You should get some sleep too.”

“I don’t think I can. Not after everything. My mind’s too loud right now.”

Phantom shifts closer to him, hesitant in a way that Duke has never seen before in him, and asks, “Want me to stay with you until you mind quiets down some?”

“Yeah. I’d like that. Thanks, Phantom.”

“You know, if I’m going to be around so often as Chelsea’s halfa mentor, then you might as well call me Danny.”

Truth be told, Duke didn’t think that was his real name. He’s glad to know it’s not. 

“Then call me Duke.”

“...Are you sure? You could still hide your identity from me.”

“Nah, I trust you. A name for a name, yeah?”

Danny smiles. “Duke,” he says, testing out the name, and it’s never sounded better than when it falls from Danny’s mouth.

“Danny,” Duke returns. He belatedly realizes that they’ve leaned towards each other, drawn together like gravity, stuck in each other’s orbit. It feels natural. It feels like this is where they’re meant to be.

Maybe he should be more cautious. They’ve only meant once before, after all. But he’s read all he could on Phantom and has seen how Amity Park loves him. He’s stressed and exhausted and trying to figure out how to look after a half-ghost child that’s already been dealt a bad hand in life. He should be keeping Phantom at a distance, watching over him carefully to ensure he isn’t a threat to Chelsea.

But Duke saw how he acted with Chelsea, so gentle and understanding and kind. That’s all he needed to see.

He may not know much about Danny, but he knows this: he is trustworthy.

Enough to entrust his identity to him.

Enough to entrust Chelsea to him.

It’s more than a favor; it’s a promise to walk this road together. 

There’s no one he’d rather do this with. 

“Thanks,” he says again, “For all of this. I know it’s a lot.”

Danny shrugs. “I don’t mind. Really. It’s nice to know there’s another halfa out there, no matter how she came to be one. Makes things feel less lonely.”

“Will you tell me more about halfas?”

“Later. Once you get some proper rest. We’ve got time, haven’t we?”

“We do,” Duke agrees, affection settling warm in his chest. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

Learning how to control her new powers won’t be easy for Chelsea. Learning how to take care of her won’t be easy. Learning how to do things together, as Duke and Danny rather than the Signal and Phantom, won’t be easy. But Duke knows with a certainty he feels in his bones that they’re going to be fine.

So long as they’ve got each other, they’ll be fine.