#when pigs fly blazer

[bugsbunnyblogsstuff]

(Jessica Rabbit's Pov)

The next day, I stretched and poured myself a bittersweet cold brew.

I had already gotten myself ready for the day, and Roger had already left for work and was now hoping for my entries to arrive.

I fetched myself the newsletter, with another rescue by Peter Parker on the front, and Acme dynamite profit loss.

There is nothing to be terribly concerning, except when you get to the first page, I softly gasped.

"Cartoons who have been abandoned by their creators and peers have started underground cult, that takes down the more popular ones and kidnaps supernaturals to help with their summonings...." I read aloud, tracing my finger on one of the first to go.

He was a lanky teen. He had a satchel full of books and had a well-dressed suit. He had a mug-like head and a rather large nose. Everything else was marked out.

"Call local Toontown police for any sightings of this boy or members of the group, at 555-505-5505" I read, a slight tear dripping down my chin.

.....

I wiped it away, trying to think about my entries.

My doorbell rang as I whipped my head around, immediately hiding the newsletter, as I answered the door.

A skinny black duck with a yellow backpack on himself, a boy who i couldn't really see due to him was strapped to the backpack, the duck had a white ripped crop top and large baggy jeans, stood out my door.

"Yo, daffy duck here...." he said, walking in without shaking my hand, the *nerve* of that duck.

Beside him was a pudgy pink pig who was wearing a crisp blue blazer and a red bow tie, who had a peculiar stuttering problem. "Sorry a-about him, m-miss," the pig replied as he shook my hand and walked in.

I watched daffy lay out the boy, on my velvet couch, unwrapping bandages from his body and turning towards me, "Do you mind? Also, whatever you're thinking right now, this is far from any ordinary backpack, it's designer, " he said.

"So, umm.... have you guys come for the contest?" I asked, clasping my gloved hands together.

The trio nodded as I sighed in relief as I sat down beside them, getting comfortable on the chić velvety couch.

"So, in order for us to win as a group, until we find bugs, we must be able to  do best performance. In the practice movie of our choice, I have chosen Carrotblanca for us since it was the easiest."  I excitedly explained. As daffy whispered into his friends ears, I waited expectantly.

"I g-guess, b-but h-how do we m-make a movie by s-scratch?" Porky asked as he shyly fiddled with his slimy palms.

"Well, elementary, dear Porky, we'll have all of our supplies set for us, like if we need extra cast members or a couple more hours to work, they'll provide it for us...."  I excitedly said, leaning closer to Porky

The boy slowly sat up, propping himself on the cushions, trying to cover his hands, but soon, a bullet was sent flying into my 100-pound, golden stained glass chandelier.

It broke the chandelier, and the support beam broke, snapping in half, causing me to panic, I ducked, and it crashed, I looked up, and I was protected by a clear force-field.

I looked at the boy, who was glitching as he continued to strengthen the force field.

Daffy grinned, "he's like a mini bodyguard. He's kinda awesome....." he said as the force field disappeared, and the chandelier was fixed.

I softly smiled, going back to my talk on our movie.

"As I was saying, each of you need a role, daffy can be.... a pianist? Porky can be a private eye, and you could be a seductress....?" I said, thinking of random roles on a whim....

Porky excitedly nodded, writing this all down in his beige notebook that had tapes and stickers on it.

The trio and I would have a lot to work on, but it's not everyday your faced with a real supernatural, a cute duck, and a shy pig.

[hnbmgteam]

Nike Blazer Mid '77 với phối màu đậm chất "When Pigs Fly"

Một phối màu tươi mới nếu so với loạt phối màu trắng cơ bản dạo gần đây của Blazer Mid ’77

https://hnbmg.com/nike-blazer-mid-77-voi-phoi-mau-dam-chat-when-pigs-fly-70519.html

[chaseatinydream]

sleazy seonghwa who sneezes (i) || p.sh (atz)

➳ pairing: reader x park seonghwa (ateez)

➳ word count: 7146

➳ genre: badboy au; fluff

➳ synopsis: by the intervention of fate (namely Choi San), you see a different side to the school’s resident bad boy that you weren’t aware existed.

>>>

Park Seonghwa is, decidedly, what most of the school population would call a bad boy.

With his jet black lip piercing and dyed blonde hair that is clearly in rebellion against every dress code in school, he’s exactly the sort of boy your parents warn you against. The black leather jacket he wears in place of his uniform tie and blazer doesn’t really help his image at all, and you’re sure you’ve seen him step into school at precisely twelve in the afternoon from the window of your classroom, long after lessons have started.

You’ve known Seonghwa for a long time, since elementary school, back in the days when his hair was still its natural shade of soft ebony and his lips curved up in a soft smile instead of the thin, sharp line it does now. With silent eyes you’ve observed him over the years, watching as the death of his mother struck him as hard as a speeding car and doing a million times the damage, witnessing his transformation from the boy with the cute, candy like smile to the young man with hard, cold eyes and even steelier fists.

A few years, your heart broke for him as you watched him turn away from the light and walk into the shadows without a backwards glance, casting his life away into a hopeless abyss. But as time passed, the memory of that young, lost boy reaching out for his mother’s hand faded, replaced by bruised and bleeding knuckles, split lips and cold eyes.

You had stopped keeping track of how many piercings he’d gotten when you couldn’t count them on your fingers anymore.

Students whisper about him behind closed doors every time he passes them in the corridor, citing unknown sources and rumours about smoking, gang fights, drugs, the usual deal. Girls chatter mindlessly about his good looks, he’s strikingly handsome, you have to admit, but his arctic gaze is enough to keep them at least five feet away. No one dares to cross him, not even the teachers and school authority, and honestly, it’s a miracle he’s still even in this school.

He’s part of a circle of friends the school calls ATEEZ. Their leader, Kim Hongjoong, has kept his mullet for the last three years of high school, completely ignoring the repeated warnings that the school gives him, because who dares to touch him anyway as the eldest son of one of the richest men in Korea? Some you know by face, some by name, but you’ve never met, much less talked to any of them before. Instead, you keep your distance, not wanting to be mixed up in their troubles when they come roaring into school with jet black motorbikes, smirks and bruised fists.

It’s been exactly six years since Seonghwa’s mother passed, and you’re walking to school in the morning. Your earbuds are plugged in, the radio’s on and you’re just listening mindlessly to anything that comes over the station, scrolling through your Instagram feed. Oh. San is considering adopting his third stray cat, the ‘vote yes or no’ option beneath his story.

You click ‘no’, your best friend already has two stray cats and a Shiba Inu in his house, and Shiber is terrified of the felines. It’s a miracle how Shiber even got used to Darong and Puchi, but you doubt that he’ll get used to yet another stray invading his personal territory.

Turning and entering the back gate, you’re stepping across the grounds to your classroom block when your phone suddenly pings with a flurry notifications.

It can only be one person.

[Green Mountain] how could u not let me adopt yobu hes gonna be so sad u know TT

[Green Mountain] retribution on you and your kids and your grandkids and your great grandkids

[Green Mountain] why are we even friends

You roll your eyes, feet crunching on the dry leaves under the soles of your shoes as you type out a reply.

[You] What’s the point of asking for my opinion if you’ve already named him and adopted him San

You’re nearing the back of the school building when you hear a sniffing sound. You pause in your tracks for a moment, wondering if someone is crying from the stress of the exams that are coming in a week, before a soft achoo reaches your ears.

You barely have time to be surprised before the little sneeze is followed by a rapid series of more, each sounding more adorable to your ears than the ones before. There’s another sniffle and a sneeze, and you can’t help your lips curving up in a smile. Perhaps spending too much time around San has made you soft, but you wouldn’t trade him for the world.

You fish out a handkerchief from your pocket, since it’s the first day of the week, you haven’t used it yet. The person behind the noise must have gotten a cold from the chilly autumn weather, so you think they might appreciate the gesture. Stepping up the stairs to your classroom block, you turn the corner around the building with your handkerchief outstretched and a gentle smile already in place.

“Hey, I heard you were sneezing so I thought you might want this...” Your voice trails off as your eyes widen, seeing the infamous Park Seonghwa leaning against the wall, hand over his mouth and nose, your own shock mirrored on his face.

For a moment, the two of you simply stare at each other in stunned silence.

You’ve always admired him in the same way people appreciate statues in art museums, from afar, studying each and every feature but never quite understanding the full story behind the carved jawline, the sculpted nose, the mysterious dark eyes. But this is the first time you’re seeing him up close in the dappled morning rays, someone so far away and untouchable, and you see the flaws that mar what you had once thought was near perfect skin, a bruise at the corner of his mouth, a scrape on his cheekbone, the white scar across his left eyebrow.

His handsome features pinch into a wary scowl when he sees you, straightening up his originally relaxed position against the wall. You’re a little intimidated by his height as he towers over you by at least a head, giving you a dark glare. “Get out of my sight. I don’t need your help-” The words are cut off by a massive sneeze that sends him burying his face in his hands, before he starts hacking furiously, alternating between adorable sneezes and baby-like coughs.

A snort escapes you before you can stop it and he actually pauses to give you a murderous look, right before he goes back to sneezing.

Oh my god, you think in your panic induced haze, he’s going to kill you to stop rumours of his childlike sneeze from spreading around the school.

You fight down the urge to laugh in this terrifying situation, instead focusing on the predicament you’re in. You’re trapped between a rock and a hard place, right before a person with one of the most feared and sordid reputations in the entire school. Give him the handkerchief and risk his anger, or leave without lending him a hand and still perhaps bring his wrath down upon you?

In the end, you simply do what you had set out to do in the first place.

“Here!” You practically shout in his face, trying to muster as much courage as possible so your voice doesn’t tremble, but it betrays you anyway in spite of your efforts. Thrusting the white handkerchief into his hands, you do some sort of awkward bow before the idea can run through your mind fully and your face turns tomato red in embarrassment. “I hope you get better soon!”

And then you spin on your heel and dash into the classroom block before you can die from shame of it all.

“Hey, wait-” Seonghwa calls after you, but you’re already gone, leaving nothing but your white handkerchief in his hand.

“You’re late today.” San remarks in a surprised voice when you slide into the seat next to his, panting for air from your little dash to class.

“I was lending someone a handkerchief. And you’re early.” You turn to the window, making a big show of searching the sky. “I don’t see any pigs, falling or flying… so I must be dreaming.”

“Well, I had to come early to school so my chauffeur could fetch Yobu back to the mansion for me.” Your best friend remarks with a shrug, and a silly, goofy smile crosses his face for a moment at the thought of the adorable one eared ragdoll cat. “I couldn’t leave him waiting here in the cold.”

“I swear the reason all these cats relate so much to you is because of this.” You tug at the thick leather choker resting against his throat, fingers brushing the cool metal of the round, silver studs on it. “If we just add a bell to this, you might as well be an actual cat, Sanie.”

Your best friend merely grins, cocking his head to the side as he looks at you expectantly. “And I suppose that’s…?”

Laughing, you pull a small cardboard box from your school bag, opening it and presenting it to San proudly. It’s a small silver bell, one that reminds you of one on a cat’s collar. The moment you had laid eyes on it at the mall, you had known it would be perfect for him. You gesture for his arm and he stretches it out to you with an amused smile on his face, your fingers fiddling with the friendship bracelet on his wrist. Undoing the clasp, you slide the silver piece onto the bracelet with nimble fingers where it rests next to the Siamese cat charm, the bell making a soft jingling sound.

“Ooh, pretty!” San inspects it with shining eyes, smiling broadly at you. He then takes out his own box, a red jewelry affair with the name of some expensive brand stamped on the lid in bright silver. Your breath catches in your throat as you catch a glimpse of it, the box is probably worth more than the entire charm you bought San.

“Sanie, you know I don’t like it when you buy me stuff like that…”

Your best friend pauses in opening the box, mouth turning down in a sad frown as he looks at you with earnest eyes. “But I want to do it for you. You’re my best friend, and I want to spend my money on you to show you how important you are to me.” You waver at his words, heart sinking as you feel like you’re making use of him for his wealth. But you know San is determined, and besides, he’s already bought the charm, so you sigh and try to fix him with a stern gaze.

“This is the last time, alright?”

San’s face cheers up in a split second.

“Alright!” He whoops, putting the charm of a Norwegian Forest Cat on your bracelet. It feels heavy, probably made of silver and custom made to boot. It’s been your tradition for the last two years of school. Every day, on the first day of a new semester, the two of you had promised to buy each other a charm to celebrate your friendship. Somehow, every charm the two of you had bought for you had ended up being some breed of cat, so you suppose that you’ve broken tradition for the first time today by giving him a bell instead. When San fixes the clasp of your bracelet, he grins at you and pats you on the head.

“There, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

You kick him in the shin. “I said this is the last time, you goof. Don’t go getting any ideas.”

San pouts at you, shaking his head so that his dark brown hair falls into his eyes, showing off the red streaks in them. Your eyes widen in alarm and smack him on the arm as he lounges back in his chair casually, placing his booted feet on the table. “I thought I told you to get rid of those last week before school started!”

Your best friend whistles cheerily, feigning ignorance. “I promised nothing.”

San, for all the adorableness he holds, is too, part of ATEEZ. A certified bad boy, a definite troublemaker. Everything on him, from the designer white shirt with scrawled designs all over it to the multiple silver piercings in his ears to the striking red coat he has slung over his chair, screams rebel in response to every dress code in existence. San rebels, but he at least does it with style.

On the first day of school when the two of you been assigned to seats next to each other in class, the very first thing he’d done upon meeting you was to rip off his tie and declare to you loudly about how the colour scheme of the tie was absolutely hideous when matched with the shade of the blazer. He had then proceeded to rant to you all about the material of the blazer and the undershirt, and you don’t think you’ve seen him in uniform since that day.

Well, you suppose he knows what he’s talking about, considering that he’s the heir to one of the biggest fashion conglomerates in the country. Besides, you’ve stolen that red coat more times you can count on cold days and it often spends the night over at your house when San makes you wear it home.

“What kind of name for a cat is Yobu, though?” You ask San, shaking your head at him as the teacher walks into the classroom. He simply grins at you, tweaking one of his many earrings with amusement.

“A friend of mine chose it-” He begins to explain excitedly, but then your teacher clears her throat in front of the two of you hesitantly and San’s expression darkens, looking up to glance at her as if she’s a pesky fly he’d like to smack. The teacher’s face drains of colour.

“What is it, Ms Kim?” His voice is dripping with venom and you feel your face flush at his bad attitude. You tug on his ear and he yelps in pain, turning back to pout at you.

“Ow! Why are you bullying me?” San sulks like a little kid and you can’t help but swat at his arm. The teacher, drawing a little courage from seeing San being steamrolled into submission by you, pipes up.

“Mr Choi… you’re not supposed to be sitting there-”

That’s her mistake.

San’s eyes turn glacial as he turns to face her slowly, gazing down his nose at her imperiously, dangerously like a cobra waiting to strike. San isn’t loud and quick to anger like some of his other friends are, but he’s no less dangerous with that vicious, poisonous mind of his. The teacher falls silent immediately, none of the other students willing to help her out lest they get on his bad side.

“I’ve said it at the beginning of term and I’ll say it again.” San enunciates every word slowly and precisely, his dark gaze never wavering from the teacher’s eyes. You can almost imagine it, a monstrous serpent like aura looming behind your best friend, frightening everyone before him into submission. You’ve never been on the receiving end of his gaze, but you hear people describing the experience to be akin to staring down the barrel of a gun. “I’m sitting besides her and no one else. Did you not hear me the first time?”

“Mr Choi, I’m just doing my job-”

“Do. You. Understand.”

His last words are nothing like a question, instead carrying a more mocking tone. The threat is like a loaded gun, the bullet unseen and hidden in the chambers of the weapon, but the finger is already resting on the trigger, eager to fire. Your teacher pales at his words, fingers trembling against her binder.

You feel bad for her, so you gently tug at San’s sleeve, pulling his razor sharp gaze away from your teacher. “Hey, San, I’m not going anywhere. How about you start thinking about ways we can get Shiber to warm up to Yobu when we go over to your house later while I have lessons?”

His face brightens right away, the icy look melting right off like snow in the summer at the thought of Yobu and Shiber playing together. “Of course! Why didn’t I think about that?” Pulling a piece of paper from your bag, he swipes one of the pens off your table and begins jotting down ideas and names of cat treats. His attention off the teacher, the entire classroom heaves a simultaneous sigh of relief.

Your teacher takes five minutes to calm her racing heart before the lesson begins.

Seonghwa sits at the bench at the school gates, waiting for the rest of his friends.

Golden and red leaves spiral through the air, caught and tossed around by the autumn winds as they flutter to the ground like clipped butterfly wings. They fall to the ground, devoid of the green freshness of spring, dead and utterly lifeless. He remembers the limp hand of his mother, her fair skin drenched in crimson lifeblood, the drunk driver having crashed right into the side of his mother’s car as she returned home from buying him supper. She’d died on the spot, right before any the ambulances and paramedics arrived.

His fingers curl around the dry maple leaves, crushing them and scattering them with the wind. He hates the autumn. All it brings is death and pain.

“Hyung!”

He’s pulled from his thoughts and turns around to see three of the five 99’ liners stepping out of the school gates, arms slung over each other’s shoulders. A smile crosses his face briefly. No matter how terrifying of an image he might have to others, he has a soft spot for the rest of the boys in ATEEZ. All of them have stuck together through thick and thin, supporting each other no matter the struggle, Wooyoung through his addiction and Jongho through his fits of violent rage, Hongjoong with his familial conflicts at home and so much more. They’re like family to him, he briefly wonders, before his eyes darken at the thought of his drunken father back in the house they share.

He forces the thought from his mind, instead looking upon his friends’ faces, frowning in confusion.

“Why are you smiling so much, Sanie?”

The boy in question merely grins wider, tucking his hands into his pockets as he dodges a kick Wooyoung aims at him. “Wooyoungie tripped on Mingi’s shoe and fell down the stairs earlier.”

Mingi stifles a laugh at Wooyoung’s flat expression.

The sleeves of San’s white shirt are rolled up, showing the cat charm bracelet dangling from his wrist. The silver bits and bobs usually tinkle and jingle, letting everyone in the area that San is coming, but today, the sound seems to be especially prominent. Seonghwa’s eyes rake over the charms, counting five, six, seven…

He spots a silver cat bell dangling at the end.

“Did you get a new charm, San?” Seonghwa asks, curious and San nods proudly, preening in front of his hyung. The bell jingles once more, as if showing off to Seonghwa.

“She got it for me!” He smiles widely, stuffing his hand back into his pocket. San doesn’t need to say who it is for Seonghwa to know. Aside from ATEEZ, San has no friends… except a mysterious girl that San doesn’t want mixed up in their business.

“Can’t have Wooyoung seducing her from me.” He’d joked once, to Wooyoung’s not so amused amusement.

But Seonghwa can understand why San wouldn’t want his friend to be associated with them. From the way San speaks about her ever so often, she seems to be a quiet, mild tempered girl who focuses hard on her studies and can even miraculously convince San to revise for the upcoming exams with her in the school library. Being related to them in any way could stain her pristine reputation, make it difficult for her to attain any student leadership positions in the school that were vital to a portfolio, or even make any friends in general.

Honestly, Seonghwa doesn’t know why she would stick with San.

But San is happy when he speaks about her. He’s clearly fond of her, he’d even dragged all of them to search for a suitable charm for her birthday gift.

Then a ticklish feeling rises in his nose and he pulls the handkerchief from his pocket, sneezing into it. He doesn’t want to admit it, but the piece of white cloth has saved him so many trips to the convenience store nearby to buy a pack of tissue. Looking down on it, he sighs as he looks the handkerchief over. It’s a piece of plain white cloth, without embellishment or embroidery, nothing outstanding to set it apart from others physically, but unique, because it was there for him when he needed it. Just like the girl who’d given it to him, he thinks to himself with another sigh, wondering how exactly he’s going to find her and return the handkerchief to her.

He doesn’t remember much about how she looks, having been trying to stop himself from sneezing in front of her when she’d literally thrown the handkerchief in his face and shouted at him to get better, before she dashed away faster than Usain Bolt on steroids.

Honestly, who still uses handkerchiefs in this day and age?

“Did you catch a cold, hyung?” Ever perceptive Wooyoung asks curiously, before spotting the handkerchief in his hand. “I didn’t know you used handkerchiefs, though.”

For some reason, something in his voice is completely judgemental and even though Seonghwa feels the same, he can’t help but feel like he needs to defend the girl who gave it to him, at least. Then he catches himself, frowning. Wooyoung’s too curious for his own good, tell him a little and the he’ll have her name, class, blood type, age, address, favourite food down to a tee tomorrow.

Besides, Seonghwa wants to do this by himself.

So Seonghwa shakes his head.

“It’s not mine. A girl gave it to me in the morning, but I don’t know who it was. I owe her a word of thanks, at least.”

Mingi raises an eyebrow, teeth fiddling with the silver piercing on his lower left lip absentmindedly. “Someone approached you, hyung?’ He sounds as confused as Seonghwa feels.

Curious, San glances over at the piece of white cloth for a moment, staring blankly. Then something in his dark eyes glint minutely, the side of his lip quirking up in amusement. Is it fate?

A thought forms and the cogs of his mind start turning, building upon that wisp of a thought until it turns into an idea, then a plan. Seonghwa catches sight of the little smirk on San’s face and frowns in confusion, opening his mouth to ask the younger boy exactly what he’s thinking. He’s a little afraid when San smiles like that. It usually means he’s up to no good.

“San, what is it?”

But San shrugs playfully, eyes shining with glee.

“Oh, it’s absolutely nothing, hyung.”

Seonghwa’s been searching for you for a week now.

For the first time, he actually attends school regularly even if it isn’t to go to class. Standing at the main gate at the crack of dawn, his eyes rake the faces of the students who walk into school every morning. All of them give him a wide berth, wearing the same terrified, yet befuddled expressions, similarly confused as why to the one of school’s bad boys would actually be in the school compound before the bell rings.

Regularly, at that.

About fifteen minutes before the bell rings, he hears the familiar thrum of an engine and raises his head to glance at the driveway outside. Just as he does, a sleek black Jaguar purrs into sight, coming to a stop. It’s presence still causes the same ripple of excitement and anticipation as it did three years ago, and Seonghwa can see all the students in the front yard of the school whispering behind their hands as they discuss the boy inside, wondering whether he’s going to abide by the school rules for once.

The driver, dressed impeccably as ever in a black, custom tailored suit and white gloves, crosses over to the passenger’s side and opens the door for the person inside with a deep bow.

“Young master.”

Kim Hongjoong, eldest son to the CEO of one of the most powerful business empires in Korea and probably the world, steps out with a yawn, rubbing at his eyes as if he’s still half asleep. Then he turns to the chauffeur, who Seonghwa recognises now as Hongjoong’s personal assistant and bodyguard, and gives him a nod.

“Thank you, Jaebeom.”

Jaebeom falters momentarily, head rising a little as he looks at his master. “Young master, you know your father does not like it when you thank me… I am a mere household servant-”

“Who gives a damn what that old fart wants?” Hongjoong grabs his bag from the backseat, adjusting the silver beads and tags in his mullet. “I’ll see you later, Jae.”

The chauffeur can’t exactly argue with his employer, so he merely sighs a little and nods, bowing once more. “As you wish, young master.”

Seonghwa watches quietly as the car zips off down the street.

“Still here, Mars?” His best friend steps up next to him, bag casually slung over one shoulder as he quirks a brow, showing off the eyebrow slit at the side. Seonghwa lets his face relax into a small smile, adjusting the collar of his maroon turtleneck.

“Yeah.”

Hongjoong merely sighs in exasperation, waving his phone in hand. “You know, like I told you at the beginning of all this nonsense, I could have just given Jaebeom a ring and you would have your mystery girl’s identity in a folder on your lap within ten minutes. It would have included handphone number, siblings, hospital records and financial accounts and you wouldn’t be standing here like some lovesick goof every morning.”

Seonghwa doesn’t take any offense to his friend’s barbed words, knowing they stem from genuine concern for him. In fact, Hongjoong only uses his glib tongue and charisma when it comes to charming people into doing things that he wants. He’s not quite as skilled a manipulator as Wooyoung, who can puppet any person like a marionette on strings, but then again few are.

Seonghwa prefers it when Hongjoong takes on this tone with him. It’s more casual, more informal and Seonghwa doesn’t feel like he’s at risk of being played. When he speaks like that, he’s not the heir of the Kim Corporation, Kim Hongjoong, but instead he’s just Hongjoong, Seonghwa’s best friend.

“You know why I want to do this myself.” Seonghwa says softly and Hongjoong pauses a moment, because he does. He understands all too well just having everything presented to him on a silver platter with a golden spoon, not having to put in effort for any of it. Things lose their value that way, and he knows Seonghwa is determined not to let this happen.

Hongjoong merely sighs as he glances at the white handkerchief in Seonghwa’s hand.

“Well, I doubt anyone’s coming in now, it’s pretty late.” He tells Seonghwa, who nods and tucks the neatly folded cloth in his pocket. “Let’s get to class.”

San calls you at approximately five in the morning. On a Saturday morning, in fact.

Groaning as you roll over in your bed, you reach for your phone, the silver cat charms clicking against the screen as you put it to your ear. You’re thinking of a hundred and one ways to slowly butcher him and rip him into tiny little pieces when his cheerful voice comes over the phone. “Hey, my dear best friend, what are you doing up so early in the morning?”

A growl tears from your throat. “It’s 5:16 AM, Choi San. If you don’t have a good reason for waking me up at this time of the morning I’m coming over to your house, I’m going to rip out your throat and I’m going to steal Shiber from you.”

A horrified squeal comes over the phone. “Don’t steal Shiber!”

You almost sigh at how he completely missed out the ‘I’m going to tear your throat out’ bit, but you pinch the bridge of your nose in exasperation, sitting up on your bed as the blanket falls to your lap. “What is it, San? If you tell me now that you want to watch reruns of the Golden Girls at this time of the morning, I’m going to strangle you in your sleep.”

“Oooh, kinky.” San whistles and you groan, smacking your head against the bedside table. Murder does really seem to be a tempting option now.

“Choi San I swear if you do not give me a good reason right now I’m going back to sleep-” You begin but then San cuts in more quickly than a swerving F1 racer.

“No no no, please don’t! Well, you see, one of the maids back at my house just told me that Yobu fell sick and needs to see a vet, but none of them are open at this time of the morning.”

Your jaw drops at the news, heart thundering in your chest. “I can’t believe you wasted all my time talking nonsense when Yobu was ill! What are we going to do, San?” You’re honestly worried for that sweet mannered ragdoll cat, fingers drumming anxiously against the table when San continues.

“But I have a friend knows about veterinary medicine since he works part time at a vet, so could you please bring Yobu to him? I’ve already told him that you’re coming.”

Something strikes you as odd and your eyes narrow suspiciously. “San… why can’t you just bring Yobu there yourself?”

“Ahh…” You hear your best friend falter a little over the phone and from the sheepish tone in his voice, he’s up to something again. You’re about to question him when you suddenly realise that there’s the thumping of the bass in the background, synthesizers screaming and the sound of drunken singing. Your heart falls.

“You’re in a club, aren’t you?”

San pauses uncomfortably. You’ve made it clear multiple times that you don’t approve of his partying lifestyle, but you’ve also told him that it’s his life and he needs to make choices for himself. “Yeah… “ His voice is soft over the phone, but then it tries to cheer you up a little. “I swear I didn’t even drink a lot! I’m not even drunk right now! I just came for a bit of booze and the atmosphere.”

At that, your smile softens a little. You know that San is desperately trying to change his ways, but it’s only the beginning, the first step of a long journey. “I know. Be back before sunrise, okay? Stay safe and don’t make me worry about you.”

You can hear San’s smile over the phone. “I promise. Now then, I’m leaving our child in your hands, alright?”

You’ve barely agreed when the call ends, the beeping of the phone all that’s left of your conversation.

You’re standing outside an apartment building at seven.

Yobu lets out a little mrrow from the basket under your arm and you stroke him on the head gently, checking the address on your phone. He looks perfectly fine to you, but then again you’re no doctor. Glancing at the block number and the unit, you’re indeed at San’s friend’s house. What friend, you have no idea, but you really need to get Yobu checked up as fast as possible.

Stepping up to the door, you press the bell once.

There’s an electronic warble and some shifting coming from behind the closed door. “Wait a moment, please-” You hear and you frown, the voice sounds male and vaguely familiar, as if you’ve heard it before. But before you can remember where, the door swings open to reveal the resident of the house.

You nearly drop Yobu in your shock.

You’re so going to murder San in his sleep.

Because it’s Park Seonghwa standing there, blonde hair mussed from sleep, dressed in a soft grey sweater and sweats, staring back at you with equally wide eyes. No leather jacket, no silver chains around his neck, simple black piercings in his ears. To your surprise, he looks soft as a kitten, not at all like that bad boy image you’re so used to seeing in school.

You glance down at his feet. He’s wearing freaking Gundam cartoon themed socks.

“Mrrow…” Yobu meows plaintively from his basket, as if demanding for the two of you to stop staring at each other and get a move on. That’s enough to jerk Seonghwa out of his shock and he opens the door a bit wider to let you in. “Uhh, please come in.”

You do as you’re told, slipping your shoes off at the door and stepping inside. The house is surprisingly bare, a pair of folded mattresses against against the wall and a lumpy couch in the corner. There’s a vet’s bag on the floor, stethoscope already laid out. You glance to the shelf at to your left as you set Yobu down on the ground, there’s a picture of a woman who you assume to be Seonghwa’s mother, and next to that is a collection of assembled Gundam models.

It seems as if someone is a fan.

You’re briefly afraid if something bad is going to happen to you when Park Seonghwa closes the door behind you, but as much as San enjoys playing pranks on you, he’s never one to put you in danger. Seonghwa sit down before you, cross legged, looking painfully awkward for the first time you’ve seen him.

“Umm… Hi…” He greets you softly and you stiffen to attention, Yobu curling in your arms and you hesitantly stroke the tiny cat gently. “So… Yobu is sick?”

Your eyes widen a little in surprise. “You know Yobu?”

Seonghwa nods slowly. “Yeah well… I was the one who named him.” He holds out his hands for the grey ragdoll, looking at you hesitantly while you’re still staring at him in shock from this unexpected information. His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip nervously, dragging across the black piercing there. “May I?’

You somehow regain enough cognitive function to place Yobu into his arms, the small feline nosing into Seonghwa’s chest and he lets out a gentle laugh, nuzzling the kitten with his nose. “Let’s see what’s wrong with you, little guy.”

Your mind is still reeling from all of… this. From what you know, Park Seonghwa is a mysterious bad boy who is a member of a terrifying group called ATEEZ that your best friend also happens to be part of. But even after knowing San for three years, he’s never really exposed you to any of his other friends, so you still steer clear of them whenever you see them in school.

But this Park Seonghwa before you is looking at the tiny kitten like it holds the moon and stars in its tiny paws, humming a soft tune under his breath as he reaches for his stethoscope. He’s nothing like the Park Seonghwa you’re familiar with, bruised fingers gentle as he checks over Yobu for any physical ailments, cooing to the cat in a sweet voice when it attempts to squirm out of his arms occasionally. You usually never say this… but you’re quite mindblown.

“There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with him.” Seonghwa muses after a while, setting his tools down. You’re jerked out of your stunned stupor, letting out a witty ‘eh?’ as he puts Yobu down on the ground, the kitten batting at his sweater sleeve with its paws.

Seonghwa tugs his lip piercing between his teeth and for a second, you’re raising your eyes to heaven to ask exactly what you have done to deserve this punishment, but then he’s speaking once more. “I don’t see anything wrong with Yobu… He seems perfectly fine. Did San mention anything?”

You shake your head. “No, San just told me to bring Yobu over to you.”

“That’s odd…” Seonghwa frowns, fingers fiddling with the piercings on the shell of his ear before he lets out a sigh, rising to his feet. You keep your remark of ‘yeah, that sounds like San’ to yourself as you follow him with your eyes, watching as he steps over to the shelf, opening one of the drawers. “Anyway, I’m glad you came. I’ve been looking for you for a couple of weeks now.”

You pause, a little confused. Looking for you? What would the Park Seonghwa be searching for a person like you?

When he turns around, he’s holding your white handkerchief in his hands.

The two week old memory comes to the front of your mind and your mouth falls open. You remember walking to school, hearing someone sniffing quietly behind the school building, offering them a handkerchief… only for the person to be the one and only Park Seonghwa.

“Ahh…” Is all you manage to say, a little stunned as you accept the handkerchief back. It smells of clean cloth and soap that you don’t quite recognise, meaning that Seonghwa must have cleaned it for you. “You didn’t have to, but thank you anyway.”

Seonghwa shakes his head firmly as Yobu paws at the hem of his sweats, whining for attention. “No, I needed to. Thank you for lending it to me. I really appreciate it… could I repay you somehow? Maybe bring you out for a meal tomorrow?”

Your brain hits the brakes, all activity coming to a screeching halt as the words ‘meal’, ‘tomorrow’ and ‘repay’ bounce around your head like rubber balls. Thankfully, you’re saved from having to answer from the sound of your ringtone, although the second you hear it, you’re tempted to kill San right this second, and maybe yourself too, to save yourself the shame.

“You have a call! You have a call! Hey! Answer it! Don’t ignore me! Pleaseeee~” San’s voice comes from your pocket and you freeze in embarrassment, as Seonghwa stares at you in shock.

Your face turns red and you rush to answer the call, cheeks heating up in horrified mortification. Jabbing the little green icon with as much fury as you can muster, you hiss into the phone when the call comes through.

“What the hell did you do to my phone, San?”

“Hello! How’s my dear Yobu doing?” He sings, completely ignoring your furious question. You pause in your tracks, wheels turning in your mind as you put all the clues together. His too cheerful voice, the handkerchief, how he didn’t tell you Seonghwa was this veterinarian friend…

“Choi San.” Your voice is literally bubbling with mounting vexation and your rage must be clearly heard, because there’s a gulp over the phone. “Did you plan all of this?”

The line goes dead and you stare at your phone in shock.

Then you shriek in fury.

“I’m going to kill that slimy worm! That little bastard! Playing me like this!” Your fists are clenching around your phone, dearly wishing they were wringing San’s scrawny neck instead. You’re about to throw something when a warm hand settles on your shoulder and you whirl around in shock, suddenly remembering that Seonghwa is still in the room with you.

“Is everything alright?” He asks hesitantly, dark eyes wide and concerned and your rage dissipates into thin air, replaced by all too potent self-consciousness. He’d just seen you screaming your head off like a mad woman, for god’s sake.

“Yeah...I’m just going to have to kill that bastard the next time I see him.” You mumble under your breath, turning your phone to silent before savagely shoving it in your pocket. “Yobu is fine, San just played a massive prank on us.”

To your surprise, Seonghwa doesn’t even react in the least, clearly expecting something like this after having known San for so long. He merely presses one hand to his face as he shakes his head in exasperation. “I knew something was up when he was smiling so much that day. That kid, honestly…”

“Sorry for the bother.” You apologise quickly, scooping up Yobu in your arms and placing him in his basket. The ragdoll lets out a soft meow, as if confused as to why you’re leaving so soon when you practically run for the door in shame. But right before you can leave, Seonghwa’s hand grasps your wrist lightly, pulling you back, and you make a soft ‘eep’ in surprise as you turn to face him.

He actually looks painfully nervous, teeth toying with the black piercing on his lower lip as his gaze moves around shiftily, his toes scrunching up under Robot Man’s face. “Well… will you… will you let me bring you for dinner tomorrow? To thank you?”

You freeze awkwardly, the tension between the two of you thick as sauna steam. After a long, awkward pause of silence, Seonghwa finally seems to realise he’s holding onto your wrist and drops it like you have the plague, scooting back several steps to a more respectful distance. His tongue swipes across his pink lips shyly as he musters up the courage to speak again. “Please? I mean, if you’re uncomfortable, you don’t need to, I completely understand-”

You’re snapped out of your lip piercing induced shock when you finally realise that Seonghwa thinks that you’re reluctant to go with him. Not that you aren’t slightly… but maybe it’s time to give San’s friends a chance and get to know them. From what you’ve seen of Seonghwa, he doesn’t seem that bad to you anyway.

Awkwardly, you unlock your phone and pass it to him.

His eyes widen in surprise when he sees a blank contact open, the tiny line hovering at the ‘Name’ bar. Then a smile, one real and genuine, settles on his face as he enters his name and phone number, saving it before he passes it back to you.

“I’ll call you?” He asks as you slip on your shoes, balancing Yobu’s basket in one hand and your phone in the other. You nod in reply, a little breathless from his radiant smile.

“Yeah.”

From the basket, Yobu gives a smug mew of affirmation. His mission is complete.

[itsjustmyfantasyroom]

Via Text

The lovely @beccabarba requested a follow on from Via Email. Hope this hits the spot x

Thank you @detective-giggles for helping along the way.

Warnings: Bryan Kneef, I repeat Bryan Kneef. He is an ass-hole and slightly rough but reader feels safe. Thigh riding smut. Swearing. Use of Daddy, slut and whore.

WC:  1881

Enjoy x

You had just walked out of your 6th interview in 2 weeks since you had quite your job as Bryan’s assistant and personal sex toy. You had applied for multiple jobs and been to interviews with no luck, and you weren’t really sure why. You were up to date with all training and had more than enough experience but you hadn’t gotten an offer. You were lucky you didn’t have to cut into your savings to live just yet and your parents had told you they would help out as much as they could so you didn’t have to do that.

You walked out of the 6th interview feeling kind of flat, 6 interviews in 2 weeks and it actually hit you that maybe you might have to go back to school and start all over again. You hated yourself for sleeping with your boss and you hated yourself even more for letting him get under your skin. You walked passed a bar and thought ‘fuck it’, it was lunch time and you needed a drink. You walked in sitting at the bar and ordering a pink gin and lemonade and a serving of wedges when your phone buzzed with a new text. You rolled your eyes when you saw the number, and against your better judgement you clicked on it just to see what it said,

6 interviews in 2 weeks, you’ve been busy. Shame none of them have worked out. Let me know when you want your job back.

Bryan

“Prick” you muttered under your breath it all making sense why you hadn’t heard back from any jobs, you had put Bryan as your previous employee and clearly they had all contacted him.  

You sat there as your blood boiled, everything running through your head. You had two more drinks before you got down off your stool, throwing a tip on the bar walking out to get a cab. You got to the office building making your way inside, storming past work friends as they said hello actually not hearing them you were so filled with rage. The drinks that you had were enough to give you some courage and make your flitter slip slightly, but not enough that you were intoxicated to the point you didn’t know what you were doing.

You walked up the spiral stair case into your old office space, to Ruth sitting at your desk. Ruth was a floater, a lovely older lady that had been at the firm probably since before you were born,

“Y/N, how is your break dear? What brings you in, I thought you had another week off”

“Wait, what?” You frowned at Ruth.

“Mr Kneef said you were using some of your vacation days”

“Fucking asshole” you muttered “Where is Mr Kneef?”

“He has a meeting, should be done in 20 minutes. You can wait in his office if you like”

“Thanks Ruth”

You walked into Bryan’s office shrugging off your blazer to your navy, short sleeved, v necked aligned dress with a waist belt, black peep toed Mary Janes your hair pulled back in a low lose bun, throwing it over the arm chair followed by your bag and you walked straight over to his bar cart garbing a low ball glass and his best whiskey he hide behind everything else on the top shelf, pouring yourself a glass. You walked over to the large window, the window he pushed you up against too many times starring into the distance while you waited for him to come back. It wasn’t long after when you heard his voice barking orders at Ruth about the meeting,

“I’ll get that done for you straight away Mr Kneef. Y/N is waiting for you in your office.”

“Have you had lunch yet?” Bryan looked down at Ruth and she shook her head no “ Go now, take two hours today”

“But the paper work”

“Don’t worry about it. Two hours, go” he snapped.

Bryan didn’t come in straight away. You heard the main office door close and then you heard his office door close. You spun around on your heels, your cheeks burnt and your tummy filled with butterflies as you looked at him. His grey pinned stripped suit with white shirt and black tie, his hair in place and his salt and pepper beard making your knees weak, the smell of his cologne kicking in your core instantly. You looked at him over the rim of the glass as he made his way over to you with a straight face, shrugging off his jacket throwing it on his desk, rolling up his sleeves. You shot the rest of the amber liquid back slamming the glass down on his desk and his eyes narrowed at you and suddenly rage filled you again,

“You asshole” you snarled “You have been sabotaging my interviews”

“You don’t need a new job”

“The fuck I don’t”

“No Y/N you fucking don’t. I blocked your resignation letter and made it into a personal leave submission. You just needed to cool down”

You raised an eye brow at him, and the room fell silent as he walked to his bar cart poring himself a drink and then walking to his two seater couch sitting down resting one arm along the arm of the chair holding his glass, the other resting along the back and his legs spread open,

“Asshole” you snapped.

“How many did you have before that one?” Bryan said coolly tilting his head to look over at you.

“Excuse you?” you walked over to stand in front of him your face red from anger.

“You don’t talk like that unless you’ve been drinking” he raised his eye brow at you with a smirk “Clearly I sent the text at the right time, pushed the right button” he chuckled.

You scoffed, crossing your arms across your body leaning into your right hip tapping your left foot on the floor,

“What are you trying to achieve here Bryan?”

“I don’t say sorry and I never admit I was in the wrong” he raised both eye brows fast.

Your eyes locked with his, the way he looked deep into yours made you gasp and like a flash he put his glass down on the end table and he was in front of you, his body flush with yours, his body heat seeping through your cloths, one hand on your hip and the other on the side of your neck, you bit your bottom lip,

“You have one week of personal leave left, 3 weeks of full pay all together. You come back Monday and the whole week will be time and a half”

“No” you spat back. Bryan grinned as he ran his hand from your neck up into your hair threading it between your bun and your scalp, his hand balling into a fist tugging your hair and head to the side and he started to kiss the slope of your neck. You moaned as his beard ran along your skin, his lips wet from his drink and you grabbed onto his strong muscly arms, your finger nails digging into the material of his business shirt “I’ am not your whore Bryan”  

“No your Daddy’s little slut” Bryan said into your skin, the hand on your hip running down to your ass cheek giving it a slight spank. You whimpered and squeezed your thighs together for some relief.

Common sense kicked in and you pulled away from him, “I’ am not doing this, not while you’re seeing or fucking other people, I’ am no ones fool. And pigs will fly before I work for you again” You pushed your pointer finger into his chest “Don’t fuck up my next interview”

You went to walk away when you felt his long fingers warp around your wrist and he tugged you back roughly, pulling you to the couch, tugging you down to sitting and the down to lay on your back. You were taken aback by his actions, but you didn’t feel unsafe, quite the opposite, he had never turned you on this much before. You trusted Bryan and you knew in his weird asshole way he was trying to mend whatever this was.

Bryan grabbed both wrists pinning them above your head, his long fingers in a tight grip around them, his knee pushing between your legs and you spread them willingly. All common sense you just had was gone the moment he grabbed your wrist. Bryan lent over you, his free hand resting on the back of the couch, and he adjusted his leg so his thigh was resting on your centre and you gasped as he started to moved his leg over you in a fast pace, your back arching off couch from the feeling of your panties rubbing on your hardened pearl as Bryan run his thigh over you. His lips ghosting yours,

“You don’t need another interview because you have a job here” Bryan pushed his thigh deeper into you and you moaned “I’ am not fucking or dating anyone else anymore. Only you”

You could feel your coil winding tight and you started to roll your hips over Bryan’s thigh, he could feel your wet coming through his pants. His own need was straining against his zipper, but today wasn’t about him. Today was about getting you back in and out of work. Your body covered in sweat and you screamed his name breathless as you rode his thigh till you came down from your high. When you stopped moving your hips Bryan lent down his lips landing on yours kissing you deeply. His tongue darting into your mouth toying with your tongue. Bryan broke the kiss so you could catch your breath, sitting up on the couch for a moment and then standing up in front of Bryan, his hands going to your hips again,

“That’s your way of saying sorry?” you smiled.

“You’re complaining?” Bryan smirked with an eye brow raise.

“Of course not” you cupped Bryan’s cheeks running your thumb along his bottom lip, he pouting his lips to kiss the pad of it “Only me?”

“I don’t need to repeat myself Y/N” he looked firmly at you “No titles yet, we work up to that”    

“Ok” you smiled giving him a peak on the lips.

“I’ll come past when I’ am done and you can show me how sorry you are” Bryan grinned at you.  

“I have nothing to be sorry for” you sassed back, pulling away from him to walk away to get your jacket and bag, Bryan’s hand landing on your ass again with a spank before you were out of reach, you looked over your shoulder and winked “But by all means stop by later Daddy”  

 Tags: @thatesqcrush​​​​ @witches-unruly-heart​ @madamsnape921​​​​ @annabelleb49​​​​ @prurientpuddlejumper

[krsnbgirl]

Fly High! || Kageyama x Fem!Reader || Part 3

Summary: The volleyball club is very keen on making you join and you find yourself slowly giving in, despite having doubts about yourself. You also find yourself naturally gravitating towards Kageyama without realizing it after one of their practices. Kageyama also finds himself questioning the effects you have on him.

Pairing: Kageyama Tobio x Fem!Reader

Genre: Rom-Com, Slice of Life, Sports

Word Count: ~2.9k

Warnings: Slight swearing, smoking (for Ukai), Signs of Anxiety from Reader, Timeline heavily based on the anime

Author’s Note: And here is part three of the series! I hope you guys enjoy it! Thank you to anyone that has interacted with the first part :) Taglist is still open if any of you would like to be a part of it! Also crossed posted on AO3! xoxo, Ren  ❤

Taglist: @misnmatchedsox​ @monviemoo

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Masterlist

The final bell of the day rang and you groaned as the paper bag sitting next to your desk was calling out your name. It was the middle of the week which meant that you had the apartment all to yourself until your mom returned late from work. You had planned to go to Ukai’s shop to pig out on snacks to take home and eat while playing video games. But it looked like your plans changed as you looked over towards the burgundy uniform that stared back at you. With a sigh, you pushed herself up from your desk and went to start on cleaning up the classroom. You let your mind wander to earlier that day when you were walking around the school during the last break of the day and had bumped into the third years who were conveniently looking for you.

“(Y/N)-chan!” Asahi greeted as the three of them walked up to you. You stepped back and skeptically looked at them.

“Now, now (Y/N)-chan, you don’t need to be looking at us like that.” Sugawara laughed and you scoffed.

“Says the one that also tried to tie me down with the idea of being manager instead of helping me.” You pouted.

Sugawara held up his hands in defense and said, “We all know you can do it (Y/N)-chan.”

“Which is why we’re doing this!” Daichi exclaimed before he ran towards you and threw you over his shoulders.

“Suga you traitor! I can’t believe you were acting as decoy for this! Daichi, put me down!” You whined as you hit his back and kicked your legs in your attempt to try to escape.

In response to your antics, Daichi tightened the grip he had around your waist and fastened his pace.

“Nah, I don’t want to. Besides, we need to complete our mission.” he chuckled.

“What mission?! You guys are crazy, don’t think you can get away with this!” You huffed and continued to pound on Daichi’s back.  

Asahi and Sugawara only laughed at your reaction and Sugawara threw his blazer over your waist. The three third years ignored your pleas and the weird stares coming from students that walked past them.

“There, there (Y/N)-chan. If you only agreed to being manager in the first place you wouldn’t be in this position.” Asahi playfully said.

“We all saw that serve and if anything, this could be helpful for you.” Daichi continued.

“Shimizu-san was the one that asked us to help her find you because she needed to give you something. But we also know you well enough that you’d try to escape if we told you why we needed to talk to you. Or y’know…” Sugawara shrugged before finishing his thought, “corner you and convince you to come with us.”  

You sighed and crossed your arms, glaring at the floor. “Fine, you have a point. But can you please just let me walk?! Do you think I can actually outrun the three of you giants?!”

The boys laughed as Daichi finally set you down in the hallway for third year classes. “True, but we thought this would be more fun.”

Daichi ruffled your hair and you couldn’t help but groan, facepalming and accepting the fact that they’ll never stop messing up your hair. “You guys always just have to go for the hair, huh?”

Pressing your hands together, you looked up and playfully prayed out loud. “Oh kami-sama, what did I do in my previous life to deserve this type of treatment from three giants?”  

“You’re just so fun to tease sometimes, (Y/N)-chan.” Sugawara chuckled as Asahi waved down Shimizu.

She walked up to your group with the brown bag in hand and passed it to you.

“Inside is the practice uniform for us. I know you’re still thinking about it and hopefully these boys have been doing their best to convince you. But we all saw that you were finally opening up on giving volleyball a second chance once you picked up the ball.”

“Once it’s in your body and you get a feel of that court, it’s never going to leave you (Y/N)-chan. Trust me when I say, I know how you feel about being adamant on leaving the court after something happened. It’s all about keeping your perspective open.” Asahi said.

“Sure you had something knock you down, but always remember, it’s better to come back stronger than let yourself drown in what ifs.” Sugawara reminded her.

“Of course, everyone has their own time when it comes to healing. But I know I can see that your time is nearing, (Y/N)-chan. And when that time comes, we’ll be there to support you. The first step is to slowly get back into it, even if it means just doing it on the sidelines.” Daichi said as he gave your shoulders a reassuring squeeze.

“And if anything, Nishinoya-kun is the one person that’s been looking forward to your return onto the court.” Shimizu said.

Taking the bag into your hands, you gave them a small but thankful smile. You wouldn’t admit it to them, but you had missed volleyball. After trying so hard to walk away from the sport, all the emotions you felt after stepping into the gym came at you like a wildfire. After your incident, you distanced yourself from it because of how much your injury affected you. Now one year later, what ifs had begun to enter your mind, especially once Nishinoya began to talk about how Karasuno was picking up their game once more. You couldn’t help but feel jealous of him. He was still able to do the one thing he loved while you were stuck at square one. But now knowing that he’s been wanting you to get back into it, talking about the boys and their games was just a way for him to lure you back into your love for the sport.

The third years could see the look in your eyes change after Shimizu mentioned Nishinoya and smiled at each other. You were like their little sister and all they wanted was the best for you and they knew that it was volleyball. You were one of the most passionate players they’ve seen and they would do anything to see you at your happiest.They weren’t sure if you would ever be able to return back to the court, but being involved as a manager could  be the starting point for you. They just knew that volleyball was destined to always be a part of your life no matter what.

“I hate you guys…” you murmured as you looked away, hugging the bag to your chest.

“We love you too, (Y/N)-chan.” Sugawara smiled and Asahi bent down to rest his arm on your head.

“So does that mean you’ll be our manager then?”

You clicked your tongue and elbowed Asahi before walking away. “I’ll think about it, Goatee Guy.”

“Goatee Guy?!”

You laughed as you finished up your clearing duties, a warm feeling spreading through your chest as you realized how much the third years looked after you. After putting the broom away, you picked up the bag and stared at the uniform that sat inside. With a million thoughts running through your mind, you bit your lip in contemplation as your eyes moved towards the clock in the classroom. Their practice was just about to start and so with another look at the bag, you gathered your things to make your way over to the gym. ‘Screw it, let’s see how this goes’ You thought to yourself.

---

‘Am I really going to do this?’ You thought to yourself as you slowly walked towards the gym after changing into the uniform.

Peeping through the door, you saw that the boys were already inside of the gym warming up. You were about to sneak in, until Hinata ran up to you with his quiz in his hands.

“(L/N)-san! Some parts you taught me were on there, and I got a third of them right!” he happily exclaimed.

Quickly forgetting about what you were  worrying about, you began to jump with Hinata in joy because he managed to pass the quiz with your help. The boys were surprised to see you in the uniform, but nonetheless happy that you were seriously considering becoming one of their managers. Shimizu approached you while Daichi called for their drills to begin and decided to give you the rundown.

“I’m sure you already know by now, but you don’t have to be nervous. Just make sure to be careful of stray shots.”

You gave Shimizu a questioning gaze, as if daring to see just how bad the stray shots can be, and she laughed. “You’ll just have to see for yourself, (Y/N)-chan..”

“Ugh Kiyoko-san that’s no fair…” You playfully whined before following her around to help on whatever needed to be done.

Soon enough, Coach Ukai and Shimizu were throwing balls at the boys during their practice match. As you watched while doing the small tasks that were given to you, you slowly began to understand what Nishinoya was always telling you about the boys. There was the hunger for revenge that drove them to train harder and you could see it in all of their eyes. You couldn’t help but laugh whenever you saw Nishinoya and Tanaka get riled up whenever something great happened. It reminded you of the times when they would just as riled up for you during your matches after Nishinoya began high school.

For a second you took your eyes off of them to check the time and out of the corner of your eye, you saw a stray ball coming your way. Before you could think, your body reacted on its own by squaring off your body and bending down. ‘Wait it’s too high.’ You crossed your arms just in time for the ball to rebound off of your forearms. The boys apologized but were also surprised at your fast reflexes.You casually waved it away and didn’t notice that a certain someone had his eyes on you. Kageyama saw it all happen since he was part of the trio that managed to block Asahi’s spike that headed towards your direction. He couldn’t hide his curiosity and surprise to see someone so aware of their surroundings. It made him wonder what it was like to play against you on the court. Kageyama kept staring at you and it wasn’t until Tsukishima nudged him in the stomach for his attention to return back to the court.

“Oi, Kageyama, we all know that (Y/N) iis cute but who knew that she’d catch the King’s attention. Don’t let her become your weakness if you guys do become a thing. We can’t let your reputation on the court get ruined.” Tsukishima teased.

“Shut up!” Kageyama hissed as his teammates snickered since it was hard to find things to tease Kageyama with.

After making sure that you were fine, Shimizu began to tell you how Karasuno’s offense is among the best in the prefecture. You hummed in response as the conversation continued while dodging or hitting away any stray shots. You snickered as you looked behind Shimizu to see Nishinoya and Tanaka fanboying over the fact that your senpai was talking more than usual. Your best friend met your gaze and gave you an encouraging nod as if to say ‘You’re doing the right thing. As well as “I told you so.”’’ Playfully rolling your eyes at him, you nodded at him to focus back on practicing just as Coach Ukai yelled at them to stop goofing off. You looked back at Shimizu as she observed the team and told you that Karasuno is going to make it to nationals once more.

You were lost in thought for most of the time while Shimizu took on most of the work. You knew that everyone wanted what’s best for you but you didn’t know if being a manager was going to work out for you. Would you be able to keep up? Were you even worthy enough to be their manager? You’ve been out of the game for a year, maybe even longer. Why are they having so much faith in you? With thoughts like these swirling your mind, practice was over before you knew it and Takeda-sensei was giving their announcements.

“...Ouginishi High School requested a match tomorrow and I accepted. They saw us at the Inter High prelims and insisted.” Takeda-sensei said.

The boys cheered and their energy rose up once more as they excitedly talked about their match. You watched them interact with each other and couldn’t help but feel jealous. Your longing for the sport continued to grow the more you interacted with the boys and you didn’t know how to feel. After your injury, you vowed to never return to the sport and yet there you were: back inside a gym filled with other people who loved volleyball just as much as you did. A swirl of emotions began to get the best of you and you quietly excused yourself to take a breather outside while the team cleaned up the gym for the night.

Your mind was torn as you quickly changed back into your school uniform and made your way back to the gym. Shimizu had asked if you wanted to walk home together on her way out, but you quickly declined because you needed to sort out your own thoughts. As you began to make your way towards the gate, you paused in your steps as you heard Coach Ukai and Takeda-sensei talk to each other. Your eyes widened as you listened in on their conversation. You felt bad when Takeda shared with Coach Ukai that he  couldn’t get the bus they needed for the team to go to Tokyo. Pursing your lips, your mind flashed to the boys’ excited expressions for their away games. It was important to have a bus and maybe, just maybe you could figure out a way to help them just this once.

“(L/N)-san, are you gonna be our manager?” Hinata asked as he ran up to you.

You jumped and turned around to find him staring at you excitedly. Taking a step back, you tried to figure out what to say to the poor guy since you still didn't have a solid answer.

“You’re going to, right?”

“Oi, Hinata, what are you doing to our (Y/N)-chan?” Tanaka and Nishinoya asked as they approached you.

“You better not pressure her into saying yes. But I’m pretty sure my (Y/N)-chan will say yes anyways.” Nishinoya said as he stared Hinata down.

“If she says no then we have to deal with it, alright kid? But I mean, both of us still hope that you’ll join. We’re just giving you space. Plus when you’re around, Kiyoko-san talks a lot.” Tanaka added.

You  laughed as Daichi knocked both of their heads and Sugawara apologized for their behavior. You waved their behavior away and retorted, “It’s fine, I have to deal with their stupidity on the weekends anyways.”

“Hey!” Tanaka and Nishinoya exclaimed and tried to go after you. Trying to find an escape route, you noticed Asahi and Kageyama approaching and smiled widely. Quickly running behind Kageyama, you held onto the back of his jacket. Peeping behind his tall stature, you stuck your tongue out at them as Asahi stepped in to catch the two idiots. Kageyama could only stand still as he felt your presence while everything went down. The feeling of your hands scrunching up his practice shirt and the weight of your body leaning against his while you looked out from behind caused him to freeze up. He was surprised that you ran up to him and used him as a cover instead of Asahi, who was someone that you were much closer with. What confused him was that it made him happy knowing that you chose him but he simply didn’t know how to react to all of this.

“Let’s all just get along now children.” Asahi sighed as he dragged Tanaka and Nishinoya away from you and Kageyama.

Everyone’s attention was then diverted to Hinata who took out his phone to show the text he had gotten from, Kenma, his friend from Nekoma. You sighed in relief before realizing you were still hanging onto Kageyama. You felt how stiff he was and sheepishly let go before standing in front of him. Rubbing your neck, you awkwardly smiled and looked up at him.

“Sorry Kageyama-kun, I didn’t realize I was still hanging on to you.”

“O-Oh...it’s nothing really. Those two can be a handful sometimes.” he murmured as he felt his cheeks warm.

You softly laughed and smiled back at him. “Right? Well thanks for letting me use you as my shield, Kageyama-kun. Let’s catch up to them.”

Kageyama froze once more when he saw the bright smile you gave him. He snapped back to reality when you began to walk towards the rest of the boys. Clutching his chest in hopes to relieve the pounding behind his ribcage, Kageyama began to slowly understand what was happening to him. He glanced at you once more, who was talking to Tsukishima about your upcoming assignments, as he slowly made his way towards the rest of the team. Kageyama didn’t know how to react to the effect that you were slowly having on him and it was going to be the death of him if it continued to grow.

‘Kami-sama, please help me. I don’t know what to do if this continues to happen whenever I’m around her.’

[youarejesting]

Curse.6 The last batch

[First] [Masterlist] [Next] Beta: @lunarlxve​, @sweetnspicy93 Rating: PG Pairing: Prince!Jin x Reader Genre: fantasy, romance, comedy, drama, mystery, and more good stuff

Summary: A modern-day fairy tale whereby seven young princes born under King Bang’s greed cannot find true love. Unless they break a special spell, called the ‘Bang curse’. In order to break the curse, Prince Seokjin must be loved by a ‘Blue’ blood, by a royal. That seems almost impossible when you have a pig nose. (based off the movie Penelope)

[Story Give Away]

The alarm on your phone was going off. The cursed Marimba pierced through your dreams with the same intensity it did your ears. You had come home late from the bar where you had barely made enough to cover rent and your bills. You weren't one to wake up before noon, you usually took night jobs as they paid more. You're sleep addled brain was trying to catch up to why you set your alarm so early today

Rolling over your back, you stretched and cracked each vertebrae into place. Opening a single eye, you attempted to read your phone screen and caught the alarm name through blurred vision. ‘Meet with Prince’. Snorting at the absurdity of such a name for an alarm and switched it off as quickly as possible, throwing the electronic device back onto the mattress, and nestling into the pillows to try to regain some of your lost sleep. At least that was the plan until your phone pinged.

Who the hell is texting you this early? Whoever it was, you were ready to give them a lengthy and highly inappropriate response. Sneering at your phone, you sat up with a guttural growl, your body teetering forward before you regained your balance, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Just a reminder to all the ladies for the group meeting, it is today at Nine Thirty please be there on time for paperwork. The meeting with the prince is at Ten.” 

9:20

Realization fell over you, and you screamed, flailing out of bed, getting caught up in phone charger cords, blankets, and sheets. Crawling across the ground, you grabbed your closet doors, ripping them open and scrambling to grab the outfit you had picked out the night before. You paused, looking at the text, which told you to dress casually. You hummed, looking at the cute dress that would go well with the pink blazer. You instead chose a pair of ripped black jeans and a basic white Tee. 

Pulling them on, you splashed on the quickest and simplest makeup grabbing your bag and running. You ran across town, arriving out the front of the palace and getting pulled behind a van. Fists raised ready to throw hands at your attacker, you turned to see a weird-looking man and a small young lady biting her nails behind him, eyeing off the palace. “You are Suryeon, aren’t you?”

“What?” You shouted, lowering your fist as you remembered you were supposed to be pretending to be Suryeon to get a photo of the prince. “uh yeah. That’s me.” 

“You wore that?” The young woman asked, eyeing your outfit incredulously like she couldn’t comprehend anyone wearing these clothes.

“It said to dress casually, so I did?” Looking over her designer trousers pressed perfectly and the luxury brand shirt and jacket, she undeniably looked better, like royalty.

“Well put the jacket on, and head in you are running late,” You slipped the jacket on, and he explained, “When you want to take a picture, this button on the inside hem at your hip will trigger the camera to take a picture. The camera is here in the pin on your lapel.”

“Got it, Let’s go” you turned and ran off towards the gates when you heard them calling your name; you ignored them, they both seemed crazy, and you didn’t want to linger around them too long. This was just work, a job and your only task was to get a photo of the eldest prince that no one had ever seen.

You arrived in the waiting room and took the clipboard flicked through and signed on the bottom of every page without care, you read the words on the final page as you wrote the date. ‘If you agree to the terms within the contract and the repercussions if they are breached, please sign on the final line’. That was clear, but the line was not, there were three lines. Everyone was handing their documents over and you sighed, and signed the very last line and handed it over walking in last.

Everyone was staring at you as you walked in there. There were a total of perhaps twenty females, including you and Adora, who told everyone to get comfortable while she went to take the files away and said the chat room will be opened soon. The door closed behind her, and you looked around to see everyone’s eyes on you. Spotting a spare seat on the four-person couch, you sat down politely, respecting everyone’s space. 

The others were quick to stand up from their seats and walked away. One of the particularly rich-looking females sneered backing away from you as if you held her at gunpoint, “You have hair rollers in your hair?”

“Thank you for telling me,” You pulled the rollers free and shoved them in your bag.

“Cute bag, where did you get it?”

“The second-hand store,” you admitted before biting your lip regretting your words. “I like to dress like poor people, the street style, you wouldn’t understand. You don’t look like you are in the cool crowds, but it's all the new trends, the style you have is classified as grandmother style clothes compared to mine.”

They visibly squared their shoulders and glanced up from their phones suddenly all ears to this new trend. You walked around to the mirror, playing the room with your words trying to appear as wealthy and snobbish while dressed in absolute garbage compared. “Yeah, the trend is taking the ripped look to a whole new meaning. If you don’t look borderline homeless, you aren’t part of the cool crowd. I am only on the edge of cool because I am not ready to commit to such an extreme look.”

“The rollers are part of it, though. I had to trade my bejeweled ones for these because they were too fancy. You can try it if you want, the style is a poor leading lady. In dramas, they are always clumsy and messy, and they have the male lead come in and give them the makeover.” To say you were impressed was an understatement, the fact you had these women hanging on to every word you said. Perhaps you were a swindler in your past life. “If you want to marry a really wealthy man, the statistics say that the poorer and helpless the woman looks, they are more likely to go after them.”

“It makes them feel manly to provide for their woman, I am pretty sure in Hollywood they are calling it the ‘fixml’ which is like a side by side term they use for fixing up cars but means ‘Fix my love’. I wore the best with my rare one of only three made bags from this year's collection, and they shunned me. I had to learn quick” Seriously, you were making this up on the fly, perhaps you were an actor. This level of improvisation was amazing; you knew there were actors out there that wished for this skill.

One of the girls who looked really intrigued started inspecting your jeans commenting on how well it made you fit the ‘aesthetic’ and even let you put the rollers messily into her hair. You bluffed your way through it, telling her it accentuated certain parts of her face. 

“You see how this roll out here shows the almost childlike nature and makes you appear more youthful if I had to guess your age before this, I would say twenty-eight,” her mouth fell into a frown. “With this look, I would say a cheeky twenty-two.”

The other girls joined in complimenting her and trying out certain looks in the mirror. Everyone received a link for the chat room, all talk ceased, and they were on their phones. You were staring at your phone and trying to get it to load. Your phone was older and took longer to load up.

You were walking around the room trying to get some signal to help the app download quicker, the girls starting to murmur about the prince, your hand extended and you bumped into the side table. Your fingers curled around the nearest object to regain balance but soon you lost it and fell behind the couch taking the vase with you. 

There was a series of high pitched screams, each blood curdling and made you freeze behind the couch. Was this all a trap, lure women in with money and then kidnap them? Was the eldest prince a serial killer and had women brought to the castle for him to slaughter?

“Ah I promised I wouldn’t scare them away, I promised I would take this seriously.” The voice was kind of soft and sad. Whatever it was, the women had run off, the door shutting behind them. Peeking over the couch, the room was empty of the women, but there was a retreating figure. You had never thought there was any meaning to the term ‘prince figure’ but if there was a perfect example, this was it. He had broad shoulders and a thin waist, proportions other men would kill for, and women dreamed of in a man. 

So why did they run away, a door you hadn’t noticed in the corner swinging shut. Leaving you with just another mirror. You walked over to it and tried to see through the glass. There was no way to open it from this side, once it was closed. Or at least no obvious way to an outsider like yourself. The phone in your hand pinged a number of times, indicating that you had received the messages you had missed before all the ladies had run out. 

You sat on the couch, promptly lying across the cushions, reading through the texts sent between the ladies and the prince. You were prepared some unsolicited pictures of the prince. Something discriminating against him, there had to be something wrong; otherwise, there was something wrong with the ladies you had met today. Why would you run from such perfection? 

Even his voice was charming and beautiful, you wondered what he looked like. Imagining dark eyes and hair like his brothers wondering if you should try to Photoshop the brother’s faces together and try to come up with a face that felt right. Suddenly you wanted to see his face not for the photo, not for the money but simply to feed your curiosity.

It was when you started to read the messages from the rude women demanding that he show his face, and accusing him of being the ugly brother, some spouting past rumors that had once spread through the town that he was deformed or a cripple. You could almost imagine the voice you had heard earlier, getting frustrated, adopting a more clipped tone.

You reached the end, and all you could see was Adora, the woman running the meet going off at the prince for his behavior You couldn’t help but laugh at his response. “They made me mad ‘dora seriously you try being locked up all your life and have people spouting rumors about your cognitive ability and lack of limbs” You laughed at his words, you had felt the same way whilst reading the texts, empathizing with the prince. 

I decided to text him, show him some form of friendship. It must really suck to be locked away, never being able to hang out or have fun with friends. You honestly thought it was King Bang’s paranoia that had him locked away in fear that his eldest, who was to provide him with heirs and take the throne, would be killed.

But what would you send, you would have to think of an appropriate opening line for text. As you lounge on the sofa that was bigger and felt softer than your single thin foam mattress you had on the floor of your apartment. You called yourself a minimalist, but really money had just gotten tight, and you had to sell everything. 

Pausing between potential texts, you looked around spotting a gold candelabra, which would probably be worth a lot of money, but you shook your head. You just had to get a photo of the prince, and then you would get paid.

Turning back to your phone, you started the text.

Tags:  @knjkitten​ @wystfulaster​ @unadulteratedlyunique​ @sungiesangel​ @btsanonus​ @moccahobi​ @cloud-sitting​ @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d​ @bluehairedotakugem​

[Story Give Away]

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[sunsetminho]

handhold – h.hyunjin

summary: it’s your first time flying alone, and the thought of it makes you nervous. luckily, the boy sitting next to you has a big heart. 

pairings: reader x hwang hyunjin (stray kids) 

word count: 2.7k 

warnings: anxiousness about flying, otherwise nothing! 

a/n: this is my first fanfic and i’m starting off with something very cute, hope you all enjoy <3

*

When the calls for check-in started ringing through the speakers, you stood up from the spot you’d been sitting in for the past hour and stretched with a groan. You had been sitting cross-legged by the charging outlet, on the floor, and you felt and heard your knees crack as you stood.

“Check-in for Flight no. 348 at Counter 3–,”

You packed up your phone and carefully folded up your earphones, before sticking both items into the pocket of your jeans, and then taking out your passport. After making sure you had everything, you started heading towards the counter.

It felt familiar to you, even though you’d only flown overseas one other time—on your trip here, from Korea to L.A, for college. Your first year of schooling had finished, and you were on your way back to Seoul to see your family during the Summer. But even though you’d done this before, and you knew what to do, you were still nervous, because when you’d flown here, your mother had accompanied you. Just to make sure that you got settled in okay—it was a completely different country, after all, and since your mother had grown up in L.A, she had no trouble helping you out.

“Check-in for Flight no. 348 at Counter 3–,” the speakers repeated, and you hurried on over, picking up your pace to get in the line behind the three other people who had arrived crazily early, like you. When it got to your turn in the line, though, the man at the counter went through the routine things, helping you check in your single suitcase, and then he got a call, during which he talked in low tones and kept glancing up at you. Once he put down the phone, he told you to hold on, and then ran off to talk to the lady at the next desk down. You just watched in confusion, and stood there awkwardly. Had you brought something that was suspicious, or that you shouldn’t have brought? Was your bag overweight? No, that wasn’t possible, you’d weighed it at your dorm and it was fine—

“Miss,” The man said as he returned, looking a tiny bit more puffed than he had been before, “Since you’re travelling alone, how would you feel about being upgraded to Business class? We have a—uh, situation and it would do us a big favour—,”

You couldn’t help but sag in relief as you took in what he was saying, “Of course that’s fine, why wouldn’t it be? Thank you.” The man looked extremely relieved as well, and then he started typing away at the computer, and at last, after having stood there for a good twenty minutes, he handed you your boarding pass, and then saw you off with a smile and wave.

The boarding pass, with ‘Business Class’ written in fancy silver letters at the top, seemed far too prestigious for your hands; you were a college student who would’ve definitely not been able to afford this and you suddenly felt extremely special. Feeling that way then made you feel kind of silly, so you quickly shook it off.

But then you realised that having a Business Class seat meant that you could go into the Business Class Lounge—and then those thoughts of feeling special returned in full force. This time, you didn’t bother to push them away, because you were too overwhelmed with genuine excitement.

After making it through security and customs, you rushed to the Business Lounge. You had an hour and a half to kill before the flight, and you were determined to spend it all in the Lounge, pigging out on ice-cream and those fancy cakes your friends always posted on Instagram whenever they travelled.

The woman at the entrance did a one-over of your ticket and then let you in—you excitedly found a nice couch to sit in, dropped off your too-heavy backpack and then headed right to the ice-cream and dessert fridge. It was far too easy to pick out what you wanted. You just grabbed one of everything, one of every flavour, one of every dessert there was, and then you nestled back into the couch, at the corner of the space, and put your earphones in, sinking into the pillows and feeling like you’d just peaked in life.

After a tiring year at school, you felt like this was the universe rewarding you for your hard work, and the thought just made you shovel cakes into your mouth even faster. But not ten minutes later, somebody said to you, their voice muffled by the music, “Can I—uh—sit here? The other—um—tables are full.”

You pulled out your earphones and glanced up from your plate to meet the eyes of a tall boy, who was awkwardly standing with his two bags at the table next to yours, eyeing up your ice-cream.

Putting a subtle, protective arm around your food, you quickly swallowed your full mouth of cake and then responded, “Yeah, sure, no one is sitting here.” You smiled a bit, just to make sure you weren’t coming across as too nonchalant. As he smiled thankfully, sat down and adjusted his things, you got a chance to get a good look at him.

He was very good-looking, around your age, with blonde-ish brown hair and dark eyes, skin clearer than a sunny day. He smiled at you when he noticed you looking, and you bit your lip in slight embarrassment as you ended up blurting out, “How come you haven’t gotten any food?”

“Um, I ate, earlier,” He said, seeming to stumble through his English a bit…maybe he wasn’t from around here? “But I will—,” and then he suddenly switched to Korean, “get some ice cream later, probably.” Even though you barely noticed it, since you could speak both languages and had grown up with both, with your Korean father and American mother, he immediately realised his mistake and blushed. He quickly added in English, “Sorry, I’m…” He was lost for words, unsure of how to express what he meant, and he quickly flushed in frustration.

“It’s okay,” You said in Korean, offering him an understanding smile, and the moment he heard those words he sagged in relief, his eyes lighting up, “I speak Korean, too. I just came to L.A. for college. Where are you from?”

He seemed much more comfortable now, his body language relaxed and his expression less tense, “I’m from Korea, too. I came with some, uh, friends, but I missed the flight and now I’m flying later than them. That’s a lot of cake, by the way.” He glanced down at the multiple plates on your table with an amused glimmer in his eyes. “Oh, um—yeah, it is,” You said, and then bit your lip, unsure of what else to say, “Well, enjoy your ice cream, I guess.” You pulled out your laptop and pulled up your favourite Netflix show to watch, just so that you wouldn’t have to make the boy feel like he was obligated to talk to you. Also, you just really wanted to watch Netflix, after having little to no time during exam season.

You decided to head out of the lounge after you were finished your food. Yes, both plates of cakes and bowl of assorted ice-cream flavours, just to be at the gate early, get on the plane early, and take full advantage of the Business class privileges as soon as possible. As you were packing up your things, you unintentionally caught a bit of the conversation that the boy next to you was having on the phone, in very fast, urgent Korean:

“Hyung, I’m sorry, I’m already in the terminal, I’ll get on the next flight I can, I promise, no, no, I won’t miss the show, I’ll be there I promise just—I’m sorry,” He said in a low voice, focused on his conversation. He kept chewing on his lip, too, and your curiosity was piqued as you wondered what he could possibly be missing that was so important—exams, perhaps? No, but it was summer break now, even in Korea…

However, you brushed that away and decided that it was none of your business, before picking up your things. You hesitated a bit before slipping off, wondering if you should disturb the boy and say goodbye, but decided against it, and just headed out of the lounge with your bag.

*** Hwang Hyunjin groaned when he turned off the phone, and then groaned again when he turned around and realised that you were gone from your seat. Your empty plates and bowls were still there, but you were nowhere to be found. He kicked himself for not being brave enough to ask for your number, or at least just your name. He’d really wanted to see you again...

Too late now, though.

He heaved a heavy sigh and then swore internally—did Chan have to call at the exact time you’d decided to go? Any other time and it would’ve been fine…

Whatever. Too late now, anyway.

***

As you made your way down the aisle to your seat—third row, aisle seat, you kept repeating to yourself—you tried not to bump into the many flight attendants who were rushing around, directing passengers to their seats, passing drinks to the other business class passengers, and just bustling about doing their job.

You found yourself feeling very self-conscious, seeing as most of the people in the other seats in the business class section were all dressed in fancy blazers, reading newspapers. And then there was you, in your college’s grey hoodie, and black leggings, your hair no doubt a mess, looking extremely ordinary. Not only that, but you were definitely the youngest one here—even though you doubted that anyone cared about your appearance.

You approached your seat and took off your backpack, sitting down in your seat and then slipping your bag under the seat in front of you. You also did a quick check of your phone, simultaneously patting down your hoodie pocket to ensure that your passport and wallet were still safe.

You hadn’t even noticed the person next to you, too afraid to talk to a stranger, until they tapped you on the shoulder and exclaimed in fluent Korean, “Hey, you’re the girl I sat next to in the lounge!”

You whipped around, and sure enough it was him, the boy from the lounge earlier, and your eyes lit up. It was probably relief that burst through you at the sight of him, because even though you weren’t familiar with him, at least you wouldn’t have to sit next to a completely unfamiliar, older, and far more mature adult. That would’ve been far more awkward.

Even though you doubted they’d care. But even though you tried to hide your nerves, being on the plane, especially alone, made you feel a tiny bit anxious—you hoped there wouldn’t be too much turbulence. “Hey!” You exclaimed, turning around fully to face him, once again taking in his incredibly beautiful face, “I was going to say goodbye, but you were on the phone…”

“I know, I’m sorry,” He said, shaking his head slightly, “My friend called me just to check on me, so I never did get your name…”

“It’s Y/N,” You said, smiling, and when he did the same, you swore your heart skipped a beat. He was far too pretty—even though he wasn’t wearing anything fancy. In fact, he was dressed in a hoodie and jeans. This time, he was wearing a beanie that covered his blonde-ish brown hair. Sure, he was dressed very ordinarily, but still… “What’s your name?”

“Hyunjin,” He said very excitedly, seeming to be ecstatic at seeing you again, “Oh, my god, I thought I wouldn’t see you ever again and I really wanted to talk to you more.”

You flushed, flattered at his remark. He probably meant nothing of it; it was probably just an off-handed comment, but you still felt the heat rise to your cheeks, “I’m glad to see you again, too, Hyunjin.”

The two of you shared some light conversation, and it flowed easily between you. For some reason, it was easy to talk to Hyunjin, even though you often found it hard to socialise, especially with strangers. But you talked about everything—your life in L.A and your life in Korea, and he talked all about his friends and his home in Korea. He was very charismatic and bright, and you found that to be a nice change from the dreary environment of the college campus for the past few weeks, what with everybody being so drained from the exams. At some point, a flight attendant came and gave the both of you some pineapple juice, and you took it gratefully.

When the message came through on the intercom that the plane was about to take off, though, your nerves suddenly peaked and your words became stiffer. You could tell that Hyunjin had noticed, what with his eyebrows creasing in concern whenever you had to ask him to repeat a question because you were too distracted from your stress to hear him. He didn’t say anything until the plane started moving, the lights in the cabin dimmed, and you immediately grabbed hold of the armrests on either side of the chair you were in. “Y/N, hey, you alright?” He asked, shooting you a concerned look, turning his gaze away from the small airplane T.V and to you, instead. “Do you feel sick?”

“No, no, I’m okay,” You reassured him, trying to appear as calm as you could, “I’m just—,” but when the sound of the engine became louder, the plane speeding up to take-off, you gritted your teeth and couldn’t continue with your explanation. Instead, you focused on your breathing, staying calm. It wasn’t the thought of flying itself that scared you. Instead, it was the feeling of the inertia slamming into you, and the feeling of your stomach dropping during turbulence, that really made you anxious.

Hyunjin turned his whole body to face you, appearing completely unbothered by the velocity of the plane, and when the aircraft started to lift-off, you sucked in a breath and then audibly whimpered, shutting your eyes.

Suddenly, you wished Hyunjin would look away because you didn’t want him to think lesser of you—he probably thought you were a coward, and a weirdo, and you didn’t want this boy you’d just met (and found very cute)

Oh my god this is so embarrassing, why am I like this—

But rather than hearing a remark making fun of your fear, or a judgemental snicker, you suddenly felt Hyunjin’s hands taking yours and squeezing them gently. He laced your fingers with his, and the warmth of his hands made your cheeks blush the colour of a pale sunset.

“It’s alright,” He said, and when you finally opened your eyes, you met his gaze—he was smiling, and he gave your hand a comforting squeeze, “If you feel scared, I’ll hold your hand.”

The plane jolted a bit, and you squeaked.

“Hey, don’t worry,” He said reassuringly, “I’m here, just focus on the feeling of my hand, alright? We’ll be okay.”

You closed your eyes and leant towards him, and he wrapped his other arm around you gently, holding you. You took in the warmth of his hand, and the feeling of his arm around you, and the comfort of the circles he was rubbing into your back, and you finally steadied your breathing.

He held you, and didn’t say a thing—just leant you a hand and his smile, and it was enough.

Maybe this—all of this, being upgraded to Business class, then meeting Hyunjin, and then sitting next to him—maybe this was the universe rewarding you.

Whatever it was, you couldn’t be more grateful. You smiled as the plane steadied, and you finally opened your eyes.

[mammonspeanut]

The cocky one (Solomon X Reader)

Something that get’s a bit spicy at the end but nothing explicit. 

“Come on we’re going to be late.” , Solomon rushed you as you walked down the stairs in heels . “Solomon we have another hour.”, you reminded him as you come to a halt. You watched as his eyes grazed over your curves being hugged by a tight red dress with a slit on one side which Asmodeus happily picked out with you. Solomon’s gaze slowly wandered over your hips and thick thighs down to your feet as he grinned to himself before saying: “You know how I am. I am very impatient when I know I get to see you dressed up.” He softly took your hand and twirled you around before pulling you close and resting one hand on the small part of your back. “You look gorgeous. Maybe we can skip the theater and dinner and get right to the dessert.”, he whispered as a rosy blush began to creep onto your cheeks “Thank you. You look very handsome yourself and maybe we could do just that.”, you whispered back looking up at him as your nose tips touched.

“Where do you think you are going looking like this.”, Satan snapped standing behind you right before you were going to press your lips onto Solomon’s. “Well, if it isn’t Satan himself.” “I am not talking to you Solomon, I’d be thankful if you would shut up. To be honest, if it was for me I’d be perfectly happy if you would just burst into flames right now.”, Satan spat as he slowly made his way down the stairs. “I wouldn’t mind letting you try that out first. I am pretty sure I have a spell that could do exactly that.”,Solomon grinned “Solomon, Satan, come one what the fuck dudes?”, you angrily said before continuing: “Solomon invited me to the theater and later we were going to go out to have dinner.” While speaking you stepped next to Solomon who wrapped one arm around your hips pulling you close to his side to press a kiss onto your cheek. “Are you sure? I don’t think Lucifer would approve of you going out.”, Satan said eyeing Solomon suspiciously. “What wouldn’t I approve of?”, Lucifer’s voice boomed through the hall as he approached you.

 “This.”, Satan answered sharply as he pointed at Solomon and you. Lucifer scanned you from top to bottom and turned to Solomon:” He is right, I am not approving this.” “Excuse me? I am more than old enough to go out with whomever I’d like to?”, you spoke up, standing face to face with Lucifer. Grabbing your face with one hand he pulled you closer and stared you down with his crimson red eyes “I honestly do not care what you think. You are not going out with him in that.”, he calmly yet very sternly replied before you turned around and walked towards the door “Well, Lucifer, I honestly do not give one flying fuck what you think. I am going out and I am going to have fun.” You held out your hand towards Solomon who happily took your hand and left the house with you. After quickly closing the door behind you could hear Lucifer’s muffled voice through the door, you couldn’t understand what he was saying but you knew it was going to be ugly when you came back.

 It was a sensitive topic for everyone in the house, the brothers were against it from the very beginning and you knew they weren’t going to change their mind anytime soon, if it was for them they would be happier if it had never happened. A heavy sigh escaped your lips: “I’m sorry Solomon.” “There is no need to apologize, I know they don’t trust me. I kind of understand to be frank, but then again I don’t care. Guess I am lucky since they won’t ever seriously hurt me because they don’t want to hurt you.”, Solomon calmly said before flashing you a smile “You are one cocky man, you know that?” “I do but that is why you love me.”, he joked pulling you close “So don’t worry, relax and let us enjoy the evening. If you like you can stay with me tonight.”, he proposed before kissing you softly. “I’d love that.”, you smiled dreading to what you would come home to when you eventually did go back. 

“The food was delicious, don’t you think?”, you asked Solomon as you both arrived back at his place “I guess. From what I could taste it was good.”, he replied shrugging as he watched you kick off your heels. “Can’t you get your taste back with one of your mixtures or magic?”, you asked as you turned around and walked over to Solomon who was taking off his blazer. “Sadly, no. I guess that is what you get when you use yourself as a guinea pig.”, he chuckled as you grabbed onto his tie frowning while throwing your purse onto his bed. “Don’t frown like that. It isn’t the end of the world and after all, I know one thing that is always delicious.”, he teased, pulling you closer by the hips making you giggle as he rubbed over your curves. 

“Is that so?”, you breathed, cocking an eyebrow before looking into Solomon’s eyes. A cheeky grin spread across his face before he let out a low grumble as he slid his hand up your back. A tingling sensation spread throughout you as you eagerly waited for Solomon’s fingers to explore your body. “I don’t care what the others say.”, he whispered against your neck as he opened the zipper on the back of your dress. A whimper escaped your lips as he ran his cold fingers over the skin on your back, “Promise me you’ll always be mine.”, he continued as he kissed down your jawline. “I don’t ever want to lose you, I love you.”, he whispered one last time as he stared deeply into your eyes, worried about what you’ll answer. “I promise. I love you too.”, you replied before feeling his lips greedily crash against yours. 

Softly pushing you down on his bed he crawled between your legs, pressing himself against you as you opened his tie and pulled him closer. His fingers gently sliding up the outside of your thighs as you wrapped your legs around his waist, a moan escaping your lips as he bit into your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark. You could feel your phone buzzing in your purse behind you, as you reached for your purse you pushed it off the bed, by the time Solomon began to whisper sweet nothings into your ear while he had one hand wrapped firmly around your throat you had forgotten all about it. 

[sfiddy]

Your present is on it's way!!! It's supposed to be delivered before Christmas, but I'll give the mail a break if it doesn't. They've been swamped.

The snow storm dropped about a foot to a foot and a half. Thankfully light snow, so relatively easy to shovel. It's more mushy and icey now though. All of my lawn decorations, especially my sled being pulled by two reindeer and two bright pink flying pigs, are buried at the moment.

It's almost the holidays and then another year. Anything you want to do in 2021? I'm not usually a person with a New Years Resolution, though I probably should get into it. 😁

I’m so excited Santa!!  And no worries about when it arrives- I think we’re all used to things taking twice as long and three times the effort to accomplish.  

Oh yikes, snow.  My sons really want it to snow this year but I’m like... an inch of snow will grind this Texas town to a halt?  Now that I think of it, that may not be a bad idea right now...  Sleigh pulling pigs sound like an excellent decoration, Santa.  I have a giant inflatable Santa bear.  :)

Oh man, I’m usually not a big resolution person.  Like, I think of goals but I don’t slap deadlines on them.  That said, I want to finish Soli Insieme and maybe another few one-shots for the BD ‘verse.  I’ve got ideas percolating for a few other things as well.  I need to clean out my closet and deal with some kitchen clutter, but the house is in overall good shape.  You know, I really want to get one or two pieces of clothing tailored.  That’s a big goal.  Nothing huge, just maybe a blazer or something.  I’m sick of clothes being made of thin fabric as a substitute for fitting.  

I’ll tell you more about the tire slasher later-- it’s been an eventful day!

[serenlyss]

And Just Like That, They’re Gone

Rating: G Relationships: Reigen&Serizawa&Teru&Shou, Reigen&Shigeo, Reigen&Ritsu, Shigeo&Ritsu, small background serirei and ritshou Summary: A series of drabbles about Reigen coping with watching the kids grow up and move on. Crossposted to AO3: And Just Like That, They’re Gone

It's me, back at it again with more stepsiblings AU because I'm weak for it. Anyway I've been thinking a lot about Reigen in an AU where he ends up living with the boys, specifically Teru and Shou, and having an up close and personal insight into how they grow and mature through middle and high school, so now here I am. I had a lot of fun thinking about and writing this, I hope you all like it!

---

The end of Shigeo’s second year of middle school marks a season of change in Reigen’s life.

Reigen prides himself on being good with change. He’s always been rather unpredictable, especially in his career choices, and so, he thinks, these changes are natural. Shigeo diverting his attention away from working at Spirits & Such in order to focus on school is a reasonable change, and it doesn’t mean he’s gone forever. He still stops by the office when he has time, even if it’s only to sit quietly on the couch and work on homework for a few hours while Reigen and Serizawa take exorcism jobs, and Reigen never turns him away.

Their relationship is a lot more honest now that Reigen’s secret is out for good. Reigen finds himself talking to Shigeo more like someone might talk to their nephew rather than their former student, keeping tabs on his how studying for finals is going, his escapades with the Body Improvement Club, how his family is doing. Shigeo grows more expressive every day as he tentatively begins to feel the emotions he’s kept locked up for the past four years. It warms something deep inside of Reigen to see him finally acting like the kid he is, showing off his goofy side, laughing and smiling and crying and getting overwhelmed by his schoolwork until Reigen announces that it’s time to take a break and go for ramen.

Another thing that changes that summer is much more personal, much closer to home. After months of arguing with himself over whether it’s a good idea and a few extra days of arguing over why it is a good idea, Reigen finally convinces Teru to move in with him. The lease on his old apartment is up for renewal and Reigen doesn’t really want to move, but he can’t get the image of the fourteen-year-old boy living by himself, going out to buy groceries by himself, doing homework at his desk by himself, and after thinking about it enough he finally decides to rip off the metaphorical band-aid.

(He finally gets the idea to stick in Teru’s head after agreeing to split the rent equally, but even after they move in together, Reigen never asks him to uphold his end of the bargain.)

It’s a long time coming, everyone says. Reigen’s been standing in as a surrogate caregiver for a long time now—from afar, at least—picking up the responsibilities that Teru’s absent parents refuse to fill. He calls his school when he gets sick and goes over to his apartment occasionally to check in on him. Teru starts coming by the office to do homework with Shigeo, which results in all of them inevitably going out for dinner together, and by the time this routine has been going on a few weeks he ends up seeing Teru for at least a few hours on most days anyway. Shigeo seems more than pleased when Teru explains their arrangement, and after Teru officially moves in Reigen starts to see Shigeo more often, too, as he comes over to work on homework or sleep over or just for fun, sometimes. Reigen’s apartment is livelier than it’s ever been before, and despite the noise and the extra clutter and the long nights spent staying up late while Teru complains about school projects, he never regrets making the offer.

---

Halfway through Teru’s third year of middle school, Reigen and Serizawa start dating. Shou, who’s been rocking back and forth between living with his mother and crashing at Serizawa’s apartment, makes a big deal out of having known all along that they were bound to get together, and is, in turn, the one who makes the biggest stink over the few instances of PDA they indulge in.

(Reigen gets him back years later when he and Ritsu start dating, and the stink eye Shou shoots him is worth more than every smile put together.)

---

Shigeo and Teru graduate from middle school, and swap out their old uniforms for matching blue suit jackets and crisp white dress shirts as they move on to attend the same high school. Shigeo is quick to express how excited he is to have a friend going to the same school as him, and the two of them immediately make it a tradition to walk home together whenever they can.

That same summer, Shou moves in with Serizawa officially, loathe to leave Seasoning City behind even as his mother moves to a nearby city for work. He goes with her blessing and a promise to keep in touch, and winds up bumming on Serizawa’s floor until they can find a bigger place. Ritsu keeps him tethered to his hometown, the one person he knows he can never leave behind, and the two of them end up hanging out together more often than not as Shou transfers to Salt middle school and winds up, somehow, in Ritsu’s class. He complains about how stifling the boring black uniform is and refuses to wear his blazer for a minute longer than is necessary, but both Reigen and Serizawa can see that he’s happy there.

In the end, it’s Teru who suggests moving Serizawa and Shou into his and Reigen’s apartment. They have plenty of extra space, as he’s quick to point out, and Shou can’t sleep on Serizawa’s floor forever. Rationally, Reigen knows that adding two more people to the apartment is sure to make it feel a little close and cramped, but he can’t deny that the prospect of splitting rent and saving money is appealing. Not to mention, he’s rather fond of the noise that comes from having people over, now. His office is rarely empty anymore, flocks of middle and high schoolers constantly streaming in and out alongside his clients as they laugh and bicker and complain and conspire. It only takes a few weeks of talking and planning before they’re putting the plan into motion.

Shou shares Teru’s room now, something Reigen worries might be a point of conflict since Teru’s so used to having his own space, but he’s surprisingly quick to adapt to his new roommate. Shou convinces Teru to stay up late playing games on the weekends, and in turn Teru makes sure he does his homework on time. Sure, it’s not a perfect arrangement, but the positives seem to far outweigh the negatives now, the more Reigen thinks about it.

(Teru would later admit to Reigen that having a roommate makes him feel less lonely, like he’s not the only one in the apartment late at night after Reigen’s long gone to sleep, but he never tells Shou to his face. Reigen has a feeling Shou knows anyway.)

---

Reigen really loves living with Serizawa, even if it means he tends to see him most of the day, now. They commute to work together in the mornings and then part ways so Serizawa can attend his night classes while Reigen goes back to their apartment and finds something to eat. Sometimes they all get dinner together, on the occasions that Shou and Teru decide to stop by and help out and Serizawa doesn’t have classes, and then they’ll ride the train home together in high spirits. It’s times like these that make Reigen feel most like he has a family now, as unorthodox and dysfunctional as it is.

Reigen’s no parent, and he knows this. Neither is Serizawa, for that matter, as hard as they both try. Teru and Shou don’t refer to them as their fathers—except for Shou, who might call Reigen ‘dad’ in a mocking manner whenever he does something particularly father-adjacent—but the sentiment is there, sometimes, on nights when Shou’s insomnia keeps him up into the early morning or days when Teru’s anxiety really gets the better of him. It’s the feeling that he’s needed, in a way no one else can quite fill, that makes Reigen wonder what would have happened if he’d decided to leave well enough alone. Whenever these thoughts come to him he’s quick to squash them; he doesn’t want to think about these boys, barely old enough to care for themselves, being forced out of their childhood and into the world too early. Reigen knows a thing or two about fending for himself, and he wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy.

---

Until he sees Teru cross the stage and accept his high school diploma from his principal’s hand, Reigen had never believed the parents who would bemoan how fast the years go by. All of a sudden he’s hit by the realization that Teru is an adult now, just a tad taller than Reigen himself is and on his way to university in the next few months. It’s been nearly four years, now, since Teru had stepped foot in Reigen’s apartment for the first time as his new home, and the traces of him are everywhere, from the Flying Dead Pig DVD nestled between Reigen’s own collection to the potato chips in the cupboard he’d started buying just because they’re Teru’s favorite snack. He can no longer seem to wrap his head around a house without Teru in it, despite the fact that he’d lived a majority of his adult life by himself.

It’s no different for Shigeo, who Reigen has been watching for even longer than Teru. Shigeo is tall, now, taller than Teru, and his continued exercise with his high school’s Body Improvement Club means he fills out his uniform in a way he never had before. Neither of them are kids anymore, they’re adults who are getting ready to move forward, to seize their futures, and the thought of it makes Reigen’s chest tighten in a way he’s never really felt before. It’s a new feeling, to have so much pride in another person, but he feels it potently when he sees them hug after the ceremony is over, sees the euphoric little kiss Shigeo presses to Teru’s temple in the excitement of the moment, sees the tears that well up in the corners of Teru’s eyes as he holds himself just a little straighter than usual. It overwhelms him in an instant, and he has to blink and tip his head back to keep from crying before he even gets the chance to congratulate them. Serizawa settles an arm around his shoulders and smiles at him knowingly, and no words have to pass between them for Reigen to understand that the feeling is shared.

---

The summer after Teru’s graduation is a rush of grad parties and packing and preparing for the move to university, interspersed with late-night breakdowns over whether or not he’s ready to take the next step and excited phone calls to Shigeo about his class schedule, the apartment they’re going to move into together, or any other new discovery that sets his hands quivering in apprehension and anticipation. It’s simultaneously amusing and nerve-wracking to watch the boy who’s become almost like a son to him practically jumping up and down in excitement for the coming days.

Summer ends before he can blink, and Teru’s move-in day arrives. He and Reigen and Serizawa pile boxes of Teru’s things into the back of a u-haul they’re renting; he doesn’t take everything with him, just the necessities, and leaves his keepsakes in his room in the apartment. Serizawa drives the u-haul with Shou while Reigen follows behind with Teru in the rental car he’s borrowed for the trip. The university he and Shigeo have decided to attend is about a two hour trip away by car, close enough to visit on long weekends if they decide they want to get off campus but far enough away that they can have their own space and room to stretch their legs.

The apartment they move into is small but cozy, with a bedroom big enough to easily fit them both even with Teru’s bulky wardrobe to account for. Shigeo and his family are already there when they arrive, and they greet him warmly, as though Reigen is an old friend. He supposes he is, in a way; he’s been a part of Shigeo’s life for nearly eight years now. He’s been to their house for dinners and birthdays and graduation parties, and they’ve been accepting of him despite his fraudulent actions and tendency to lie under pressure. Even Ritsu greets him in a semi-friendly way, even if he still refuses to give Reigen as much as a smile.

(Reigen laughs and ruffles his hair when Ritsu’s back is turned, just to annoy him, but to his surprise, Ritsu doesn’t so much as glare. It makes him wonder if Shigeo made him promise to play nice for the day, but something tells him there might be more to it than that.)

It takes a few hours to unpack and organize all of Teru’s and Shigeo’s combined belongings, even with the eight of them working together, but by the time they’re finally finished the apartment always looks much more lived-in. They all go out for the busiest, loudest, most hectic dinner Reigen’s ever been a part of before they drop Teru and Shigeo off at their apartment again, this time for good. He manages to hold it together pretty convincingly up until the point that Teru moves in to give him a good-bye hug, and suddenly he can feel his chest tightening and his eyes watering and his lip quivering and he knows it’s going to be a long drive home. Shigeo hugs him, too, and it hurts, because these boys have been a constant in Reigen’s life for years now and he can’t imagine them being so far away. Serizawa, to his credit, seems to be keeping it together a little better than he is, but even he can’t hide the bittersweetness that settles itself in his eyes and stays there as he watches the two boys, caught somewhere between childhood and adulthood, say their good-byes to their families in preparation for their first night on their own as roommates.

Reigen doesn’t say that he’s going to miss them, even though he really wants to. Instead, he wishes them good luck and reaches up to ruffle their hair. They’re too tall for it to be comfortable anymore, but the annoyed expressions are worth the awkward motions ten times over, he thinks. Well, Teru’s annoyance, anyway. Shigeo still doesn’t seem to mind, even though he’s long outgrown such displays of affections and is nearly too tall for Reigen to give them anymore.

(When they decide to give Reigen a call days later, he insists that he isn’t sad at all that they’d left, and doesn’t tell anyone but Serizawa about how he’d cried on the drive home, alone in the rental car.)

---

Ritsu and Shou are the next to graduate, but to Reigen’s surprise—and relief, in the end—they decide to stick around a little longer than Shigeo and Teru had. Ritsu gets accepted into a high-end private university in the city, one he can commute to easily while living at home in order to save money, and Shou has no desire to continue with school any longer than he has to. He gets a job working at a local animal shelter and spends all of his extra time there, putting his spare energy into playing with the rescue dogs and socializing the kittens dropped off by cat owners who can’t afford to keep them. It doesn’t pay a whole lot, but it makes Shou happy and gives him something to do now that Teru’s gone. He keeps living with Reigen as he and Ritsu start to tentatively pursue a budding relationship with each other, and even after he hits his final growth spurt just after graduating, he never quite reaches Reigen’s height. Ritsu, meanwhile, shoots over everyone’s head except for Serizawa, who holds the title of tallest inside and outside of their ragtag family. He gets close, though, the spikes of his unruly hair giving him the extra few inches he needs to match Serizawa’s height.

(Serizawa teases Shou sometimes about how he must have gotten his height from Reigen, and it never fails to make Shou loudly and argumentatively flustered. Serizawa has a way of getting under Shou’s skin that Reigen can’t seem to replicate, no matter how many years Shou sticks around.)

---

As promised, Teru and Shigeo come to visit whenever they can, whether it’s over a three-day weekend or during the holidays. They’re always glowing when they do, eager to reunite with their families and catch up on lost time, and for Teru that means crashing in his old bedroom with Shou again, a room that is still partly his despite how Shou’s begun to overtake the extra space. Reigen is amazed every time just how easy it is to fall back into old routines whenever Teru decides to come home, but Teru comes with new stories now. He talks everyone’s ear off about his college life, his apartment with Shigeo, his classes, how different college life is compared to high school. Reigen’s just glad to have him in the apartment again. He misses Teru’s exuberant energy when he’s away at school, energy he only gets to hear flashes of whenever Teru decides to call and talk to him.

---

Eventually, Shou and Ritsu move out. They don’t go far, but they’re both long overdue for their own space, and so they decide, a year or so into their relationship, to go in together on an apartment of their own, somewhere equidistant from Ritsu’s university and the shelter Shou now works at full-time. Reigen and Serizawa help Shou move his stuff over to his new place, and though the goodbyes are not nearly as emotional are they had been with Teru—Shou’s only moving a fifteen minute drive away, and knowing him, he’s sure to come barging back into his old home whenever he pleases—it still feels like a time of change to Reigen.

Reigen prides himself on being good with change. Change is a constant in his life, as much as it sounds like an oxymoron in his head, and he’s quick to accept new changes with what he considers to be graceful flourish. Despite his optimistic views of change, however, he can’t deny the profound loneliness that comes over him when he walks by Shou and Teru’s old room and sees it empty, half of its previous belongings shipped off to other parts of the city, other parts of the country. The apartment suddenly feels spacious again, and it’s quiet, during the week. Serizawa is still there, of course, and Reigen has a sneaking feeling he might always be there, but it still knocks him off-balance to think that the kids he’s been watching over for the better part of a decade now have grown up and moved on, at least in some ways.

It’s bittersweet, he thinks, but he’s proud, really proud. He feels that pride every time Teru brags about the memories he’s making with Shigeo and when Shou talks about the animals he’s helping at his shelter.

Reigen understands now, when he hears parents bemoan how fast the years have gone by. He understands because he’s experienced those years, as few as they’d been. He’d given advice, provided innumerably meals, weathered late-night breakdowns and broken hearts and anxiety attacks. And just like that, they’d come and gone, like a snap of his fingers.

But it’s not a bad thing, Reigen thinks. After all, change is a part of growing up.

[marinaloxely]

Week 1 - 12/26 to 1/2

Word Count: 2,388

“Basil Myles Hale!  Get down here this instant!  You’re going to be late for school!” my mother calls.  My backpack bangs against my back as I race down the stairs.  I hurriedly adjust the bright red tie around my neck. Mother stuffs my schedule and a marble rosary into my hand before pushing me out the door.

I start down the street at a brisk pace.  It’s a decent walk to school, and I only have about 20 minutes to get there.  And I have to put away my books before homeroom starts.

About halfway there, a blur of pink and navy crashes into my side.  I laugh and hug my best friend. “Hey, Dobby.” She detaches herself from my side, and I can get a good look at her as we walk.  Her curly hair is dyed pink today - as opposed to last week’s lavender shade - and her school uniform is off kilter.

She grins at me.  “Hellooooo Baz! Are you ready for senior year?”

“Ugh.  No! I just want it to be over but then we have to go to college and I’m not ready for that and I’m just stressing.”

“Well, stop that!  We’ve got a whole year to finish everything we’ve got to do here, and then we’re off to Colorado!  It’s going to be a breeze.”

“I’m not so sure, but whatever.  It’s just another school year.”

We arrive at the boring office building that is our school.  Saint Augustine Academy, a Catholic school nestled in a miniature office park in little old Pflugerville, Texas.  A few students mill about the parking lot in matching clothing, talking and laughing and generally being students.  A teacher stands at the double doors, making sure nothing too terrible happens.

Dobby and I rush into the building, splitting up to go to our lockers.  “See you in first!” I dash to my locker, which I’ve had for the past three years, and dump my stuff into it.  There’s a minute or so left to the bell, so I sprint to homeroom, managing to cross the threshold before it rings.  I can’t be counted tardy, even if Ms. Astley were here. Which she’s not. Of course. I could have taken my sweet time getting here.

I scoot to the back of the classroom, lowering myself into the back-most seat.  Once I’m settled in with a pencil out - just in case she forces us into a word search - I scan the classroom for friendly faces.  None float out of the sea of idiots. It’s going to be a long year of homeroom. I finally register the guy standing at the front of the classroom.  He’s tall and standing with a sense of boredom with the world. His dark brown hair is carefully tousled.

Ms. Astley teeters into the room.  Hunched over and using a cane, the woman is ancient.  Even the teachers can't remember a time without the crone.  She limps over to her desk, dumping her bag there, fully ignoring the hot guy standing there.

After a few moments, some brave and foolish soul pipes up.  "Uh- Ms. Astley?"

She wheels around, cataract-glazed eyes searching the crowd of fearful faces.  "What?" she screeches.

The guy saves the day.  He clears his throat. "I'm your new student."  His voice is soft but commands attention, with a slight rasp at the tail end of each word.

The crone does a complete 180° turn in her manner.  From evil gorgon, ready to eat you for breakfast, to sweet old grandma that bakes you cookies.  She even croons at him. "Why, hello, dear. What is your name?"

"Malakai Connelly."

"Well, Malakai.  It's a pleasure to have you in our class.  Why don't you take a seat? We're not doing anything today."  The rest of the class lets out a sigh of relief.

Once again, Malakai's eyes scan the classroom.  They fall on me, and the empty seat next to me. He smiles and makes his way towards me.  His stride is so smooth, it's as if he floats across the scuffed linoleum. The rest of the class watches him, rapt.  He dumps a blue messenger bag next to the chair and settles in. As if on cue, the rest of the class turns away and launches into their own conversations.  A couple of pieces of paper fly across the room. Ms. Astley ignores them and flops into her own chair, pulling out a crossword to work on. I cross my arms on the desk.

"Hi…  I'm Malakai."

I start, glancing up into his eyes.  "Hi. I'm Basil - Baz."

He smiles.  My heart flutters, and something prickles beneath my skin.  "Nice to meet you, Baz. Do you think you could help me with my schedule?"  He holds a piece of paper out to me.

I return the smile and take his schedule, pulling mine out as well.  I scan down the papers, realizing that our classes line up pretty well.  If we aren't in the same class, we're nearby. I relate this information to Malakai.  "I can help you out for the first few days while you get used to the school. If you want, that is…?"

"That would be nice."

"Cool."  I pull out a piece of paper and sketch out a map of the school.  "So we're here…" We spend the rest of the period going over where our classes are.

When the bell rings, we grab our bags and rush out the door.  As always, the hallways are crowded almost wall-to-wall. We slip through and make our way from M (Michael) hall to J (Jesus) hall.  I deposit him in front of his classroom. "There you go… your class…" The hall is starting to clear out as the bell nears. I inch backwards, towards my class.  "I'll see you when the bell rings?" He nods. I turn around.

As soon as I enter the room, a hand is waving and my name is being called.  There's Dobby. I scoot across the room and plop down in the seat next to her.  She wiggles her eyebrows at me. "So…?"

"So what?"

"Who's the guy?"

"What guy?"

"The guy you were flirting with in the hallway."

"I wasn't flirting!"

"You were totally flirting."

 Mr. Burbank, our history teacher this year, calls the class to something-resembling-order before I can respond.  He’s a tall, fairly attractive man that commands your attention, even if he doesn’t want it, which is pretty cool.  Watch this. Dobby will revert to Crush Mode in three, two, one. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her mouth ‘Hot Damn.’  What did I tell you?  Luckily for me, Mr. Burbank doesn’t notice her and starts to call attendance.  “Jackson Caylic? Nice to see you, sir. “Melissa? Welcome back. Dorothea?” Dobby refuses to raise her hand.  “Dorothea Lambe?” Burbank stares her down, but she won’t do it. “Dorothea, if you don’t give me an indication that you’re here, I will mark you absent and be forced to call your parents.”  Dobby huffs and raises her hand grudgingly. “Thank you very much, Miss Lambe.  We’ll make you into a proper young lady yet.” He gives her a sardonic smile. She scrunches her nose at him.  Dobby may be hardcore crushing on him, but she hates her real name much more than she loves him, which is often surprising to the casual onlooker.

“Damn that handsome mother-” she starts to whisper out of the corner of her mouth.  I fake-cough, trying to cover it up in the almost silent room. We squint at each other, being a lot more obvious than we mean to be.  But Burbank is wearing a small smile and a tighter-than-necessary shirt, and she immediately turns back to the show.

“Basil?”  I raise my hand.  He nods at me, finally (after two weeks) understanding that I don’t like to draw unnecessary attention to myself.  Then, he continues with attendance.

Dobby slides a scrap of paper onto my desk.  I didn’t even realize she’d gotten a pen out, let alone paper.  Dish.  Now.

I grab my pencil and scrawl.

 No dish.

Seriously!!!  I want to knoooooooow!

There’s nothing to know.

A low growl rumbles in her throat, thankfully too quiet to draw too much attention.  

THERE’S EVERYTHING TO KNOW!!!!!  

A shadow falls over the paper.  “Miss Lambe? Mr. Hale? Do you have something to share with the class?”

“No, sir!” I squeak, my cheeks burning.

Dobby leans back in her chair, tilting the front two legs of her chair off of the floor.  Her skirt slips a little up her leg. The guy in front of us darts his eyes to her thigh. Gross.  “Nope. We’re just trading secrets. Gossiping. Y’know, the usual.” she drawls. Good-ness. Isn’t she just the poster girl for casual?  I can’t help but notice that the guy is still staring, and his buddy has joined in. I debate throwing my blazer in her lap.

“Nice to know.  Focus on my teaching, if you please, madame.”  He makes it sound like a suggestion, but I’ve seen many an unwary student fall into that devastating trap.

“Oh, no, Mr. Burbank.  But thank you. I really do appreciate the offer.”  How in the world does she manage to do that? One second, she’s madly in love with the guy, and the next, she’s the coolest little cucumber, giving Burbank all the attitude she has ever mustered.  I highly doubt I’ll ever be able to do that.

“Miss Lambe.  If you aren’t going to pay attention, go sit in the hallway.” he announces, pointing to the door.

Dobby gives him her most regal smile, slams the legs of her chair back to the floor, and forces a squeal out of the linoleum.  “As you wish.” She struts across the room, her school-issued pumps tapping against the tiles in time with the swaying of her hips.  The guys are practically salivating. Disgusting pigs.

Just before she grabs the door handle, Mr. Burbank calls, “Sit only in the hallway outside the door, Miss Lambe!”

Dobby swivels on her heel and executes a perfect curtsy - a result of years of cotillion classes.  “Yes, Your Highness.” she croons in a voice as sweet as sugar and sharp as a blade. The class bursts into laughter as she throws the door open hard enough for it to slam into the wall and leaves with a grand flourish of her arms and a swish of her hips.  If there’s one thing Dorothea Lambe knows how to do, it’s make a grand exit: she’s had lots of practice over the years.

I can just feel the dread that must be washing through Ms. Minchin, our school counselor, right now.  Dobby is in to see her daily, usually more than once, and every visit is prefaced by at least one such slamming door.  Dobby will probably go stalking down to her office in one second, after kicking off her shoes. (She really hates the school uniforms, and has made it her mission to be as rebellious as possible.)

As soon as the bell rings for lunch, my phone will veritably blow up with texts from her.  It always does. Her phone only lets her text in 100 characters at a time, so every time she decides goes on a rant, I end up with at least 10 messages within the same minute.  That woman can text faster than anyone else I know.

“Now, let’s get back to class, shall we?” Burbank strides back to the blackboard where, I now see, he’s pulled up a powerpoint.  THE AGE OF ENLIGHTENMENT is scrawled across the board in bold lettering.  

I quickly pull out a notebook and pen.  My notes need to be thorough if I'm going to help Dobby pass this class.  Not that it's my problem, but I kind of consider her my problem.

We've been friends since we were children.  In the middle of a Relay for Life, there was a tornado warning, and our moms couldn't find us.  We had apparently been playing and fell asleep in a random person's tent. We were perfectly fine and content, but, boy, did we get in trouble for running off.  I smile at the memory and scribble down the notes.

Before I know it, the bell rings.  I gather up my stuff and dart out of the classroom.  Dobby strides up to me, cool as can be, and links arms with me.  "Hello, my darling herb." I lead her over to Lucas's classroom.

"Hello, dear.  How was Ms. Minchin?"

"Just dandy.  She says ‘hello’."

"Oh, how quaint."

"What are we waiting on?  I want lunch."

"I made a new friend, remember?  He's coming to lunch with us." Just as I say that, Malakai comes out of the classroom.  "Hey, Malakai! Ready to eat?" He doesn't seem to hear me, looking around for something.  I put my hand on his shoulder.  

He starts.  "Huh? Oh. Hey, Baz."

Dobby links her arm with his.  "Hey, handsome. I'm Dobby, Baz's best friend."  My dork grins her unconquerable grin, and I can almost see Malakai falling under her spell.

"Malakai.  Pleasure to meet you."

"Come on, come on.  Stop flirting," I interject.  "We've got to get to lunch."

The rest of the day, and the rest of the week, pass by uneventfully.  We get to know each other pretty well. I find out that Malakai lives alone in an apartment, having emancipated himself several years before.  The three of us are assigned to a semester-long research project together in our Seminar class.  

Friday night, Malakai and I meet up outside Dobby's house.  He's got his tie loosened and blazer draped over his shoulder.  Through the undone button at his throat, I can barely see a necklace laying there.  I flash a smile at him. "Hey, stranger."

He grins at me.  "Hey. Glad I managed to find the right place."

"You ready to go in?"

"I guess.  Ready as I'll ever be."  

We step up to the porch.  I knock on the door. As we wait for the door to be answered, I notice Malakai wringing his hands and shifting his weight.  "Don't be nervous. Mama Lambe is super sweet."

"Nervous?  Me? I'm not nervous."

"Of course you are.  Just take a deep breath and stop wringing your hands like that."

[fourmisfitz]

37 with mr taylor

“I need somewhere to stay”

It was Valentine’s Day and you had just had the worst day at work, and that’s putting it lightly. Your boss picked today to subject everything to a perfection detector and nothing you did was sufficient. You worked at a florist shop and business was crazy. A new-hire screwed up in inventory and now you had run out of red roses and chocolates before evening dinner celebrations began, but you got blamed since she was your trainee.

You fell asleep in your cab during rush hour and your driver took the highway through a traffic jam. When you exited the cab you were too drowsy and disgusted by his comments on your cleavage he had been eyeing to notice you left your purse in the backseat after slapping some bills in his sweaty palm.

You had to throw pebbles at your neighbors balcony windows to get someone to let you in, your phone being abandoned with your keys in the cab. You initially aimed for the nicest tenants windows but everyone was still working except for the old retired lady that often filed noise complaints against everyone else. 

The woman reluctantly hobbled down and let you into the complex, but of course, not without scolding you for interrupting her soap opera and some snide comments about your skirt length and the colour washing you out.

“You’re never going to find a man looking like that, deary. ‘Very sad excuse for a woman, the way you dress, you know.” You forced a laugh as she tapped your bum with her cane.

“Who needs ‘em.”

“That’s what a sad, single woman says on this holiday.” She dismissed, closing her front door behind her.

“And where’s your prince charming, bat?” You rolled your eyes to yourself.

When you finally got inside your flat, you fell back against the closed door, groaned and slid down, faltering to your unstable legs. It was just one of those days. You fought tears inching their way up and pried your high heels off, massaging your aching Achilles and shrugged off your blazer.

You stood up and decided to order dinner, but everything seemed to be either closed or backed up, it being a high traffic holiday.

“I hate this god forsaken day.” You huffed into the phone to yourself just as you slammed the phone receiver down.

“Frozen pizza it is.” You reached into your freezer and pulled out the thin box, flipping it around to read the directions. “Best before… oh boy.” It was the best impromptu dinner you had so you popped it in the oven.

With your lackluster slice in hand, you plopped down on the couch and flicked on the TV to relieve some stress.

“Why does it take so long, is it because you’re such perfectionists?” The interviewer asked.

A familiar face came into frame.

“Ahh, i dunno- perhaps we’re slow. Um it’s hard to say really, we just like to get things right, umm,”

“Liar!” You yelled monotonously, mouth full of bland pizza, throwing a pillow at the TV.

Over the obnoxious crunch, the buzz of your front door intercom sounded in your foyer.

As you marched to take care of the unexpected guest, you stepped right on the heel of your discarded shoe from earlier and let out a loud exasperated groan.

“God- what now?” You yelped, hopping as you clamped your hand down on your hurt foot. You paused for a moment at a side table to massage the sole of your foot.

The buzzing turned into purposeful knocks.

“How could this day get any worse?” You grunted, swinging the door open and instantly no longer knowing what to say.

The distinguishable face was now panting at your door, drenched from a storm that had just begun to pour.

“Well, that depends on how you view lost, blonde drummer exes…” He offered a hesitant laugh under his breath.

His familiar sunglasses were slid up into his hair, tucking long strands away with it and allowing his stark blue eyes to glisten under his dripping hairline.

“Roger,” You breathed, air caught in your throat.

“Hi,”

“Hi,” You repeated.

He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out as he wrung out his hands nervously.

“You look…” He eyed your mismatching dress shirt and sweatpants you had changed into, “stylish.” He tried, nodding slowly.

You glanced down at your ensemble and rolled your eyes.

“Roger, what are you doing here? And, how did you get up here?”

You and Roger had broken up about a year ago, and there were still some hard feelings on your end towards him, triggering some bad blood. He gave up and fled when things started to get a little too complicated.

“Well I uh, snuck in when someone else came to the front door and um… okay so, I, uh- well the thing is, um,”

He slicked his damp hair back with a hand.

“C’mon, Rog, spit it out.” You coaxed, exhausted from your day.

The last thing you wanted was to be dealing with your ex right now, after this never-ending day fueled by Murphy’s Law, on this day of all days… but, you also hadn’t spoken since the messy breakup and Roger was your first and last thought of every day, being the only soul to ever get you, so some part of you still regrettably had patience for him.

He took a deep breath.

“Look, I know this is going to sound all very-” He twinkled his fingers in the air, shaking his head at a loss for words. “And, um, just really-” He pursed his lips, flicking invisible air with both hands at you.

“Out with it, Rog.” You held back a small laugh at his disheveled and nervous state.

“I need somewhere to stay.”

Your lips parted, all function of your voice leaving you for a moment before letting go of a breath of disbelief. You backed up and marched over to the kitchen, Roger following timidly behind.

“What are you doing?” He asked, watching as you peered your head out the window, tilting at different angles to catch a glimpse of the gloomy sky.

“Just checking for flying pigs,” You tilted your gaze at him, “because this is just completely-” You shrugged.

“-I know, I know.” He held out open palms as he walked to stand by you.

“I mea- why do you even need a place?”

“Well,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “I haven’t really owned a place in awhile, I’d been living with my girlfriend,”   Somehow that didn’t sting as much as you imagined it to,  “And when we broke up, I sort of just stayed with the mates and,”

“So you’ve been couch hopping for the past, like, month?”

“You know about the tour?”

You rolled your eyes and opened your fridge door, grabbing two bottles of Lager.

“Of course I know, it’s a little hard not to keep up when you’re all. over. the TV.” You let out an amused scoff laugh, widening your eyes on ‘all over’.

He laughed gently back and a fizz sound filled the air as you popped off the caps and handed him a bottle.

“Roger, you could’ve called.” You walked over to the couch and took a swig of the beer in your hand as soon as you sat down.

“I donno, we haven’t talked since- yunno…”

“And yet here you are.” You raised your bottle and took another sip, not taking your eyes away from his grateful ones. 

He shot you a grin and raised his bottle, taking a casual big swig as he glanced down at the plate of thin pizza on the end table. You resumed your half-eaten slice and he retrieved one for himself.

“Awgh-” his lips frowned in disgust as he removed the bite from his mouth. “Christ, is this cardboard you’re eating?” You stifled a chuckle.

“No, it’s just Hawaiian.”

“You hate Hawaiian.”

“I also hate you, but I took the bite.” You reasoned nonchalantly. He looked at you for a moment as your eyes fixated on the movie playing.

“And it’s expired.” You quickly admitted, blowing an airy laugh through your nose as you snagged another bite, prompting Roger to shake his head with closed eyes in disapproval.

“It’s really just a suggestion.” You shrugged, chasing the bite with another frothy gulp.

“MmHmm.” He teased.

He plopped down beside you, and after a moment you leaned your head on his shoulder.

“Happy sad-excuse-for-commercial-expression-of-affection day.” You sang, swinging your pizza in hand.

“Jesus Hallmark must hate you.”

You giggled and he took your hand in a firm grip and rested your intertwined fingers on your knee as you sat and watched the rom-coms that began to play.

An unspoken consensual comfort lingered in the air, or was that the freezer burn?

“Y/N…”

You hummed in response, half-listening.

“What is your pillow doing all the way over there?”

You squeezed his hand and took another bite of the burnt pizza.

____

Did ya catch all that last sentence double meaning? hehe

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[swishandflickwit]

Marichat/Adrinette — somehow i know (he's always with me) 1/1

Summary: Somehow, they always find their way back here.

Adrinette + piano + Identity Reveal

Sequel to anywhere you go (let me go too)

Words: 10.8k

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: Stormy Weather 2 spoilers!

AN: Me working on the sequel that no one really asked for instead of finishing the ones that were asked for lmao.

As the French would say, c'est la vie.

Also on ff.net | AO3

Other writing

"You snore in your sleep, you know.”

Marinette gapes.

“I do not!”

Beside her, Chat Noir giggles and though she feels heat creep up her face in whorls of blooming red—she cannot help but laugh along with him.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about!” he reassures with an innocent bat of his eyelashes.

(It should have been her first clue)

And because she is Marinette, she rolls her eyes but believes it to be the end of that particular line of conversation, anyway.

(She should have known better)

“Besides, it was a cute snore,” he continues boldly. “Like, really cute. Like—”

Chat proceeds to emit some rather inelegant snorts. Rumbling, gurgling, disjointed and completely over exaggerated growls which seem to stem deeply within his throat in harsh exhalations. She would have worried, had he not been expelling them at her expense.

(She really, really should have known)

“Get out,” she deadpans, or at least she tries to, amongst his obnoxious grunting and chortling.

“Like an adorable, black-haired, blue-eyed, baby pig,” he wheezes.

“I will push you off this this balcony.”

He halts his amusement in favor of flexing an arm in front of her.

“Not with these muscles, you couldn’t—Eep! ”

It is her turn to laugh something fierce and relentless as he squeals his surprise—a tinny, high-pitched and utterly girlish sound that tickles her to no end—and scrambles for the metal balustrade, though it remains stationary beneath him.

“You were saying?” she inquires sweetly, guilelessly, even as her hold on his bicep remains his only salvation from slipping off his precarious perch on her railing.

(As if he couldn’t catch himself! And not that she would let him fall, of course.

...maybe)

“Marinette,” he whines. She does not capitulate, seeking retribution for herself with another cackle.

“Say the words,” she coos. He narrows his eyes at her. “What words?”

She sticks out her tongue before huffing. “You know…”

Another mewl from Chat, before he sighs. Marinette crows her victory and delight.

“I’m sorry,” he yips through gritted teeth. She tuts.

“I’m sure you can do better than that,” she comments, leaning into his space in feigned flirtation as she drops her voice and teases him airily. Something shifts just then. It drains the mirth from his face, slips the smile from his mouth—but not the light from his eyes. No, that is ever glowing… ever present. But there is something serious about the way he looks at her every time he does it, and he has done it more often than not in the past week since they played the piano together at midnight, her falling asleep on his shoulder, him taking her home and then tucking her in.

Internally, she groans as the memory of the morning after comes to her and she saw she was no longer in the school but in her room. In her bed. There was only one way she could have gotten there, considering her last recollection was of Chat Noir’s elegant fingers flying over the keys, the stark contrast of his ebony gloves against the white scales enticing her designer’s eye as remnants of the music he played swirled within her mind and lulled her to slumber.

Thinking about it still makes her blush like mad, though nothing salacious happened. Yet no one but her parents, Alya and Tikki had ever seen her asleep. So for Chat Noir to, it was a moment of vulnerability, and it was… private. It felt intensely intimate. It was sacred. She doesn’t know where they stand because of it, and now it's as though they are not in the same place in their companionship—is it a parallel plane or has it ascended? Or maybe they hadn’t moved at all and she was building it in her head? And it isn’t as if she’s uncomfortable with this new stance they are taking with each other. If anything, their friendship feels stronger than ever despite the masks they continue to wear, both the literal and figurative kind. But even that armor is slowly chipping away, chink by little chink, so that she has to be careful around him lest she give herself away. And she wants to. Bon dieu, does she ever want to.

(To the point that she begins to ask herself, in the nights when Tikki falls asleep before her and she has only her thoughts for company, so what am I waiting for? Why don’t I just tell him? )

(She knows why)

But she doesn’t tell him the truth of her identity, and here they are. And it’s moments like these, when he looks at her and it’s as if everything apart from the two of them fades, she just, she does. not. know. She does not know anything except everything is changed. Somewhere between him saving her and promise me and a forehead kiss. Between sunsets and macaron snacks and late night rooftop conversations. Between the smiles and the laughter and the music and his arms around her… things are different.

They are different.

“Marinette,” he murmurs, hands easing so that one finally grabs hold of the bannister while the other… the other one inches ever so gently up the length of her arm. She's never been more grateful for her blazer, as it conceals the goosebumps that trail in his wake, his fingers dancing up her porcelain skin so it feels more like the ivory of a piano than flesh.

“Marinette,” he trills once more, her gaze ripping from the path he makes so she meets his eyes. He bites his lip, as if to contain his smile. She pouts, and that's when his hand meets its journey's end at her chin, his thumb tracing the bow of her bottom lip.

“I am sorry, princess.”

She groans at the nickname he can't seem to let go of. He chuckles at her obvious ire, though it doesn't dim the sincerity from his apology.

“Ok, not a princess then,” he yields, albeit with a hint of that omnipresent mischief. “But do be an angel and save me from this perilous height.”

She rolls her eyes, all the while she ducks her head to hide her own grin.

Angel, he called her. She likes that.

She steps back so he has room to put his feet down but she doesn't stray far, not that she could even if she wanted to.

(She doesn’t want to)

The hand that had been holding the railing now nestles comfortably on the curve of her waist, as he lands on both feet in front of her. When he straightens, she finds their bodies have aligned in—what she is increasingly finding to be—addicting ways. He is pleasantly firm in all the places she finds herself to be doughy, and from all the times they’ve been tangled up in each other in their superhero personas, she is entirely too aware of how he is lean beneath the leather of his suit. He is grounded, stable, which her all too clumsy self finds reassurance in.

His hand moves lazily, sensually, from her waist to the dip of her spine, just shy of her derrière. The wind feels crisp despite the heat bearing down on them from the sun’s unhindered radiance and she feels taught with it, her muscles alternatively coiling and relaxing so that her hand twitches against his biceps. He lets out a soft breath as she (reflexively, she tells herself, it’s a reflex) cossets the leather where she holds him, wishing with all her might she was touching skin instead.

Yes, the shift in them from that fateful night is never more evident than it is now—the air around them filling with a strange yet not unwelcome charge that makes the hairs on her arms stand on end, her belly tingle with an inexplicable excitement and her heart cry out for more of his touch. It feels as if there is a thread around her that binds them and all it would take is a slight pull from him for her to unravel right before him.

There is a look in his eyes, hungry and desperate but oh so fragile too—as if he would just as easily come undone if she so much as tugged at that string. He hums Angel of Music under his breath when he takes a step closer, drawing her to him with the hand low at her back. Hope tinges his dark gaze when she doesn’t protest at his proximity.

Pull, pull, pull.

It makes her wonder if he would unwind if she plucked at that invisible connection, only to twine himself around her. She tilts her head upwards just as he cants his forehead against hers. He closes his eyes, his droning of Angel of Music fading into something unfamiliar yet calming all the same.

Pull, pull, pull, pull, pull—

“Marinette!”

She sucks in a sharp breath and reels back, opening eyes she hadn't realized had shut in the first place until they meet orbs shrouded in rueful, tourmaline hues.

The thread stiffens for another second, just as loathe as the two of them to let go, before finally falling limp and taking all the static electricity of the moment with it.

“I think,” he rasps, voice low and gravelly that he has to clear his throat twice before continuing. It flatters her, especially as she remains feeling weak at the knees. “I think,” he tries again, “that's my cue to leave.”

She knows this. Agrees, even.

If only her hand would cooperate and surrender him.

She curls her digits just a bit tighter, a shudder going through her when she feels his muscles bunching powerfully beneath the suit as he treads impossibly nearer, accommodating her clutch.

You could stay, she wants to utter.

“My dad baked macarons for dessert. It's his specialty…” she says in lieu of such ridiculous pronouncements or a more appropriate goodbye.

(And there goes her mouth too, oh will nothing of hers ever follow her command?)

He grins lopsidedly though his eyes insist on narrowing. “Oh, you don't fight fair,” he returns though she gleans that what he really means is, I wish I didn't have to leave.

Her name pierces the now stale air once more.

“Your mother calls,” he says, rather unnecessarily, a grimace set upon his mouth. That he didn’t want to go as much as she herself wished he wouldn’t gave her the strength to withdraw her hand.

“À bientôt, minou,”  she bids in strained articulations, with an even more strained smile, before swiveling on her heel towards her trap door and trying in vain to disperse the bereavement she gains when his gloved hand slips from her back.

She has not taken two steps when she senses the touch of leather on her own hand. He drags her back into his atmosphere and she endeavors to tamper the flutter that arises in her stomach by pasting a faux frown upon her lips.

“Yes?”

His answer falls from his mouth, though not in words. He raises their clasped hands to his chin so that his every measured inhales, his slow exhales, bathe her skin. She expects a kiss upon her fingers, as he is so fond of them whether she is Ladybug or Marinette. And though he does this indeed, she is jolted when he retreats only to wrap warm lips around another knuckle, and the next, and the next, till the entirety of her is ablaze and his kisses seem scored into the very marrow of her bones.

“Till we meet again.”

With the sun sinking low in the horizon behind him, Chat Noir’s face is a study in shadows. But if his visage was the night sky then those eyes, oh always his eyes… they were the glistening diamond stars of the eventide.

“Mon ange.”

And then he is gone, taking all the oxygen with him.

She almost sinks to her knees, having not apprehended how much she was leaning on him till he had disappeared. She braces herself against her metal balustrade to catch her breath, the hand he had marked clutched close to her chest as it continues to buzz with the feel of him.

From her purse erupts a giggle, then Tikki is floating serenely in front of her.

“What was that about?”

Marinette huffs, albeit still in a bit of a daze.

“I hardly know anymore, Tikki.”

The Kwami, never missing a thing, narrows her gaze pointedly onto her hands—the same one still cradled delicately close to her chest while the other fans her overheated face. At her observation, she stills.

“Are you okay?” Tikki inquires, not bothering to hide the teasing glimmer to her tone.

Marinette bites her lip before she rolls her eyes.

“Shut up.”

Tikki's laugh is so hard Marinette is certain it echoes all the way up into the galaxy.

Her mother summons her for dinner one final time and with seemingly Herculean fortitude, she follows. But ensconced as she is within the comforts of her own home—her parents laughing jovially before her, her belly full with a hot and delicious meal prepared lovingly by her father—try as she might she cannot escape Chat Noir. How every time he looked at her his gaze crept along her skin like a living touch, how his actual touch felt branded onto her soul, the manner with which he kissed her or held her—as if she was invaluable treasure—and the effect with which he breathed her name, so softly but with so much gravity, like her name was both too precious to be uttered in anything but humble inflections yet it held so much power, too, because he believed her to be strong and fierce that to say her name any other way would be a fault (and it was only her name! Who knew one could divulge so much meaning onto a name? Of course, only Chat Noir could)—it all drove her wild with wanting.

Though she refuses to answer Tikki's question aloud, it is how she knows—without a shadow of a doubt—that no, she is not okay. So long as he is around her, stealing her breath and making her go weak in the knees, she would never be the same again.

Strangely enough, she is just fine with that.

And even stranger though, is Adrien.

He is different around her, a change she traces all the way back to Con Rubato as well. He is more engaging with her, more conscientious. He would stand when she entered a room then sit only once she had, like a modern day Mr. Darcy. He takes her words in with an air of devout seriousness, as if everything she says has the power to change the world, even if she were just rattling off the afternoon specials in her parents’ bakery. Not three years ago, she would have squealed then died at his attentions. But now it merely confuses her. It is as if she has entered an alternate dimension where Adrien is the one who scrambles for any excuse to talk to her only to stutter his way through their conversations, whether to borrow a pen or copy her notes or set up study groups that she finds herself declining more and more.

The part of her that is still 14-years old rejoices at every look he sends her way, every genuine praise or bolstering shoulder graze. But Marinette has always been an all or nothing sort of girl. No, as Alya would put it, she is a “Ride or Die, Bitch” which would appall her were it not so true. She doesn't know how to do lukewarm or in-betweens, and so the Marinette of now would merely receive such affections with a befuddled slant of her head and a small, appreciative smile. That being said, her head is entirely too filled with thoughts of an overgrown, leather-clad, ridiculous yet charming cat. She should be embarrassed, or she would have been, if said cat was not showing up on her rooftop on an almost nightly basis under the guise of her house being on his “patrol route” when they both recognize it for the lie it is, a rose in his hand and a Phantom of the Opera tune purring low in his throat. Though, more often than not these days, each time he is around her he hums that same indistinct harmony—one he resolutely refuses to name with such stubbornness that she doesn't know whether to hate it for the vagueness or love it for its soothing quality.

(Who is she kidding? It's the latter. Definitely the latter)

Still, it is refreshing, for once, to not be part of a story wherein her love is one-sided. Because though they skirt around the topic, both grown yet still too awkward and shy to broach their feelings, it is there. She feels it, that heady tension… that ever-present pull in her navel that magnetizes her to him. It conquers her so keenly it is nearly impossible now to concentrate when they don their superhero personas; when every part of her is abuzz with his nearness—always close enough to touch but never quite able to bridge that gap. Never the right time, never brave enough.

But she knows he feels it too, even if he does give her funny looks when she's Ladybug and she's a little too late to throw her yo-yo or too slow to move despite the tapering of his flirtations because she's too busy being distracted by his, um, assets (she has become that girl now, bon dieu), and that's all that matters.

At least… at least, for now.

Because it's unthinkable to be anything but deliriously content during periods like this, where he arrives onto her rooftop and settles onto the chaise—right across from her—as if there's nowhere he'd rather be, as if he belongs there. Him and the smell of clean boy sweat and leather and that mysterious melody spilling from his lips like chimes hung out on a beachfront porch, light but resonant too. It ripples down to her sinew, till she is teeming with quiet satisfaction and unexpected fondness for the song.

“What is that?”

“What is what?” he replies coyly, though he knows that she knows that he knows he is perfectly cognizant of exactly what it is she's asking for.

“Dumb is not a good look on you, Chat Noir,” she grumbles.

“Everything's a good look on me, Marinette.”

She blinks, deliberately. He, too, is stunned into silence—his mouth intermittently falling agape and clicking shut, as if wanting to take the words back for the unintentional self-degradation but perceiving the futility of it. Wisely, he swallows the protest that no doubt wants to extricate itself from his mouth, clearing his throat instead before continuing as if he never said the quip at all.

She wants to laugh but recognizes the fragility of the moment, and allows him this one free pass.

“Right,” he says, and she picks up where they left off.

“You were about to tell me what it is you're always singing underneath your breath?”

He smiles archly before tutting. “Not so fast.” He wags a finger right between her eyes.

“Such impatience.”

She swats his hand away.

“Hard not to be, when I don't know exactly what it is I'm impatient for?”

He sighs, as if the confession requires a gargantuan effort on his part.

“If you really want to know,” he straightens from the sprawl he has settled himself upon his arrival, repositioning his arms which had been behind his head so that they are folded between his criss-crossed legs. She mirrors his stance, figuring that she ought to put some seriousness into her mien for all the pomp and circumstance he is displaying for her.

“It's a song I'm composing. On the piano.”

She gasps.

“That's wonderful! What's it called?”

His eyes widen, as if it hadn't occurred to him to give it a name.

“You know… I'm not quite sure, yet.” He stares at her for a beat, and his voice is rough when he declares, “I do have an idea, though.”

For reasons unbeknownst to her, she blushes. To hide this, she stands then, her hand outstretched towards him. His brows are furrowed but he accepts it all the same and follows when she pulls him to his feet.

“Well?”

This time, his dumbfoundedness is sincere.

“Well, what?”

“Let's go!”

“Go where?”

She rolls her eyes heavenward and fixes him with a look of utmost disappointment.

“What?” he exclaims again, arms crossing defensively across his chest before muttering, “Sometimes, I don't understand you.”

“Believe me,” she retorts, haughtily. “I know. ”

But excitement colors her countenance once more, till she is bouncing on the tips of her toes.

“I don't have a piano but there's one in the school! Take me there so you can play me the rest of the song. I've only heard bits and pieces and, mon dieu, I've never had a friend who could compose before. I know an actual composer! Can you believe it?”

She'd been talking a mile a minute and would have gone on, but she really does want to hear his original and with the school closed for the day, it means they would have to sneak in (not that it would be their first time). She couldn't exactly transform in front of him so she would need him to break the both of them in. Except he hasn't moved from his place in front of her. There is only that enigmatic smile and his bright eyes, gazing upon her like she is made of moonshine and starlight.

The ardor of his stare has her feeling all the blood in her body has rushed to her cheeks.

“What?” she retorts. “Is there something on my face?”

“Besides your beauty?”

She groans. He is such a cheeseball but damn if it doesn't get her. It gets her so bad that her blood redoubles its efforts of turning her face into a permanent tomato.

He laughs at her obvious modesty, amusement making him bold when he frames her hips between careful claws and gathers her in his arms.

“It's not entirely finished, you know.”

She pouts. “Oh.”

He chuckles again, thumb tracing the plump camber of her bottom lip before resting it on her chin.

“But when it is, I promise you mon ange,” (cue her breath hitch. Blushing intensifies) “you will be the first to know.”

He lets go of her chin so his hand can join the vine the rest of his limbs have made around her waist. And because he is a good head taller than her now, she steeples her fingers on his chest so she can rest her chin upon it as she murmurs, “Deal.”

“Deal,” he parrots.

Then, he adds, “Besides,” he shrugs. “I don't think you're ready to hear it.”

She scoffs. “What is that supposed to mean!”

Rather than answer her, he giggles a final time then nuzzles his cheek atop her hair. She grunts but obliges him by tangling herself around him as well, partly because it's not as if she can force him to (nor does she want to!) speak. But mostly, she likes this—the unconscious ease with which they fall into each other's arms, the subliminal fashion that compels them to gravitate towards each other's orbits and just stay there, like it was always where they were meant to be.

She likes him.

She wants to smack herself when the thought hits her. She likes him, like, really likes him! She might go so far as to say she…

Well, ironies upon ironies that after years of rejection, she now finds herself in the unique placement of desiring to return his affections, granted under a different skin.

And as if somehow linked to her thoughts, he shatters the silence (and her world) when he finally answers her.

“It means,” he starts in a solemn and susurrous murmur, “that I like you, Marinette.”

Her heart beating a tango and a salsa in her throat that her voice comes out hoarse, she replies, “I like you too, Chat Noir.” And because she is an idiot and a fool and afraid, she remarks, “As a friend.”

For a brief moment, he tenses beneath her hands. Then, with a steady sigh, he loosens, his arms travelling from her waist to grasp her biceps.

“And that is exactly what I mean when I say you're not ready.”

There's something broken there, when he says the words and she meets his eyes. It is with growing horror that she realizes she is the one who put it there—that ache and the hurt and the unabashed longing and she wants to eat up her words or not have said anything at all, just held him, tighter and tighter instead, till she was losing herself in him. She wants to take the last 30 seconds back, just anything, anything to erase the sadness that paints his face in the kind of darkness that swallows you rather than emphasize the points of you that are filled with light.

“Chat,” she cries, but he is all ready turning away from her.

And she lets him, because she knows. She knows that even with her powers, even with all the knowledge she claims of the Miraculous and the magic of this world, she cannot turn back time.

“It's getting late.”

“Wait—” she tries a final time, pleading with an invisible force, yanking with all her might at their unspoken tie, to get him to stay.

Pull, pull, pull, pull, pull, pull, pull!

But all the warmth and color is leached from her universe—

He is gone.

Later, much, much later, after begging off dinner from her parents under the pretense of fatigue, when the house is quiet and the bustling sounds of the Parisian streets fade as slumber wraps its lethargic arms around the city, Tikki comes to her and asks, “Marinette…” in that sweet, tinkling tone of hers, so free of judgment and eyes wide with concern, “why did you say that?”

She cannot help but begin to cry.

“I—I don't know.”

How could it have gone so wrong, so quickly?

Tikki touches a paw to her cheek, halting one of the tracks of her tears.

“Try, dear heart.”

Suddenly angry, she turns from her Kwami in such brusque movements that Tikki is forced to float away from her to avoid being crushed. A pang of guilt goes through her. It isn't fair to lash out at Tikki when truly, she's mad at herself. But she holds on to her anger because it grounds her and it feels so much better than the cloud of despair that looms over her, threatening to engulf her and whisk her away to where she feels empty.

“What is the point, Tikki?” she bellows, a bundle of limbs and blankets as she moves from her chaise to stare out her round window.

Waiting, always waiting—for a shadow, a flash of flaxen locks or a pair of sparkling emerald orbs

“It's done. A week has gone and he hasn't visited, not once. There's no point going over what could have been. It's better to move on.” She scoffs. “What am I even saying? There's nothing to move on from, we hardly started. ”

“I wouldn't call a three-year partnership ‘nothing', Marinette,” Tikki reminds her gently.

“It's done,” she snaps again with watery convictions, refusing to hear her Kwami out. But her voice still breaks when she emphasizes, “We're done.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Does it matter what I want? It's over.”

“But don't you see? It doesn't have to be!”

She whirls towards her and snarls, “You're such a hypocrite, you know that?”

Tikki doesn't deign her with an equal accusation or denial. She does not speak at all. She just stares at her with that unwavering comfort and understanding. The quiet brims Marinette with blind justification and the fortitude to hurl more vitriol, because if she doesn't fill the silence with words then she would surely fill it with sobs and she is so tired of crying over nothing.

So tired.

“First you tell me we have to hide our identities from everyone, even each other, and now you want me to run into his arms, shouting to all and sundry who I am. Make up your goddamn mind Tikki!”

“I won’t deny that. Yes, it was necessary in the beginning,” Marinette grins, something sharp and sarcastic and devoid of all humor. Though she confesses, the ease with which Tikki accepts blame takes away most of the exhilaration of her supposed victory.

“But you have to remember, Marinette, I have been here before. I have seen countless Ladybugs and Chat Noir incarnates for more than a thousand years. While we and the Guardians always hope for the best, a peaceful partnership, that is not always the outcome.”

It is odd, she thinks. She has always known Tikki was as old as time itself. But when her Kwami moves and speaks and thinks and views the world with such childlike wonder, it is simply too easy to forget. Now though, it becomes difficult to deny, not when the adumbrations that obscure her expression add years to her countenance so that she lists to the side with the weight of her age, her all too palpable grief.

“For every harmonious union there has been an equal and terrible clash. Even with all this power, we are not perfect. Humans are such…” a struggle crosses her eyes then, “well. I suppose that's the beauty of your species, isn't it? That even with so many things binding you together, each one of you is still made so differently, so inimitable, that your actions can never be one hundred percent predicted. It's wonderful,” she smiles briefly, before her sadness ultimately wins out. “But it also makes our jobs difficult, and not all Ladybugs and Chat Noirs are what we desire them to be. Every contretemps has led to any human-mitigated disaster you know—famine, plague, conflict, war. ”

Tikki's eyes transform to a haunted, bottomless well that is awash with misfortunes and loss that Marinette will never fathom in her lifetime. It depletes the anger from her sinews till only the despondency she had been fighting unremittingly to avoid, is all that endures.

“Tikki,” she snivels, sinking to her knees in absolution. “Tikki, I'm sorry. I didn't—I didn't know— ”

“It's alright, Marinette,” the Kwami coos, and it is with slack-jawed awe that Marinette regards Tikki's reformation from ancient, weary god to artless and optimistic Tikki, the Tikki she is more accustomed to. “You couldn’t have known.”

She drifts back to her cheek, pecking serenely at the curve before nestling there. “But what's not alright is this evident denial of your feelings.”

Marinette groans, bringing a hand to her face to swipe futilely at her tears.

“What are you afraid of? Don't you see how lucky you are, that Chat Noir has fallen in love with all sides of you?”

At the word love, her heart rattles beneath her ribcage.

“Is he though?”

“Is he what?”

“In love with me?”

Marinette detects a hint of mirth when Tikki replies with, “would that be a problem if he was?”

“Could I really be that lucky? For him to fall in love with me, twice over?”

Marinette yelps just then, when Tikki bites at her skin.

“Ow!”

“Only you could find some fault in a situation that would benefit both parties.”

Nursing her cheek, Marinette grumbles, “I just think it's too easy, is all. If something's too good to be true, it usually is.”

Tikki stares at her in horror. “Look at you, Marinette! Exactly what part of this has been ‘easy'? No,” she shakes her head. “You're afraid, and it's about high time you admit it to yourself!”

“Alright!” she bursts. “Maybe I am scared! But can you blame me? If we're to start a relationship, I want there to be no more lies. I want us to be together, like Alya and Nino are together or like my parents, properly together—not sneaking out, always waiting for the sun to set. That means no more lies, no more hiding, no more masks. It means, revealing our identities.”

Tikki's brows furrow in confusion.

“Well, we both know Chat Noir has no objections to that. And I've all ready said that I'm fine with that, too.”

“But I'm not!”

And there it is.

“Hawkmoth is still out there. If we know each other's identities and one of us gets Akumatized,” she shudders—real, quaking, anxious tremors rocking her body at just the idea, “I couldn't bear the thought of hurting him, if it were me. And if it were him, Tikki, I don't think I would be strong enough to fight him. No, I know I couldn't fight him. And I can't let Paris suffer because of my emotions… because of my weakness.”

It is a long time before either of them speak. And when the pregnant pause is broken, it is Tikki who offers a final piece of advice.

“You are worrying about something that hasn't even happened yet.”

It is a reproach, but Tikki manages to deliver it with such gentle sibilance, it merely makes Marinette weep harder despite her want to protest.

“Say you don't confess or reveal your identities to each other, or he confesses before you and you reject him, again, ” (she winces) “because of your fear. Who's to say that won't be the act that tips him over the edge to being Akumatized? Don't you see, Marinette? Either way, confess or not, the misery would be inevitable.”

“There must be some way to stop it? To control it?” she wails, desperately.

Tikki sighs, lovingly ruffling her hair.

“That's the thing about life, isn't it? There can be no peace without chaos, no joy without anger… no love without suffering—for how can we know happiness, true happiness, if we don't first know what it feels to be dispossessed?

“When we open our hearts, Marinette, we expose it to everything. Yes there will be pain, but there will be such pleasure, too. Such merriment behind the agony, such sweetness alongside the sourness of humanity. Wouldn't you rather have someone experiencing it with you, always by your side, than carry it all on your own?”

Softer, Tikki adds, “And wouldn't you rather that someone be Chat Noir?”

Marinette remains silent for a couple more heartbeats, before she breathes, “Yes.”

Tikki smiles.

“It's okay to be afraid, Marinette,” she affirms. “Just don't let it hold you back. In fact, if you're going to be afraid,” she pats her head and presses on even as she darts to her bed.

“At least let him hold your hand. Then you can conquer your fears, together. ”

Marinette thinks that's the end of this emotionally draining conversation when Tikki dispenses a final valuation.

“And if I could just counter one more of your arguments?”

She cocks her head in acquiescence because why not? She has nothing to lose.

“You don't reach my age and not learn a thing or two about humankind, particularly when it comes to love. There is a great deal of things, too great a deal of stupid things even, that one does for love.” At this, she shoots Marinette a playfully insinuating look, having been witness to all her teenage antics over Adrien. She blushes, scarcely stifling an embarrassed squeak.

“But they are great. From sweeping, romantic gestures to a simple birthday card from one child to a parent—each act of love possesses their own power, from the ability to launch a thousand ships to war or the persistence to find one's way home when lost or merely putting a smile on a friend's face. I suppose what I'm trying to convey is, love isn't a weakness. It never has been. Love has always been magic. Dare I say, it's more than that, even.”

Tikki smiles.

“It's strength. ”

She mulls over her Kwami's words for two more days which turns to a week before she gathers any semblance of a backbone. But then an Akuma attacks and there he is.

How has she never noticed how handsome he is? How dashing and strong and courageous?

The Akuma, Bridezilla, as she aptly names herself, was jilted from the aisle (“thanks for the encouragement, Universe,” she mutters upon finding out). Though her real beef is with men in general, and her runner of a fiancé specifically, she aims her weapon—a bouquet that shoots wedding rings that cut off the victim's movements—at Ladybug, as they've reached the portion of the battle where the Akuma gets desperate for their Miraculous.

In her distraction, having not seen Chat Noir for so long and now getting a sensory overload of him, his touch and his voice and his scent, she hadn't seen Bridezilla till she was upon her. Lucky for her (and this she muses in barbed resonance), Chat Noir jumped to the line of fire so that he bore the brunt of the attack, which meant that he fell in a heap on the floor. He was bound in rings that tightened further the more he moved, ensuring he couldn't use his Cataclysm to free himself.

“Chat!” she bawls, dropping to her knees in front of him and trying in vain to free him. She gasps when an inadvertent squeeze from her efforts causes his leg to twitch and consequently, the metal to contract.

“Looks like she really wants to tie the knot with me, eh?”

She laughs, even as tears spring to her eyes.

“Don't tell me you're getting cold feet now.”

Floating above them, Bridezilla cackles.

“With her?" his frown deepens. "I can see why anyone would run.”

“Give up your Miraculous!” she snarls, having heard the tail end of their conversation.

“Mon dieu, shut up!”

Chat Noir spews a shocked chortle while Bridezilla flusters at the unexpected burst of her temper. Ladybug is known for her grace under pressure, after all, this is hardly becoming. But with Chat's oxygen depleting with every minute movement, her patience runs thin and her cool begins to simmer.

“I've just about had it with these putain de Akumas!”

Chat's eyes widen and she should be embarrassed but she is literally beyond caring at this point. She calls on her Lucky Charm in a most uncharming way that her ladybugs don't even bother to show up, the charm just lands in her hands. A stiletto. Personally, she would have poked the Akuma's eye and called it a day, but her Spots Vision urge her to use Chat's baton and a fire hydrant, from which she vaults herself and throws the heel like a boomerang, knocking it from the ex-bride's hands.

Ladybug extends her yo-yo to a lamp post and swings just in time to catch the Akuma victim before she falls hard on the ground. She lands them on her feet before sprinting for the bouquet, which she breaks to purify the butterfly, all in quick succession. Grabbing the shoe, she throws it in the air and cries out, almost hysterically when she sees Chat turning an alarming shade of white that is made even more deathly prominent against the blackness of his suit, “Miraculous Ladybug!”

The moment her ladybugs clear Chat to his feet, she bypasses his outstretched fist and launches herself at him at such top speed, they fall back to the ground.

“I'm sorry!” she wails even as she doesn't let up.

“Err—Ladybug? I kinda just got free from one bind but I'm pretty sure you're cutting off my oxygen this time.”

She squeals, apologies spilling from her lips as she springs from him. She propels herself to her feet, holding a hand up to him. She has to refrain from crumpling her face when she discovers they had been in a similar position not two weeks ago, her helping him to his feet so that he might take her to the music room in their school and play her his composition.

(A composition which she has rewound what little of it she knows in a merciless loop in her head in his absence, just to feel close to him again)

“So, you're good? Nothing hurts?”

He bevels his head quizzically. “Your ladybugs took care of it, like they always do.” He gives her a searching look. “Are you? Okay, that is?”

“Yeah,” she gulps.

This is it, she thinks. This is my chance.

“Actually—” she starts lowly just as he asks, “Are we near the Dupain-Cheng Bakery?”

She blinks her surprise.

“Um… yes. Why?”

He startles, having been focused on the direction of her home, as if he had forgotten she was there despite asking her a question. As if he were all ready somewhere else.

“N-nothing. Listen, I gotta go. Unless there's something else you need me to do?”

Upon her transformation, Bridezilla's bridesmaids had taken care of her, so there truly was no need to linger. Seeing this, he doesn't wait for her instruction. He nods his goodbye and leaps off in the direction of her street.

Her Miraculous trills, and Marinette races to the back door of her building just as Tikki releases her glamour. Her footsteps thunder up the stairs, her clumsiness nowhere to be seen for once, as she zooms past her parents and straight to her room in record time.

“Marinette?” Tikki inquires bewilderingly.

“He's here, Tikki,” she whispers in breathless timbres. “He left me, Ladybug me, just as I was about to confess because he's coming here. To me, Marinette me!”

She can hardly hear Tikki's excited chirps over the roaring of her blood in her ears. He's come back. He's come back to her!

“Chat!” she shrills, as she opens her trapdoor.

But when she pops her head to the roof, he is not there.

She waits, thinking she might have arrived before him. She waits for the sun to set. She waits, even as the cold seeps to her bones with a piercing quiver. Still, he does not come.

No, he has not come back after all.

“Did you and Adrien have a fight?”

Only nibbling on her sandwich lunch and half paying attention to her surroundings, she absentmindedly replies to Alya, “What?”

“You—Adrien—fight?”

The sound of Adrien's name stirs something in her, like wading through really thick mud before reaching the safety of the bank.

“Adrien and I?” she frowns. “I've hardly spoken to him these past few weeks.”

“Yeah?” Alya mirrors her downtrodden mouth. “Maybe that's the problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“Something's been up with the kid, but you know how Adrien is. You ask him if something's wrong, he'll just deny it with his stupid, phony smile. Although, Nino and I have caught him off guard a couple of times. It obviously has something to do with you though, because we ask him how he is and he'll say he's fine, it's just stuff with his dad or fencing or Chinese, blah blah blah. But,” she fixes Marinette with a suspicious glare over the rim of her glasses, “he thinks we don't see, but he gets this look in his eyes after, it's like, really sad—as if he's lost something? Then he stares at you.”

“Me?” she squawks.

“You really haven't noticed?” she returns, distrustful of her plain obliviousness.

“N-no,” she stutters.

“Hey,” Alya's attention becomes a blade, right through to her soul. It makes her sit up taller. “I know something's up with you, too, girl.”

“What?” she says, dragging the vowel out. “No way,” she denies, feebly. Alya does not buy it, it is written on her face, clear as day, just how much she doesn't believe her.

“Okay… then explain how you and Adrien just happen to get into this weird funk right around the same time. That's why I thought you might have had a row or something.”

Marinette shakes her head. Alya sighs.

“Be that as it may, Nino and I aren't making any headway. So,” she nudges her shoulder. “We were hoping you could talk to him. Now that you can speak more than two words to the guy without stammering up a storm,” she pouts at the reminder (will no one ever let her live that down?) “Who knows? He might actually open up to you.”

It is all too clear that her forlornness at, what she deems as, losing her chance with Chat Noir has made her selfish and blind to her other friend's apparent distress. She colors with contrition. So though she is hardly an authority in dealing with emotions healthily, she stows away her lunch and scrambles to her feet in a show of obedience. But a quick perusal of the courtyard shows no sign of Adrien, not even with Nino, who is conversing with Kim and Max.

“Where is he?”

“Nino says Adrien is practically glued to a piano, nowadays. You might wanna try the music room?”

Merde, she wants to shout. Of course, he is in the music room.

Her feet feels leaden but she forges on, walking an all too familiar path, all the while chanting, I am a good friend, I am a good friend, I am a good friend, in her head to bolster herself. She's operating under the adventitiousness that if she thinks it enough, she will become it. Power of attraction and all.

Besides, she does want to be a good friend, so there is that.

(But did it have to be the music room, bon sang! )

When she reaches the door of the place, she can hear All I Ask of You wafting through the wood. It steals her breath and seizes her limbs so that it takes her a better part of a minute to regain control of her faculties.

She will not cry. She will not be one of those girls who associates songs with people, thereby removing the joy from listening to said songs if the memories are not… optimal, when they hear it.

(Oh god, she has become that girl now, too)

He doesn't turn his head to her when she enters, doesn't acknowledge her when she sits beside him on the bench, doesn't even miss a beat when she joins him and plays the melody to his lower register.

When the final note is played to fruition, they sit there in silence—neither willing to break it, lost as they are in events brought on by the song.

Finally, when the quiet becomes too stifling, Marinette opens her mouth to say something reassuring except the connection between her brain and aforementioned body part seems to have fried somewhere along the way.

“He must have come to you, in your dreams.”

He startles, the movement oddly familiar, though she dispels the recognition that it pothers within her.

“Who?”

“You know,” she wiggles her eyebrows then abruptly stops. She wants to slap a hand to her forehead. How dare they! How dare her eyebrows betray her!

(Is she channeling Chat Noir now? Seriously? Is that where she is? Putain)

Adrien shakes his head, a perfect picture of puzzlement.

Shut up, Marinette, she implores herself. Don't say it.

But nope, her wires are still cut, as her lips form, no—it levels up and sings the words without her consent.

“The Phantom of the Opera!”

She cringes the moment she stops then pivots so that her back is to the keys of the piano, and Adrien is away from her line of sight. She is going to barf. She can string complete sentences around the guy now sure, but apparently she has traded the spluttering for... she shudders, singing. She crosses her arms, as if it could stop her from embarrassing herself further. She almost wishes for the stutter back.

What even is my life right now?

She expects him to leave, but Adrien has always been a kind soul. He chuckles, albeit a subdued sound, as if he's forgotten how, his sadness (so obvious, now that she is here and seeing, truly seeing, him) chasing any associations he might have had with happiness. When was the last time she had even seen him smile?

Too long, she concludes.

“Well, he is there,” he taps his temple then croons, in an exaggerated baritone, “inside my mind…”

It is her turn to be shocked and for a beat, they stare at each other, disbelief adorning the air between them at what they had each done.

And then, they are laughing.

They are laughing and it is as loud and as forthcoming and as fun as it had been that day in the rain, when he offered her an umbrella. For a moment, she allows herself to fall back into that girl. She dusts her old feelings off from the shelf she had placed them in and she allows them to come rushing back. She remembers then, why it is Adrien who occupied her thoughts for so long. She can see how easy it would be, too easy, to fall in love with him again.

But his blond hair and his green eyes invoke the wrong memories. She feels her heart whinge with longing for another man and she just can't. It wouldn't be fair to compare Adrien, to keep comparing anyone, to a shadow.

Drowning as she is in her thoughts, she doesn't notice Adrien has all ready turned away, fingers back to the piano as he plays Music of the Night, which then fades to Think of Me, till eventually he settles onto Angel of Music.

Mon ange.

She can hear Chat Noir’s voice forming the words, almost as if he were here in the room and she is taken back to that first night he played for her so that he is sitting beside her—his beautiful digits deftly serenading her, her head on his shoulder, their breathing syncopated.

She isn't aware she is crying till warm fingers touch the skin of her cheek.

Adrien has stopped playing.

“I didn't mean to make you cry.”

She didn't think it possible, but he looked even more upset than when she first entered.

So much for being a good friend.

“Ignore me,” she laughs awkwardly, his hand falling as she reaches into her bag, meeting Tikki's big, round eyes when she surreptitiously gives her a tissue. “Oh, I'm such a mess. I'm so sorry, Adrien. Ugh,” she sighs, wiping at her glistening cheeks. “This is not how this was supposed to go.”

“And how was this supposed to go?”

“Truthfully? I don't know. Alya and Nino were worried about you and honestly, I can see why. I came in here to try to cheer you up, which is stupid, I know now. I can hardly console myself. What can I possibly do for you?”

At that, she meets his eyes and all of a sudden, she understands what Alya means. There is something soft in his green gaze when he looks at her and something fond when he directs his endearingly crooked smile at her. It brightens his face and again, there is something so distinct about the twinkle in his orbs that it arrests her, stops the babble of her mouth and calms the restlessness of her wrung heart. A thought brews in her mind then, something big and something reckless and something dangerous, to be sure.

But the way her soul calls out to him, the thread of recognition in her belly going taut after so long without its other half, the look of him, his knowledge of Phantom of the Opera. It had taken her so long but now that it is here, it is like waking from a really deep sleep or rising from the pull of a frigid ocean tide—it is too difficult to ignore.

If she was right, bon dieu, if she was right...

“What troubles you, Marinette?”

Could it be this easy? she wonders, for the umpteenth time. If something's too good to be true, it usually is.

It's okay to be afraid, Tikki's sage voice floods her head then, overriding her doubts and lending her strength. Love is magic. Love is strength.

“What else?”

“I wonder if it might be the same thing that ails me.”

She gasps mockingly, “A boy?”

Marinette internally rejoices at the laugh she manages to wrangle from him. God, even his laugh!

Then, at the same time they utter, “Love?”

He nods, as if satisfied with their synchronization. She can hardly contain her beam. But the solemnity returns to his countenance and he asks her, “Are you in love, then?”

She nods, emphatically. “To the best guy I know. Next to you, of course.”

He looks so taken aback, she almost laughs. “Me?”

“Don't pretend you didn't know!” she points an accusing finger at him.

“Know? Know what? ”

“Oh my god,” it sinks in and she raises an incredulous brow. “You really didn't know?”

He throws his hands up in the air in frustration. “What are you talking about?”

“Adrien,” she starts slowly, as if he were a skittish animal she didn't want to scare into bolting from her. “Up until two years ago, I was madly in love with you.”

He blinks.

“What—what— ”

“I'm not anymore, obviously,” she continues flippantly, biting her lip to hide her amused grin. He is turning a peculiar shade of red, the hues of which had only ever been displayed by her before.

“I'm in love with this guy, but,” she sobers when she returns to the heart of the matter. “I don't know,” she sighs, jerking frustratedly at one end of her right pigtail. “I think I blew it.”

For a while, he doesn't answer. The silence becomes so oppressively awkward, she contemplates leaving when he, at long last, replies.

“What makes you say that?”

It is a quiet thing, the way he phrases the question. But it is made all the more compelling for its lambency, when there is an overabundance of hope lining every letter and syllable. She senses her own hope rocketing straight to the heavens.

“He told me his feelings, and instead of reciprocating I,” she gulps, the shame of her actions threatening to pull her down to her demons as she recalls that dreadful day. “I turned him away.”

He seems lost in his thoughts too, but rises just enough to mumble, “Why?”

She closes her eyes.

This is it, she psyches herself again. This is really it.

“Because I was afraid. I had loved you for so long, you see, that I had grown so comfortable with the thought that whatever love I gave could never be returned. But then he did, god, he did and suddenly I was afraid that I would mess things up so badly and then eventually, I just wouldn't be enough. There were… other factors, I was afraid of,” she glosses over this, just in case she is wrong. But if she is right, then it seemed prudent he be aware of it, too. “But it's not an excuse. The point is, I'm tired of being afraid, you know?”

She turns back so that she is facing the keys and then she is looking him in the eye, dauntless and ready.

“I'm tired of being afraid,” she reiterates, before altogether deflating. “I want to tell him, really, I do. But how?

“How do I tell someone that he is the first person I think about the moment I wake for the day and the one who fills my dreams at night? How do I tell him that his arms around me bring me the sort of warmth no blanket, jacket or heater could ever replicate? That for me the sun rises and sets in his eyes? That if I were a moon then he was the planet with which I choose to gravitate around? That my whole world is centered around him? That his soul seems bound to mine? His name scrawled across my heart because it belongs to him?

“How do you tell someone you love them? ”

The words had been building for so long, she gasps the moment they are out, like she had been holding her breath for just as long as she had been holding them in.

When she sneaks a glance at Adrien, there is an air of serenity about him that she hopes, hopes, hopes, is born from the baring of her mind, heart and soul. She feels naked, but invigorated too, a certain potency in the vulnerability—especially when he looks at her like this, with commensurate admiration, her words playing in his mind's eye to echo to his very actions.

“I imagine it goes something like this.”

His fingers poise gracefully over the keys, and then they are flying, singing, painting— a captivating scenery of a boy cloaked in shadows and a girl with midnight hair, the moonlight as their surface and the open air their dome and how they find sanctuary in each other. It pierces their heady atmosphere, that beautiful and mysterious tune that had kept her going on the days when loneliness comminated to cripple her.

—that same melody Chat Noir would hum to her, in the exposure of her rooftop and the moonshine pooling at their feet.

It starts soft, tinkling... excited, before climaxing to something sorrowful and dejected. But then, the tone shifts, and it is enchanting, bringing with it hope and passion and the happy chimes of church bells and an infant's laughter and above all else… love.

The last note fades from the room though it reverberates all throughout her body, leaving a pleasant tingle in its wake. She is crying again but she doesn't bother to hide it, doesn't bother to reach for a tissue. Not when he is there, cradling her cheeks like she is a most cherished gem, and catching her tears before they can journey the length of her face.

“Mon Ange,”  he whispers, breath lingering like a zephyr on her lips as he answers a question asked long ago. “It's called Mon Ange. ”

Only one person in the entire world would know to call her that.

But she dare not let herself believe, not until she too is cupping his face, her fingers splitting into diamonds around the sides of his eyes in a facsimile of a mask.

Those eyes, oh always his eyes…

(It should have been her first clue)

She gasps.

(She should have known better)

“Chat… you… you— ”

His hands retreat from her face only to deluge her own, hold her to him.

“Yes,” he sighs. “Yes, it's me.”

(She really, really should have known)

He rests his forehead on hers, and then she is laughing as she is crying, gazing at him in uninhibited astonishment.

“It's you,” she breathes, “it's always been you.”

His smile stretches the breadth of his face, it's any wonder it doesn't hurt his cheeks or fly right off his visage. It is then she remembers, with another laugh.

“I suppose…” he pouts when she withdraws but she, too, cannot contain her smiles when she opens her bag and reveals, “now is as good a time as any to tell you.”

Tikki floats placidly up to Adrien's blatantly jarred exterior and touches his nose in greeting.

“Hello, Adrien. I'm Tikki,” she giggles, tipping his jaw up with a paw before resuming her introductions. “It's nice to finally meet you.”

But before he can formulate a reply, something or rather, someone, is shouting, “Sugarcube!” and whizzing between them to collide right into her Kwami.

Plagg.

Tikki squeals, waving apologetically as Plagg whisks her away to the vents without so much as a by your leave.

Adrien has yet to say anything, and she grows worried at his lack of response.

“Adrien?” she waves a hand across his face. He captures it and holds on, tight. And she has a sneaking suspicion he thinks what he says next might be unpleasant to her and his grip is so she won't float away in the aftermath.

(She harrumphs. This is three years in the making, nothing could possibly make her leave now)

“So close,” are his first words.

“Okay…?”

“So close, I could have figured it out and we might have been together sooner!”

His eyes are dilated with regret, bordering on hysteria.

“The Valentine's day card, the one shaped in a heart with a poem written inside.”

She blushes. “Oh yeah,” she coughs to hide her embarrassment. “That.”

“It wasn't signed but I knew, I knew it was from Ladybug because it directly answered my poem for her—word per word. Then you! You left me a note with that assignment and I thought your handwriting looked a lot like the one of the poem's but I brushed it off because I could hardly believe it. I couldn't possibly be that lucky? I'm so used to disappointment, otherwise, it just became easier to accept that I couldn't deserve you… both of you.”

He trails off.

“And are you?”

“What?”

He seems feverish now at all the little hints she might have left that spoke of her admiration for him. She remembers Papa Garou and feels a little bad.

“Disappointed?”

He hugs her then, his arms around her a habitual balm that feels like coming home.

He feels like home.

“I couldn't be farther, Marinette. I've fallen in love with you, twice now. Once is coincidence but twice?” He hums. “Twice is a pattern.” He runs his nose along the arch of her neck, before rubbing it against the bridge of her own. “One I hope to make again,” he kisses her forehead, “and again,” her eyelid, “and again,” one cheek, “and again, ” then the other.

Pull, pull, pull.

There is that force again, the one that links them together, in a nature so insistent, she is a slave to its command. She finds herself clambering to his lap and anchoring her hands in his golden tendrils. He receives her weight with nary a blink of an eye, like they have done this countless times before.

Pull, pull, pull.

Like it is right.

“Well then,” she says, her lips hovering exhilaratingly close to his. “What do you suppose happens now?”

With her towering over him, his answer comes in the form of the crane of his head as he gives chase to the succulent curve of her smiling mouth.

But the day has other plans when the alarm rings and an announcement blares from the school speakers.

“AKUMA ALERT, AKUMA ALERT!”

They simultaneously turn their heads to the windows and it is there Adrien walks, carrying her all the while as he surveys whatever damage the Akuma might have all ready caused. It's an inappropriate thought given the circumstances but the way he doesn't even think about letting her go, his muscles flexing beneath his shirt as he hauls her to him with ease—it makes her quite dizzy.

(She's in love, okay? Sue her)

“Duty calls?”

He sighs. “Duty calls.”

She gets down on her feet, her body sliding in delicious thrills along his on the way to the ground. They let go of each other at the same time, calling for their Kwamis, suddenly shy.

“I'm gonna—”

“I'll be—”

He waves to one corner of the room while she gestures to the other.

“Right,” they trill jointly before laughing.

They move to their respectfully claimed parts of the room, Tikki giving her a wink before she calls out her magic words and hearing the tail end of Adrien's too.

When the magic settles, she turns. Seeing Chat Noir standing before her and knowing it is Adrien beneath the mask makes all the air leave her body while also breathing so much energy into her core.

It's real, she says to herself. He's real.

It restores her confidence and she is leaping into his arms for a hug, one that takes no time at all for him to reciprocate so deeply, she is lifted onto the tips of her toes.

Pull. 

“I've waited for you my whole life," he sighs. "It’s reassuring somehow, to know. You were always with me.” He cups her head. “My lady,” he whispers into the corner of her mouth. “Mon ange.”

“Mon minou,” she murmurs in kind before conceding, “I'm scared.” It's a hard thing to admit but with him, it is as effortless as a heartbeat.

Pull.

He holds out his hand.

“I won't let go if you won't.”

Pull. 

She grasps his hand, before twining their fingers, loving the weight of him in her palm like that of a steady promise.

Pull.

“Never.”

Because it is one, she understand now. And like all promises made by lovers, they seal it in the only way they know how.

Pull. 

With a kiss.

AN: Hope you had fun! Tell me what you think! :)

Also, come say hi to me!

[this-is-allison]

Day Is Gone

This is based on a scene/original song from Sons of Anarchy. It deals with violence and character death so consider that your warning. Posted under the cut. 

Show: Stranger Things  Pairing: Jopper  Characters: Joyce Byers, Jim Hopper, Lonnie Byers 

Lonnie Byers has been at the bar for all of ten minutes before he overhears talk of his ex-wife and a certain Police Chief. So they’d finally gotten together? His jaw tightens in rage, thinking of all the times throughout their marriage when Joyce reassured him that there was “nothing there”. They’d been friends in high school, but that was it. At least he thought.

Now they’re apparently living together with HIS kids. Hell if he’s going to let his kids call another man Dad. Not that they ever really called him that besides when they were younger. It’s the facts that matter. He is their dad, not Hopper. He reaches into his pocket, fishing out a bottle of pills, swallowing whatever comes out, and using his drink to wash it down. He'd make Joyce see his side and he didn't care what the fuck Hopper had to say about it. He orders another drink as he continues to eavesdrop. 

In his short time of listening he finds out that Jonathan is preparing to leave for New York in the fall for college, Joyce isn't working at Melvad's anymore, something about a girl named Jane, and that Will is doing better. He can't believe Joyce couldn't so much as call him to let him know his soon actually wasn't dead. He presses his lips together. She was probably too busy fucking the pig to pick up the phone. Stupid whore. 

He finishes another drink and a few more shots before he stumbles out of the bar, flying from the mixture of booze and pills. It's not long before he pulls up to his old house, noticing the absence of Hopper's Blazer. He makes his way out of his car and stumbles up the steps to pound on the door; loud enough for The Harrington's to hear on the other side of the woods. He hears movement from inside the house and before long he's face-to-face with his ex-wife. "Lonnie…what the hell are you doing here?" she keeps a firm grip on the door to block him from entering, using the other hand to pull her sweater tighter around herself. 

"Will. I heard he's alive. I wanna see him. And Jonathan." Lonnie swallows hard, feeling dry mouthed from the pills, his eyes unfocused. She scoffs. "So you show up randomly, after not hearing from you for over a year? Fuck off. Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of. We're fine without you, better actually." She stands up a little taller and if he didn't know better he'd swear she is trying to intimidate him. "Oh yeah, that 'cause of our good ole friend Hopper? I heard he moved in." he raises his right eyebrow at her.  

She flusters, not sure what to say. Hopper had always been a sore spot for them - for him - in high school, during their marriage, and even after they got divorced. Judging by his eyes and inability to stop swaying she'd guess he was drunk or high on something - maybe even both. She needed to get him off her porch. Luckily the kids were at sleepovers for the night, but she had no clue when Hopper would be back from work and that scared her with Lonnie here. She normally could handle him, but he came here loaded and ready to fight. "How many times did you fuck him while we're together?" Lonnie is the one doing the intimidating now - walking forward towards her with a crazy look in his eyes, forcing her to move in the opposite direction back into the house. 

"It's not like that…he moved away, Lonnie. I never cheated like you did," she spits at him as he backs her into the kitchen. "Yeah well maybe if you were more willing to put out instead of always fussing over the damn boys! Now I know you were too busy fucking Hopper to worry about your husband!" he screams, his face reddening as he pushes her back into the wall by her shoulders. 

"Stop it, you're hurting me," she pleads, eyes wide. "You hurt me!" He slaps her and puts his hands around her neck, pinning her to the wall and pushing down on her windpipe in a blind rage as her eyes go wide. "Does he fuck better than I do?" he whispers, voice full of malice. "Stop," she chokes out softly thrashing about to push him off, but he keeps his hands locked around her neck and uses his body to still hers. "Do they call him daddy?" Lonnie asks in reference to the kids, his hands crushing down on her windpipe making it impossible to breath. She scratches at his hands, attempting to get him to let go, but she can't compete against his strength. 

"I…" she gasps, eyes wide, attempting to get the words out, but her head feels like it's going to explode due to the lack of oxygen to her brain.   "Answer me!" Lonnie lets go of her neck, pulling her forward just to push her back again. Her body crumples to the floor. "Joyce?" he checks her neck and arm for a pulse, but finds nothing. She's dead. He slowly backs away from her, snapping out of whatever trance he was in. "Oh fuck," he panics pulling at his hair and looking around. Hopper could be back any time now. With one look back at Joyce's body on the floor he quickly runs out of the house and drives off, not a trace of him left behind.

Hopper pulls up to the house at about 11pm. He'd promised Joyce he'd be home as early as possible so they could take advantage of the empty house since they rarely got it to themselves. Things have been great between them, but he can't calm his worry about the black hole coming and taking it all away. Like it's always taken everything good from him. He makes his way inside and shrugs his coat off throwing it on the couch, noticing how eerily quiet the house is. 

"Joyce?" He looks around the living room finding it empty. When he rounds the corner he sees legs on the ground so he immediately draws his gun. As he moves fully into the kitchen he sees Joyce on the floor looking like she's sleeping. He stops unable to comprehend what he's seeing, using the nearest chair to brace himself, he pulls his hat off his head and throws it down on the kitchen table. He instantly starts crying as he staggers towards her, dropping the gun in the process, his hands bracing the side of his head as he sees the marks around her neck. He sits down next to her, scooping her up in his arms so her body is lying in his lap. He holds her up with one arm and uses the other to cup her cheek, staring down at her face in disbelief, his tears falling down onto her. He presses a hard kiss against her lips. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." It's too late to go back, I let the darkness seep through the cracks. Love is bleeding, I curse my breathing. The day is gone The day is gone

[ragehappysecretsanta]

Author: http://madprincevagabond.tumblr.com

Recipient: http://tarathemun.tumblr.com

Summary: The plan was flawless, the Heist perfect, Ryan was certain everything was going to be fine. Until Jeremy got shot.

Warnings: Mature, gang violence, small amount of angst, fluff, kisses and cuddles, language

WordCount: 2868

"Everybody hit the fucking deck!"

The shout that came from the Maze Bank entrance was followed up by the loud report of gunfire. The civilians inside screamed and fell to the floor, cowering as they caught sight of Los Santos' most notorious gang.

The Fake AH Crew!

The smaller man who'd initially yelled stood at the bank entrance smiling down at the crying, trembling civilians as his companions rushed in and set about their heist. His aviator glasses hid his eyes but they could almost see the glint of joy and satisfaction there. His white Stetson sat atop his head like an eagle on a cliff, his ridiculous orange shirt, purple blazer and yellow slacks a reminder to all that Rimmy Tim didn't give a fuck about fashion.

"Gavin get on those cameras and get security down!" shouted a tall man in a nice suit. Several of the hostages swallowed in fear as they recognized the Kingpen of the city, Geoff Ramsey and leader of the Fakes.

"On it Geoffrey!" a younger man with dirty blonde hair cheered in a British accent as he vaulted over the bank counter, shoving a teller out of the way and set up a laptop, quickly typing away at the keyboard.

"I'm in, the police haven't been alerted yet and the banks security system is down," Gavin smiled at his handiwork.

"Great now move your ass and help us maintain these hostages while Geoff and Vagabond get the vault open!" another young man with curly red hair shouted at Gavin as he pointed his rifle at one of the hostages who whimpered in fear.

"Micoo, Team Nice Dynamite boi!" Gavin smiled as he joined Michael "Mogar" Jones as the two began ziptying each of the hostage's hands together.

"Yeah boi! Hey, bet I kill more cops than your dumb ass!" Michael chuckled.

"Bet you can't!"

Geoff rolled his eyes as he looked to Rimmy Tim who gave a nod to say that he would handle anything on the ground floor and keep the two bickering lads out of too much trouble. He ran past Michael who tossed him a duffle bag he'd filled with explosives and paused his bickering with Gavin to give Geoff a glance.

"I expect some of that to still be in there when you get back," he said darkly and winked. Geoff smiled and nodded before dashing down the stairs in the direction of the vault. The fifth member of the heist followed, the hostages scooting as far away from him as they could, his reputation as the most vicious killer in the state prominent in their minds. The Vagabond, the faceless mercenary who had a higher kill count than he could even remember. As he walked by Rimmy Tim he paused and glared down at two of the hostages who he'd noticed were staring at him in fear. Their faces went pale at the sight of the black skull mask he wore facing them, emotionless.

Vagabond crouched down in front of them and tilted his head slightly. Slowly he pulled out his knife and played with it close to their faces, the hostages whimpering and sobbing in fear as they begged with their eyes and shook their heads.

The Vagabond chuckled darkly as he stood and placed a hand on Rimmy Tim's shoulder tenderly.

"Ryan please, the hostages are staring," Rimmy Tim whispered quietly to Ryan "Vagabond" Haywood so that the hostages couldn't hear his name, blushing slightly. Ryan chuckled and leaned closer.

"A lion does not concern himself with the opinions of sheep Jeremy," he whispered back using Rimmy's real name. The two shared a smile before Ryan pulled away.

"I'll be back soon dear, try not to have too much fun up here without me," he said aloud and smiled. Even though he wore the mask Jeremy knew that Ryan was smiling, something about the way his icy blue eyes pinched up at the ends. Jeremy smiled back and shrugged as he reached down and slapped Ryan's ass.

"No promises buddy!" he said. The two laughed, which caused the hostages blood to run cold. Ryan ran after Geoff down the stairs and shot at a security guard that was aiming his pistol at Geoff's back. The Kingpen whirled around and saw the body falling to the floor.

"Nice shot Ryan!" he smiled his thanks, Ryan nodding as the two continued to make their way to the vault. With Ryan standing guard, Geoff went to work setting the charges, backing up around the corner and giving Ryan a fist bump as he detonated the charges. When the smoke cleared Geoff darted in and began filling another duffle bag he'd brought with him with money, Ryan following suit, the duo working quickly.

"Shit! Geoff we got pigs!" Michael's voice called through their comm earpieces, along with the sounds of sirens, gunfire and Jeremy's laughter. Geoff glanced at Ryan who smiled proudly.

"That's my Battle Buddy!" he said causing Geoff to roll his eyes.

"We're almost done here, hold em off for a few more minutes and then get the fuck out on my mark!" he ordered Michael.

"Got it boss," Michael called.

Gavin covered the hostages while Jeremy and Michael shot out the doors of the bank at the cops parked on the street, the LSPD who refused to return fire in case they hit one of the hostages.

"Like shooting fish in a barrel!" Jeremy laughed.

"And the best part, I'm getting WAY more kills than Gavin!" Michael laughed.

"Oi, just you wait you pleb! The heist isn't over yet!" Gavin whined from his spot.

"Yeah but this contest is!" Michael laughed as he put a bullet through the head of another cop who was dumb enough to stand up out of cover.

Rookies! Jeremy thought. That's when he noticed that one cop was hanging back from the main group.

That's strange, why would he be out there? Why is he holding that rocket launcher? Oh shit! That's a rocket launcher! he thought as he watched the cop load the weapon.

"Rockets!" he yelled as he slung his rifle over his shoulder and cartwheeled to the right, his old acrobatics training kicking in as he landed on his feet and immediately sprang into a back handspring with the momentum, pulling his pistol out of its holster as he backflipped and took a shot at one of the cops and landing the shot perfectly before landing and putting as much distance between himself and the bank entrance. Michael darted to the left and dove behind some cover just as the explosion rocked the front of the building, sending dust and chunks of concrete flying everywhere, the hostages screaming and diving for cover.

Gavin squawked and dove behind the front desk as another rocket hit, closer this time, blowing the doors into the building; hostages screaming and scrambling to get out of the way. The force of the second rocket exploding sent Jeremy sprawling to the floor, the shorter man rolling to the side just as a heavy piece of concrete landed where his head had just been. Peeking over the edge of the desk, Gavin saw the LSPD moving in.

"Guys we've got incoming!" he shouted as he leveled his golden gun and started dropping cops left and right. Michael not one to be outdone, especially by the Brit, raised himself to a knee and also started firing.

"Fuck you popo!" he shouted. Jeremy stood and pulled the pin from a grenade and tossed it to the entrance where the cops were.

"Geoff we have a situation," he said into his comm.

"What kind of situation?" Geoff asked worriedly. The grenade exploded and Jeremy activated his comm again.

"That kind," he said. He heard Ryan giggling which made him smile and Geoff groan.

"Fine! We're done here, time to haul ass!" he said. Jeremy confirmed and darted over to Gavin, tapping him on the shoulder.

"Geoff says time to bug out bud," he said.

"But I haven't caught up to Micoo yet!" Gavin complained. Jeremy rolled his eyes.

"Have fun dealing with your fucking kill count while we leave your dumb ass behind then," he shrugged and vaulted the desk as Gavin let out an indignant squawk, firing several shots and landing each one, the cops dropping like flies.

"Michael time to pull out!" he called.

"That's what she said!" Michael grinned. Jeremy groaned and was about to make a snarky reply when he felt white hot pain rip through his thigh and then his left shoulder as bullets struck him. Crying out in pain Jeremy collapsed to the floor and rolled behind cover beside Michael to avoid any more shots.

"Mother fucker!" he shouted as he propped himself up with a groan.

"Lil' J!" Michael yelled and crouched to check on Jeremy.

"That fucking slut! How am I supposed to play Xbox now you son of a bitch?!" Jeremy groaned in anger, his Bostonian accent started to emerge, but managed a painful smile to show Michael he'd be okay.

"Geoff we need to go now! Jeremy's been hit!" Michael yelled into his comm as he stood over Jeremy and took out the fucker who'd shot him.

"Jeremy's been WHAT?!" Ryan shouted.

"Fucking calm down it's not too serious but he needs a medic, we just gotta get the hell out now!" Michael shouted back.

"Let's go!" Geoff called and Michael looked up to see the two gents emerging from the stairs, Ryan whipping out an RPG, his prized baby which he dubbed "Darci" for some god-forsaken reason, out of nowhere and took aim, sending a projectile streaking towards the cops. Bodies flew and blood went everywhere, clearing a way for the Fakes. Ryan immediately rushed to Jeremy who was clutching his leg and shoulder and gritting his teeth in pain. Without hesitation he scooped the smaller man up in his arms and rushed to the door, the others following close behind.

"Merry Christmas motherfuckers!" Michael cheered as he tossed two explosives behind him, one in the bank with the hostages and one as he passed the cop cars, detonating both.

"Was that really necessary boi?" Gavin asked smiling over at Michael.

"No witnesses Gavvers!" Michael yelled as he turned to fire at the remaining cops behind them.

"Jack we need evac now!" Geoff called into his comm as the group darted down an alley, Gavin and Michael covering their retreat and Ryan carrying both the duffle bag of money and a protesting Jeremy.

"On it Geoff!" Jack's voice replied.

"Hold on Jeremy we'll get you help! Hang in there baby!" Ryan said worriedly.

"For fucks sake Ryan I'm not dying I just got nicked!" Jeremy groaned out through gritted teeth. They came to a halt at the end of the alley as a limo screeched to a stop in front of them. The window rolled down and Jack Pattillo's bearded face appeared.

"Get in fuckers!" he yelled. The group dove in as Jack hit the gas and took off, weaving through the streets of Los Santos, Michael and Ryan dropping proxi mines out the windows to block their escape, all the while Jeremy groaning in pain as Geoff and Gavin did their best to keep him still and stop the bleeding.

They made it to one of their safe houses, Geoff calling ahead to B-Team to have medics standing by to meet them. Ryan didn't even wait for Jack to come to a complete stop but scooped Jeremy up and flew out the door, running quickly into the safehouse and taking Jeremy to the medics.

"We'll take him from here, you need to wait. We'll let you know when you can see him," Caleb said gently but firmly when Ryan tried to follow the group of medics as they wheeled Jeremy into another room. Ryan growled dangerously but Caleb was unphased, glaring into Ryan's eyes with zero fear.

"You want Jeremy to recover? Then stay out of the way and let us do our job! We won't let anything happen to him Ryan, I promise he'll be okay!" he said.

"He'd better be or so help me Caleb they'll never find your remains!" Ryan snarled.

"Noted," Caleb said and turned to follow his team. Ryan stood there for a minute suddenly feeling very helpless and scared. The adrenaline from the bank heist began to die down and Ryan felt himself start to tremble with worry. A hand fell on his shoulder suddenly and he looked to see Geoff standing there with a reassuring look on his face.

"Hey, he'll be okay. C'mon and sit down while you wait. I'll stay here with you," Geoff said softly and guided Ryan to a nearby table and sat him down in a chair, pulling one up beside him and sitting next to his friend.

Minutes passed into hours and Ryan grew increasingly worried and impatient, fidgeting and then eventually pacing. Geoff wouldn't allow him to leave though, kept telling him that everything would be okay, that Jeremy would be fine.

"I don't hire mediocre medics to take care of my Crew Ryan. I only trust the best of the best to take care of you idiots," he said. Ryan nodded miserably and hung his head, trying not to fall apart. Jeremy had to be okay! Geoff made him eat some pizza and drink some Diet Coke, making sure Ryan took care of himself. He remembered what Ryan was like after what happened to Ray, a ghost of who he'd once been and he didn't want to see the man go through that again. It had been a hard time on every member of the Crew, but it had hit Ryan the hardest, the man refusing to eat and barely sleeping.

Finally Caleb walked back in with a smile on his face and said that Jeremy was perfectly fine and that Ryan could go back to see him. Ryan offered Geoff a thankful look and then dashed off in the direction Caleb indicated. He slowed as he reached the room, walking into the room and up to the bed, taking off his mask and dropping it on a nearby chair as he did. Jeremy lay there, sitting up and waiting for him, a smile lighting up his face at the sight of Ryan.

"Rye Bread!" he said happily. That was the breaking point for Ryan. His eyes filled with tears as he fell to his knees next to Jeremy, slowly reaching out and grasping the lad's hand in both of his.

"I thought I was going to lose you. I couldn't lose my moon and stars," he said softly, face wrinkled in pain and tears fell down his cheeks, his face long since cleaned of the paint. Jeremy smiled and pulled Ryan over to sit on the bed beside him.

"I wasn't hurt that bad buddy, and Michael had me covered. And thanks to you I got here before I lost too much blood. I'm okay Ryan, I'm safe," he said gently. Ryan sobbed, leaning in and hugging him, pressing soft desperate kisses to the lad's head and face, tears rolling down his cheeks. Jeremy hugged him back and made soft comforting noises as he rubbed Ryan's back, holding him tightly.

"C'mere," he said after a minute and scooted over on the bed, patting the space for Ryan to lay down with him. Ryan hesitated but when Jeremy said he was okay again and gently coaxed him he got into the bed beside the lad and cuddled up next to him.

Jeremy wrapped his good arm around Ryan's shoulders and pulled him close, his injured arm he used to hold one of Ryan's hands, rubbing it soothingly with his thumb. Ryan lay his head against Jeremy's chest, grateful for the warmth of his body and the peaceful sound of the lad's heart beat as he trembled, every now and then he hiccuped.

"Hey, I'm not dying on you okay? We're the fucking Battle Buddies, we take care of each other," Jeremy said looking down at Ryan with a smile. The gent looked up and sniffled leaning up and kissing Jeremy.

"Battle Buddies, forever," he spoke their favorite saying as he began to calm down.

"Battle Buddies forever. I love you Rye Bread," Jeremy said and kissed the top of Ryan's head, giving him a little squeeze.

"I love you too Jer Bear," Ryan returned with his favorite nickname for Jeremy and buried his head against Jeremy's chest, hugging him tighter, almost afraid that if he let go he'd lose Jeremy forever.

"Hey, you wanna know something?" Jeremy asked. Ryan looked up, his beautiful icy blue eyes searching Jeremy's chestnut brown ones.

"Hmm?" he hummed.

"When I get better, we're gonna fuck for a week!" Jeremy said and waggled his eyebrows. Ryan laughed and hugged Jeremy again.

"Looking forward to it dear," he said as he leaned up and kissed Jeremy again. The lad returned the kiss before resting his cheek against the top of the gent's head. The two fell asleep like that, cuddled up to each other in a tight embrace, both thankful to have the other.

[kentonramsey]

3 Vintage Sleuths on How to Find Band Tees, Fringe Jackets, and Wacky Wall Art

Exciting news! We’ve launched MR Think Tank, a digital braintrust we want *you* to be part of. We’re kicking it off with a survey that will help us get to know you better, so we can keep making stuff you love. In exchange, you’ll receive exclusive content and other fun things. Interested? Sign up by taking the survey!

Sometimes I lay restless in the night, wondering about other peoples’ hyper-specific search terms, guarded like sapphires at the Smithsonian. What first editions of books do my contemporaries find worthy of rooting around the Internet for? Whose bedroom will finally feel tied together if they have a Valentine Olivetti typewriter perched on their desk? Who will swear off all other vessels if they can carry their wallet and keys in a Christopher Kane jelly clutch? What else do they find on their journeys down these rabbit holes? My curiosity became so overwhelming, so egregious, so probing, that I caved and just asked.

And aren’t I glad that I did: I heard stories that were the 21st century equivalent of Jack Kerouac’s On The Road—the road, in this case, is the information superhighway—and so we’ll be publishing these ditties as a series over the course of this week. The table of contents is like so: first, Ruby Redstone on tracking down a 2013 pair of Acne Studios glitter boots, followed by Tatiana Hambro in her ongoing quest for the Boyy Wonton bag in Olive, Lea Carey who trails flight attendant uniforms by Emilio Pucci, Lauren Chan who struck gold after searching for a shearling aviator coat in plus-sizes and Tafarii McKenzie on the chic makeup bag that eludes her. Read on for today’s installment in the series, below.

Hannah Mosman, Apparel Designer & Stylist

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rooftop isolation looks round II: benjamin blazer +\ taylor trouser, 5 ways each— w/ some mara ruffle top sprinkled in, all from @rachelantonoff spring 20. we designed this special 5-color gingham, custom woven for the brand. the cotton fabric weight & hand are a tactile delight. I can’t resist a wild a$$ suit but maybe I’m biased in thinking these guys also make great separates.

A post shared by Hannah Mosman (@hannahmosity) on Apr 26, 2020 at 12:09pm PDT

Your shopping rabbit hole: I’m always on the lookout for the perfect vintage suede fringe jacket. Has to be cognac or cognac-adjacent in color. Has to be button-front. And has to have fringe included at the back seam on the sleeve!

Can you walk me through what going down this rabbit hole entails? This shopping rabbit hole means perusing Etsy, Poshmark, and eBay predominantly, as I know current suede jackets I like will be out of my price range (and the pursuit of good vintage is fun). I start my search with something like “suede fringe jacket” and narrow by color and size, and get to scrolling. I save to wishlist/”likes” lists like a maniac so I can review my picks after I’m done browsing. I know the fit will be key, so I make sure to gather/request any measurements from sellers that may be missing some garment specs for items I’m seriously considering. I’d say I search this item a few times a week through the aforementioned sites, and not by Google search.

What ultimately satiates the quest? The quest has yet to be satiated… seems like I’ll be able to find my dream suede fringe jacket—the right color with the right fit in a high-quality material (no thin suede!)—when pigs fly.

Intrigued? Start your own rabbit hole here.

See All 5

Canada Choate, Assistant editor, Artforum

Radiant angel pic.twitter.com/xeVtLYaUV9

— canada (@canadachoate) March 9, 2020

Your shopping rabbit hole: Vintage band tees, specifically from the fall in the 1980s or Spacemen 3 in the ’90s. Such items, if they surface, are usually in the $1000-range, a.k.a. out of my (and most people’s) budget, but their designs inspire and excite.

Can you walk me through what going down this rabbit hole entails? I probably search monthly. Look out for unworthy reproductions printed on contemporary tees, which inevitably have the wrong fit and none of the years of blood, sweat, and tears that charge these rags with the energy of a thousand fans.

What ultimately satiates the quest? I’ve never actually bought a vintage rock tee online. Hunting for something unaffordable is a great way to keep yourself from spending money!

Intrigued? Start your own rabbit hole here.

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Lauren Williams, Founder, Lolo

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The perfect vase to create a wall of flowers to hide your cold nipples

by @losobjetosdecorativos

A post shared by Lolo (@lolo.nyc) on Jan 22, 2020 at 9:19am PST

Your shopping rabbit hole: Odd, vintage wall art by seemingly unknown artists

Can you walk me through what going down this rabbit hole entails?

I have a long-term goal of creating a meaningful wall full of art, which I guess I’m supposed to call a gallery wall. I already have some handmade cards from friends, some paintings by an ex-boyfriend (), some etchings from Picture Room that “spoke to me,” and am now working on collecting found, vintage pieces. This search was sparked while roaming estate sales on Long Island for my business. Lately, it’s just been via Etsy and eBay. I’ve been gravitating toward oddball etchings, prints, and paintings that are also mildly aesthetically pleasing and half the time involve a cute animal.

I start with a simple search term such as “vintage etching,” and I allow that to spiral naturally as I find specific things within that search. The other night, it led me to buying an unrelated turtle-shaped wicker basket, which was the result of a “turtle wearing flower crown” sub-search term. I tend to scroll ‘til my dried-out contacts literally fall off of my eyes and onto my keyboard, and I do not suggest any other way to psychotically rabbit hole. Typically this is a once- or twice-a-week endeavor, but I am particularly deep into it right now, as there’s not much else to do and because I am moving into a new apartment in a month… maybe.

What ultimately satiates the quest?

The winner is generally something that is pre-1985 where my initial reaction is “LOL” and where that reaction doesn’t fade over the time I give it to cool down in my cart. Bonus points if it’s in its original frame. I find myself browsing half-asleep in bed on my phone at night, or lately, hunched over while watching Gilmore Girls midday. I add a bajillion things to my cart as if I had no budget, and many times I do not remember putting it there. I let the options sit in my cart for what feels like a week and slowly filter things out as I get over the initial laugh of it all. I just pulled the plug on what was left of my Etsy cart, which included a thumbprint watercolor painting of three mice, a quilted serigraph of five cats sleeping in a donut shape, and a screenprint of a red jalapeño with a perfectly tied blue bow on its stem. I’m still letting an etching titled “3 Horny Men” stew.

Intrigued? Start your own rabbit hole here.

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Graphics by Lorenza Centi.

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