#you can use your soulmates semblance after meeting

[powertaco]

A semblance of solidarity -3-Complicating the already complicated

Emerald spends time with her soulmates despite the increasingly complicated situation, which only gets worse after a surprise visitor shows up.

[camillathe6th]

Snippet. None of us are free.

DISCLAIMER: Everything belongs to Larian and Baldur's Gate 3. CONTEXT:  This is supposed to take place somewhere at the end of act 2 / at the beginning of act 3, when Astarion and Hero were still basking in the unresolvedness of their relationship, and were NOT basking in bickering constantly about Cazador and the meaning of freedom. They're at the point where they're honest enough to know each other (this relationship is real), but not trusting enough to let the other put a blade to their respective throat (is it real?). Deception expertise will do that to you. SOME DETAILS: Hero is a bard and a charlatan, plays the lyre, has a propensity for psychic damage, and appears in other mismatched snippets here. I'm using this to explore both their voices a little, so there's nothing key in here.

Approaching Baldur's Gate, 1492 (Hero)

Watch. I am watching. Not around, around is incidental, around is always shine and dust. Eye-catcher, eye-blinder. No, I watch; I am watching, his beautiful face, which moves like cracking paint around the lies that tug below.

“When we go back to Cazador’s palace…” he whispers.

This is the right moment to do this: night has fallen, and sleep has fallen, and in the haven of the sighing-breathing camp, only the fire crackles, a little way away. I am still seating, my feet tucked beneath the cold weight of his thigh, and from here I can see.

The stars are misted with velvet fog, as Astarion is.

He smiles; on his back, as if abandoned, as if trusting, he closes his eyes, and murmurs—a tip-toe of the tongue, just a slip, a casual talk, a faraway dream. You understand, of course: if it is light, if it is airy, then surely it can’t be dangerous.

Dangerous to you. Dangerous to me.

“You know what would be even more satisfying?”

I take away my eyes—leave him time to snag himself out of hiding.

“Stealing his jewels?” I coo. “I remember talk of a bloodstone tiara, back in the day…”

A laugh: just this side of strained. Don’t joke about this, says the strain. This is serious.

“Good one”, he lies. “But no. Stealing his ritual, rather.”

I arch a brow, mimicking a surprise I don’t feel.  

“Vampire ascendant,” I say, pensive—not pensive at all. “The most powerful of them all…”

“Yes,” he hisses, and thus shows his hand. “Yes. You get it, don’t you? I knew you would.”

A touch to my ankle, as cool as night-dew. His eyes meet mine and clasp them there—another show of faith and trust, there, keep, don’t blink, oh, I can almost hear his thoughts, go on, Astarion, let your mask slip, keep, keep so the mark will see your hunger and mistake it for your soul bared.

Two hundred years of experience, and still so ham-fisted with the changing of his face… Clearly he was not a natural.

Still, I let the semblance of a lying smile shift on my mouth—barely a hint, a little coy, a little flattered. It says, Oh, Astarion, you knew I would get it? My my, we really are soulmates.

“It would become you, it’s true,” I say with a touch of my fingers to his moonshaded knuckles. “After all these years…”

“I deserve it.”

“You deserve it,” I nod.

He does. Of course he does. Don’t we all deserve to sit on the throne of power that haunt our fantasy worlds? Don’t we all deserve to climb above, to sit in the rawness of ubiquity? Why not you? Why not me? Why not us?

It’s as simple as that. Strength. Safety. Beauty. Power. Let your soul spill over the world and shape it in your image. Have you not suffered enough for this? Bled enough for this?

Yes. He’s lying, but he’s not wrong: I do get it. I do get it. I do want it. I want it, every day, I want want want it— But if we all deserve it, that means not one of us can have it. And certainly not…

“Not just I, little lyre. We would take it together, for ourselves. Just for ourselves.”

What? I feel the slip but can’t stop it. For a second, he has me there, promising something I did not expect, an alliance he can’t, wouldn’t, won’t give. For a second, I am pinned and stuck, spider-webbed, and my heart sings louder than my mind.

Just for ourselves. Centuries of power, pulsing in our joined hands. Just for ourselves.

He smiles. Just a second. Just a second. Just a second before I catch myself back.

Tsk-tsk. Be serious now.

“But I wouldn’t become ascendant, would I?”

“I didn’t know you wanted to become a vampire to begin with,” he purrs, following the curve of my calf. “And squander all that lovely vivacity into undeath? Darling…”

“Then,” I smile, darling, sweet as child-blood, “we wouldn’t take it for ourselves really, would we?”

He frowns.

“I would share my power with you. I told you, love. This is real.”

I don’t flinch; I don’t, I know I don’t. Inside my skin I do, but skin is here to screen truth. A smooth and chiseled façade for the bile-and-guts sacks we all are.

Is this real? What binds us, is it real? Me, him, is it real? Is he real? Am I? Together and apart, are we real? The gut-sack might whisper from the depth, pounding like a heart, but it is lying. I know this. I learned this.

Nothing is real. Nothing has ever been real. Promises are smoke waiting to be dispelled. Promises of power, promises of love, promises of intimacy, promises of eternity: a charlatan arsenal, nothing more. Words and lies mould the world.

This cannot be real, and I am not caught. I am not.

I am free.

“It’s a lovely fantasy,” I say, cutting the pantomime to the quick.

And so the illusion breaks. He sits up, he tenses, eyes ruby-sharp.

“It can become reality,” he presses.

What, did he think this was ever a debate?

“No,” I laugh, a last effort at civility in front of the rushing tide. “Because I won’t let you.”

It’s a cheap shot: I know this is exactly the wrong thing to say.

“You won’t let me?”

“What did you expect? That I would encourage you to take over the world?”

“Oh, so this is about you, isn’t it?” he jeers. “You’re afraid that I will take over you. Why can’t you trust me? When I’m Ascendant, I can change you too.”

“Stop,” I clench my teeth. “It’s not about that. I don’t give a damn about ascendancy—”

“You were tempted. You were. Don’t think I don’t see through you, Hero.”

“Then you’ll know I like entertaining what could be, before I decide what should be.”

“But it’s not yours to decide!”

The star-face cracks: the smile is gone, and the composure, and the promises; and the hope. Maybe… Maybe, this is real.

“What? Do you think you’ll defeat Cazador by becoming Cazador?” I ask, harshly.

“I would not—”

“You would! I get it, alright? We’re weak. We are. Fear is guiding you now. You’re a grasping, terrified little—”

“Shut it,” he cleaves.

“No. You need to hear it. This isn’t freedom. You want freedom but you keep missing the point. Freedom is tie-cutting. To be free you need to end him, and with that I will help you unconditionally; but then you need to let it go. Do you think you’ll be free of Cazador as you recreate Cazador? Do you think you’ll be free of your past by enacting it onto others? Do you think you’ll be free at all, carrying the burden of godly power in your hands? It will only control you just like your master controlled you. Gods aren’t free, Asta—”

“Oh please!” he laughs, an ugly laugh now, his face lined, his eyes blazing, his voice as stinging as a poisoned dagger. “What do you know of freedom, Herodias? What do you know of captivity? What do you know of despair? You fled your mommy because you were sad at home, and you think you understand the plight of those who have known real enslavement? You dare preach to me about freedom because you had the guts to—what—leave a golden cage whose door stood open for your escape? Did they even come for you when you disappeared? No. They wanted you to disappear.”

“That’s not—”

“Look at you. You’ve lived nothing. I was tortured for centuries. Thrice as long as your lifetime. Do you understand that? I was used, flayed, insulted, dissected, humiliated, robbed of myself until I was nothing more than pain walking, then numbness walking. Nothing in my mind, nothing in my body, only Cazador. You think you can judge me and understand me? You think you can influence me? Do yourself a favour and keep your cheap tricks for your drunken clientele. What you know of life are stories, only stories. You’re just a brat playing make-believe, but I’m real. My pain is real. My worth is real. I will make my freedom the shape I want it to be.”

There’s a moment then, a moment of floating, ringing like blood in my ears. I’m not sure what my face looks like. I’m not sure what anything looks like, really, not through the blur. Maybe I have draped myself in the singing protection of the weave—the fear is kept at bay, but it cannot muffle the treacherous roiling, roiling—inside.

Inside, usually, I am silent. I am outward, like a shimmering mirror to what lies beyond myself, making it mine. I am, joyfully, a sham—but here, and now, inward, I am—I am—a sham—a, a, a—a sh-sh-shamed.

The tadpole squirms and projects; Astarion, in the fey glow of my unveiled thoughts, has gotten to his feet. 

“You should be,” he spits, and leaves me to sit only with myself, a punishment that fits the crime.

[bestiesenpai]

Hostage - Okkotsu Yuta

At first when I saw this my internal response was that there was nothing that I really wanted to write, no scenario that would warrant answering such a question. But I’ve given it time and well...what better thing to write than a horny for love delusional yandere? Gender neutral and Okkotsu in this has graduated from the school, I imagine him to be mid-20s 4.8k words

Content warnings: yandere shit(which in this context includes kidnapping, past stalking and being really fucking creepy), manipulation, noncon hand job

How long had you been here in this dark basement with only a red couch and a TV that wouldn’t turn on? There wasn’t a single window to tell you if it was day or night, no clock on the wall to say if it had been ten minutes or ten hours since you were kidnapped. You didn’t even know who could have taken you, knocked out from behind after hearing a mysterious voice.

There wasn’t a single lead to go on except for the fact that you would pass out from time to time and wake up to food on the low coffee table, hot meals that helped to soothe your otherwise empty mind and body for however short a time it allowed. Sometimes there would be candy stuffed into your pockets as well, candy that you never ate and let pile up in one of the corners of the room.

The door at the top of the stairs leading down to where you were stayed locked at all times and no amount of banging and screaming and trying to break it down worked. All your efforts were for nothing, you didn’t even make a scratch in the wood.

Whoever put you down here seemed too hesitant to show you their identity. You never heard anyone outside the door and whenever you thought you did, you would wake up however many hours later with food and no recollection of what happened before then.

Until today, when the door silently swayed open and there was the barely there tap of footsteps coming down to greet you. Scurrying behind the couch and crouching down, you were scared to finally meet your captor.

“Hello there.” He wasn’t at all what you imagined. A young man with noticeable bags under his eyes, hair with a few strands that fell into his face and an otherwise unassuming and slim build. His voice was soft and gentle like he was talking to a baby as he roused them from slumber.

He immediately noticed the way you were trying to stay away from him, making sure to keep the couch between you as he rounded it. A sad sigh left his lips, a short sound like he was already getting frustrated with what you were doing.

“Darling, why don’t you sit down? There’s a lot to discuss.” Gesturing toward the couch, he took a seat at the end. It was then that you noticed the sheathed sword he had on his back as he took it off and laid it on the table.

Your mouth hadn’t been used to speak to anyone in a long time, tongue heavy and foreign in your mouth. Having given up screaming for help a long time ago, you didn’t speak to anyone unless to yourself, and even then it had devolved to being just thoughts in your head.

So you shook your head no, trying to keep your sudden anxious breathing down to a minimum. You’d waited for this day to finally see who took you but now that he was here in front of you, just his presence brought you great stress.

“Are you feeling okay?” The man asked again, brows furrowing slightly. The look of genuine concern on his face is what caused you to speak, spiking anger in your heart.

“No!” You shouted, surprising both him and yourself.

“Why don’t you sit down, hm?” He patted the cushion next to him and you shook your head harder.

“No, no. L-let me go!” Tears were already beginning to collect in your eyes, some spilling out the sides. Were they from anger at being held captive? From how concerned he looked when he was the one who put you there? Was it from fear of what he could do to you? Perhaps hopelessness at the whole situation was starting to set into places you tried so hard to keep it out of.

“You shouldn’t yell, (Y/N), it’s not good for your throat.”

“What the fuck would you know.” Now anger was truly taking residency inside your chest, making it tighten with each pounding beat of your heart. This man had the nerve to call you by your first name as if he was a friend, the syllables rolling so smoothly off his tongue it sounded as if he had said it a hundred times.

“Don’t swear at me.” He snapped, face immediately going hard as he stared you down. The look made a shiver go down your spine, the anger quickly making space for fear to come as well. He sighed again, glancing at his sword before looking at you again. “Now please, won’t you sit down?”

This time when he asked, you listened. Hovering on the very edge of the cushion farthest from him, your entire body was painfully stiff and unyielding even to your own breathing. It was different when you were standing and he was sitting, it felt like there was a level of control that you still had.

But this felt like you were just a pitiful little rabbit with their neck caught right in a lion's mouth.

“Oh darling don’t cry, don’t cry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” His tone immediately shifted back to the soft and gentle one from earlier. Reaching his hand out, he stopped short of touching your arm when you curled yourself away. Putting his hand into a fist and tucking it back into his lap, he let out a sharp exhale. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t touch you, should I? You must be nervous now that I’m here.”

Sniffling and nodding were all you could do to answer him. Maybe there was a logical reason he might have taken you, there had to be a solution to whatever problem he had that involved you.

“It’s funny, I’d say. We’re soulmates and yet we’re still so nervous with each other.”

What?

“Why, it took me almost two weeks just to do this much! I finally stopped having Inumaki put you to sleep and-”

Huh?

“Before you know it this will all be a distant memory, we’ll be living together-”

“Wh-what the fuck.” Your voice was meek and trembling and there were fat tears streaming down your face that couldn’t be stopped now. Listening to this man go on and on about this life he’d made for the two of you all in his head was going to drive you insane.

“What was that?” He paused, a hopeful smile on his face. Glancing at him, you set your bleary eyes on the sword.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” As the swear left your lips, you flinched at his sudden inhale. “I-I don’t- I don’t know you. We’ve never met.” Burrowing your face in your hands was probably a bad idea, it was probably best to keep him in your line of sight, but you just couldn’t face him.

“Physically we’ve never met, but our hearts have. Our souls are connected, we just had to find each other.” There was a dip in the cushions and the ghost of his knee brushed yours.

“I don’t even know your name!” You croaked, further curling in on yourself by dropping your head to your knees. At this rate you were set to fall off the couch and onto the floor and you welcomed the reprieve not being next to him would bring.

“I’m Yuta. Yuta Okkotsu.” The first touch of his fingers on your shoulder made you yelp and jerk away, and you could imagine his hand hovering in the air. “But you can just call me your boyfriend, okay?”

“You’re fucking crazy.” Getting up from the couch the second time he touched you, you pressed yourself against the furthest wall next to a chess table with no pieces.

“Darling-”

“No, don’t fucking call me that!” Stamping your foot on the ground, you ignored his warning tone.

“(Y/N), I told you-”

“I don’t give a damn! I don’t want to be part of whatever bullshit you said earlier! Just- just let me go!” You were getting hysterical at this point, your whole body was hot and sweaty and your face was on fire. It was hard to hear anything over the ringing and pounding in your ears giving you headache.

Except you were able to hear the sound of a knife going through the air and feel it graze your cheek before sticking into the wall behind you. Everything fell away as you looked at the silver blade glinting in the harsh fluorescent light above you. There was just the tiniest hint of red at the edge, further proof that what you felt was real.

“I don’t mind you getting upset, I don’t mind you yelling and screaming at me. It’s a normal reaction to such a new situation.” Yuta’s low voice cut through the sudden silence and he stood up slowly, swaying slightly on his feet before planting them firmly on the ground. “But what I won’t have is such ugly words coming out of your mouth. That type of language doesn’t belong in a mouth as pretty as yours.”

He walked over to you slowly, building the tension with every step he took. It was then that you noticed, when he was only a foot away, that the silver of the knife matched the silver buttons on his shirt.

“If I have to remind you again, I promise I won’t miss.” Letting the sentence hang in the air, Yuta gave you a once over before grabbing onto your wrist and upper arm tightly and dragging you back to the couch. His strength was much more than you first assumed, there wasn’t a chance in hell that you could ever hope to wiggle out of his hold.

Sitting down with a huff, he pulled you onto his lap, forcing you to straddle him. Putting your hands on his shoulders, he settled his on your hips, making sure you were properly seated on his outstretched legs. Staring at the buttons on his shirt, you tried to avoid getting too close - keeping at least some semblance of an arms length between you and making sure your sex was far from his.

“This isn’t so bad, is it?” It was amazing how easily his mood shifted from one to the other. What had just been a quite heavy and intense moment was washed away by a little uptick of his lips and the tilt of his head to the side.

The things you wished to say were lodged in your mouth, waiting on the tip of your tongue for you to open up and let them fall out. But you couldn’t afford to keep testing his patience like this, not after what just happened.

“I suppose.” So you bite your tongue hard and say what you think will get you closer to getting out. Whatever it is he wants you can give him so long as it keeps him happy and lets you walk free.

“I knew you’d come around.” The smile on Yuta’s face takes proper form, pushing the apples of his cheeks up and wrinkling his eyes. One hand on your hips dares to venture further onto the small of your back. The warmth of his palm would be comforting in another setting.

“Y-yuta.” It almost makes you sick to say his name.

“Yes?” It makes his eyes light up.

“When will I get to leave?” Somewhere along the line you’d stopped crying and now only your eyes burned with the memory of the tears.

“When I know you’re ready, (Y/N).” He said softly, rubbing a hand on your back.

“Ready how?”

“I just want to make sure of a few things before we start our new life together. Is that okay?”

Did you really have a choice?

“What things?” You pushed, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Don’t worry about that right now. We’re together now and that’s all that matters.”

“Please tell me, I really want to know.”

“(Y/N).” He sang your name but it was anything but cheery. “I don’t want to talk about that right now, so drop it please.” Even though he was speaking his mouth barely moved, jaw locked tight in hardly hidden frustration.

“Okay.” You quickly let the subject go.

“Now darling…” Yuta brought a hand up to your face, trailing his fingers down your cheek softly. “Won’t you smile for me? You have such a pretty smile.”

The question of how he knew what your smile looked like cropped up in your head but you quickly stamped it out. Now wasn’t the time to worry about those things. Doing as he asked, you gave him your best smile.

“Absolutely gorgeous.” Skimming his thumb along your bottom lip, Yuta grasped your chin in his fingers. “I’ve been missing your smile so much lately, the recent missions I’ve been on have really put a damper on my mood.”

“I’m- I’m sorry to hear that.” Extending an olive branch wouldn’t hurt, right? It was clear he wanted your compliance in this scheme of his, desperate to have you love him. Your words shot straight into Yuta’s heart, making him bite his lip in to stop a shy giggle from coming out.

“It’s okay, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I have my darling with me.” A light blush went over his cheeks and Yuta let a sliver of the giggle out. “But there is something that would make me feel even better.”

“What’s that?” It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he meant when his thumb touched your lip again.

“A kiss. Just one, I promise.” Licking his own lips, Yuta grabbed onto your jaw more firmly. “I swear I’ll be gentle.” Weighing your options, the inkling that it wouldn’t be ‘just one’ was in the back of your head. But as long as it stayed just kissing, maybe you’d be okay.

“One.” You repeated, allowing him to pull you in and close the gap between you. Kissing Yuta was something that, once again, would feel nice in any other circumstance. The texture of his lips wasn’t bad, his breath didn’t smell and he seemed to know what he was doing. Maybe in another world, you really could have been soulmates.

Breaking the first kiss to take a short inhale, Yuta immediately went in for another. The hand that was on your jaw slid up to the back of your head, holding it firmly in his calloused hand to make sure you didn’t move.

“Y-yuta!” Whining against his lips, you tried to push away from him.

“Just one, I know! I know but-” He mumbled back, the tip of his tongue daring to touch your pursed lips. “I can’t help it, I love you so much.” Crushing you against him, Yuta got his tongue into your mouth when you gasped for air. The urge to bite him arose and you almost did, but he pulled away right as you made the decision to.

“You said only one!” Giving his chest a hard push, you wiped the spit off your lips in disgust.

“I know, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Putting his hands on your back, Yuta grimaced at you. “I’m sorry darling, I just got excited! I’ve been dreaming of kissing you for so long, can you blame me for wanting more?”

You could blame him for that and a few other things. Wiping your mouth off again, you huffed angrily and avoided his sorry eyes.

“Don’t do it again.”

“I won’t lie to you anymore, I promise.” Yuta mumbled, already forcing you closer again. “Let me make it up to you.”

“Yuta, no.” Shaking your head, you put a hand over your mouth. The blush that was on Yuta’s cheeks got darker and a hand gripped the back of your neck.

“It may be a bit soon, but there are other places where I can kiss you.” Latching his lips onto the side of your neck, Yuta sucked on the skin lightly. He didn’t want to leave any unseemly marks on you and he wouldn’t dream of using his teeth.

“Yuta, get off.” Tugging on his collar, you squirmed at the feeling. “P-please, Yuta, get off.” You were getting more desperate by the moment, accelerated by his lips going down the column of your throat and to the collar of your top.

“I just want to kiss you, (Y/N).”

“No, no I don’t-” As his head nudged your chin up, you started to sweat and really yank at the fabric in your hands. “I don’t want you to kiss me there, Yuta!” Your voice reached a crescendo and the soft sound of his kisses stopped. Pulling away slowly, Yuta kept his head ducked down.

“I’m sorry (Y/N), I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Releasing the hold on your neck, Yuta smooths his hand down your back once more and threads his fingers together at the base of your spine.

Struggling to catch your breath, you force yourself to relax and let your head dip down, uncurling the fingers fisting the fabric of Yutas shirt and letting the blood naturally flow back to them.

As the silent seconds tick by, there’s something that comes into your consciousness that can’t be ignored. There’s already a good amount of heat built up between you and Yuta from the kisses you shared and the struggle that ensued.

But was he that much of a repressed man that just kissing your lips and neck had his cock standing at half attention? It seemed so, because when you made a face at it, he chuckled sheepishly.

“Sorry.” Yuta wasn’t sorry for what was happening. He didn’t feel remorse for any of this, especially not the thing that was causing you distress now. It was only natural for such a reaction to occur! You were squirming so much on his lap while he kissed you that it was like you were begging him to get hard.

Gently raking his nails up and down your back, Yuta stared hard at your lips. His gaze almost pierced right through you and he wasn’t subtle about wanting another kiss. Another slurry of apologies left Yuta’s lips as he once again grabbed the back of your head and forced you to kiss him. His words got mushed together, spoken against your lips as he tried to work his tongue into your mouth.

Whatever screams of protest you had didn’t matter in this moment, Yuta was a man on a mission and desperate to take what was his. He felt bad about pushing your boundaries and ruining the chance of growing an actual relationship any time soon, but those were things he was willing to sacrifice.

And after all, good boyfriends help their partners grow in uncomfortable situations.

Moaning in a high pitch when your crotch just barely grazed his, Yuta took advantage of the fact you were too busy trying to push him away to focus on your lower half. Grabbing you tightly at the hips, he dragged you forward and fully pushed you against the front of his pants.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He panted as he moved your bodies in tandem, getting bolder and bucking his hips like a sad teenager dry humping for the first time. This continued for a while and you were sure he was going to cum when he suddenly stopped and flopped his head back against the couch.

Fervently wiping off your lips, the urge to slap him came over you in a blinding rage, and you quickly swiped your hand down. Fully expecting to make contact with his face, you put all the strength you could into the motion only to be stopped by Yuta grabbing your wrist.

“Hitting isn’t very nice, (Y/N).” He sounded like a disappointed preschool teacher and when you raised your other hand to try and slap him he caught that one as well. Holding both your wrists tightly in his grasp, Yuta stared at your heaving chest as he thought about what to do.

“Let me go.” You said, trying to tug yourself free.

“Sshh, I’m thinking.” His eyes wouldn’t leave your chest and he licked his lips. “I think I know a better use for your hands.” Letting go of one of them, Yuta was quick to go to the button on his jeans and undo them.

Your fingers were touching his clothed cock before you had a chance to protest. The speed Yuta moved at was dizzying and you seemed to be about 10 seconds behind him, left to scramble and catch up on whatever he’d done.

“Just a little, please?” Yuta whined and gripped your fingers around his cock, digging into the fabric of his dark underwear and outlining the shape of his cock.

“Yuta…” Back were the tears, a light misting this time that blurred your vision. It was gross touching him, even as the scent of a minty body wash rolled off him. This was gross, the heat from his cock and the way the skin moved beneath your fingers all felt horribly off.

“Just be good for me, (Y/N), I know you can do that.” Giving your lips a quick peck, Yuta let out a shaky exhale. His hand was holding yours so tightly your hand pulsed, throbbing from lack of circulation.

Touching him through his underwear quickly became not enough for Yuta and he hurriedly pulled his cock out, shoving his underwear down his thighs a bit to make more room. Unbuttoning the large overshirt he had on, Yuta let out another exhale as the sweat evaporated off his body.

“Are you shy? Here, touch it like this.” Gingerly now he wrapped your hand around his shaft, squeezing with just enough pressure to make sure you were really holding it. You tried to avoid looking at it, staring at the tanktop Yuta had on underneath his other shirt.

Tilting your head up, he kissed you gently as he worked your hand up and down his cock, slowly loosening his hold the longer he went until he was able to let go and you were still stroking him.

“I love you so much.” He whispered, breaking the kiss to press his forehead against yours. “So, so much.” You whimpered in response, keeping your eyes tightly closed to avoid looking at him. “I’ve followed you for so long now, it feels amazing to finally be here with you.”

“Followed?” You didn’t want to know, you didn’t want to know, you didn’t-

“Six months. For six long, agonizing months I watched you from the shadows. Making sure you were safe, following you home from work to make sure no one messed with you, going into your home when you weren’t there to make sure you didn’t have the stove on-”

“Stop.” Sniffling back another wave of tears, you shook your head. “I-I can’t, please-”

“You’re right, I’m killing the mood.” Chuckling softly, Yuta kissed at the corner of your eye. Putting his hand back on yours, he sped up the pace and bucked his hips up. “A-and I really don’t want to do that.”

Kissing you again lest he start rambling again, Yuta moaned freely into your mouth. He had dreamed of this moment and so many others, staying up late at night just fantasizing about you touching him and finally being in his arms.

To say he was pent up was an understatement. Ever since he saw you, Yuta vowed not to touch himself, wanting you to be the only one that gave him such pleasure. It was a painful wait, but every time he saw you he knew it was worth it - and it was. He was already nearing an orgasm and it hadn’t even been that long.

“Oh darling-” His face started to screw up and Yuta broke the kiss, putting his head on your shoulder and making your hand go faster. “God I love you, (Y/N)! I lo-love-” He was babbling now, unable to focus on any full sentence coming out of his mouth. “Say it- tell me.”

“Say what?” You asked, struggling to keep your breathing even as you felt him get closer to the edge.

“You love me. Tell me you- tell me you love me, even if it’s not true yet.” Yuta was so close it hurt, but he refused to cum unless you said those words.

“I-I-” The desire to not say it was strong, keeping you from really forming the words. It wasn’t true right now and it would never be true. You would never love Yuta for as long as you lived.

“Say it, say it please!” Yuta wailed, his other hand gripping your waist so hard you were afraid he was going to break something. “I love you so much, just say it back!”

“I love you! Yuta, I love you, okay?” His hold was really starting to hurt and as soon as you said it, he let go. “I love you, I love you.” You repeated over and over until his body locked up and he came with an almost sobbing moan.

“Oh god, darling, I love you.” Yuta wasn’t crying but he might as well have been. His hand stopped for a brief moment before continuing, coating the back of his hand and your fingers in his cum. He kept going until he was able to squeeze the last drop of cum out of him, swiping at the tip with his thumb until the sensation began to hurt.

It was too quiet now in the room without Yuta’s frantic breathing and mindless babbles. Taking deep, gasping breaths, he forced himself to calm down and let go of your hand, letting his softening cock fall down against him.

“Here.” In his pocket he had a handkerchief and Yuta wiped your hand clean, diligently going between the digits and getting every last pearly drop. Throwing it onto the coffee table, Yuta collapsed back onto the couch with a heavy sigh.

His face was impossibly blissed out, a dopey smile stretching his face and showing off his teeth. He couldn’t be happier in this moment, the weight of your body on his lap a constant reminder that this was real life, the reality that he had been dreaming of and striving for for so long.

The door he had entered from creaked open much faster than when he entered, and there were thundering footsteps descending the stairs quickly. Yuta immediately perked up, hugging you close to his chest as he turned over his shoulder to look at who came in.

“This is a surprise.” There was a tall, lanky man standing at the bottom of the steps, his white hair sticking up in all directions. You wondered how he could see with a blindfold on and Yuta seemed happy to see him.

“Gojo, hello!” Rushing to fix his pants, Yuta helped you off his lap and stood up.

“I see you’ve finally made yourself acquainted.” Gojo grinned, his head flicking towards you for a moment.

“Mhmm! We uh- we’re having a great time getting to know each other.” Yuta flushed, trying to not make it obvious that his pants had just been undone and that you’d just been jerking him off.

“Well I hate to break up a happy couple, but there’s a visitor here for you. I think you’re going to have another mission soon.”

“Really, so soon? I just-” Glancing at you, Yuta bit his tongue. “I’ll be back soon.” Grabbing his sword and the knife still stuck in the wall, Yuta gave you one more look before walking past Gojo and up the stairs. As soon as the door clicked closed, you shot up from the couch and walked around to Gojo.

“Please, you have to help me, get me out of here!” Clasping your hands together in front of you, you pleaded as hard as you could. “H-he’s absolutely crazy, please help me!” Unable to look Gojo in the eye, you could only assume he was looking back at you from the way his head moved.

“That’s not very nice, now is it?” He questioned, quirking a brow and crossing his arms. “Yuta loves you so much, you shouldn’t say those things about him.”

“Sir please, you don’t understand!” Shaking your head hard, you let out a frustrated groan. “I don’t belong here! He kidnapped me, don’t you understand?!” It felt like you were the only sane one left in the world. Gojo chuckled and sighed, placing a large hand on the top of your head and leaning forward.

“Actually, Yuta wasn’t the one that actually kidnapped you.” A soft ‘no’ escaped your lips and Gojo laughed again, drinking in the sinking feeling in your gut and the way it twisted your face in agony. “It was me.”

[tangledinmdzs]

Hi there! So this is my first time requesting so is it ok to request for LXC, JC, SL and XXC where they save their s/o from a fierce corpse or monster in soulmate au?

hi!

sure thing, i will do my best to deliver!

here’s your request~

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

Lan Xichen 

(telepathy soulmates)

your aid in night hunts was very particular and special

that being, to tend to injured cultivators

you were not to fight, 

as your juniors told you

and as your soulmate, Sect Leader, Lan Xichen, had also reminded you

but now, 

when the fight came to you,

(that being the vengeful demon that had struggled out of the exorcism circle and crashed into your tent) 

how could you not fight?

with only your medical skills to guide you, you throw potion after poison with your best aim 

as stronger cultivators help injured ones escape 

y/n! y/n! you have to leave!

but the demon is vicious 

and even though your medical supplies are strong

they are no match for the demon’s hateful spirit

you shield your head just as the supply boxes are thrown at you, falling to your knees when a particular one slams into your legs

the demon howls happily, preparing itself to ascend on you just as a smooth sound crescendos across the havoc

at the notes of the xiao the demon withers and screams in agony, and disappears out of the tent to escape

you attempt to stand but gasp as the pain that makes your knees buckle even from the slightest bit of weight

the tears fall out of your eyes unconsciously, and they blur your vision

so you don’t notice the tent flap roughly tugged open, or realize who has ran towards you, kneeled down beside you

only when your tired body is pulled against soft robes, do you realize that you are not alone, 

“i’ve failed you, the demon...” 

even though they are just your thoughts Lan Xichen hushes you, uses his robe sleeves do dab at your tears,

“you have not failed me, you are alive. that is what’s most important” Lan Xichen promises, holds your teary stare

he lets you hide your face in his chest, shelters you from the world 

Jiang Cheng

(color blind until meeting, soulmates)

you shouldn’t be here

with your world in monochrome, the forest path leading to your village had always had an ominous air to it, 

you are sure that the forest would be beautiful, if you ever were to meet your soulmate and see color

but now, in the dark of night

everything was ominous 

you had lost track of time picking wild berries and mushrooms

and only now when you are walking along the worn path

do you realize that the evening was slipping into night time

as the last rays of the sun disappear behind the tall pine trees,

you feel more lost

more fearful

especially when the air becomes so silent, you can only hear your own breath

especially when suddenly,

something seems to be following you 

you dare take a glimpse behind just to catch a shadow, a fog, something

it is unclear, but it scares you

and you run blindly 

run, run run run run, off the path, deeper into the forest, if only to get away from the sound of the thing crashing and howling behind you 

you trip on your run, the dark of the forest floor and the late night blending in together

your fall sends you rolling down a small incline, 

enough for pain to shoot up your arms

and for you lay motionless once the world is no longer spinning in your vision

as you lay there, you wonder if you would even be given a grave, your death unknown as it would be

just as your vision darkens entirely,

a light of purple, like a thunder strike, lights up the forest

and everything falls silent

Song Lan

(red string of fate, soulmates)

the red string at the end of your pinky had always stretched out mysteriously before you

you’d never follow its path before

and having grown up in a small secluded village,

it didn’t really seem like a feasible option

all of these years alone, living and going about the same routine

there was a semblance of acceptance

but as you’re faced with the gaping jaws of a vicious dog/wolf demon

you can’t help but feel unlucky

you want to scream, for any kind of help

but your village is still too many paces away

and the path that you had taken had always been empty

you cover your head, cornered as you are 

and pray that at the very least, death could be painless

you cover your eyes, hold your breath 

and for the longest time all that seems to surround you is the noise of your impending death

but then,

“are you alright?” 

it is another human voice, a soft gentle, human voice

and your hands come off your face 

and you open your eyes

the man that stares down at you has a cold serious, but not unwelcoming face

and you stare at him for a beat before skittering your eyes away, landing on the red string of his own hand

it is short

and you wished that your distance was just as short

you bring your hand to your lap, and after another moment realize that the string

is connected

Xiao Xingchen

(pain detection soulmates)

it is nothing particularly winding as much as it is surprising

Xiao Xingchen had always had a very high pain tolerance

as a strong cultivator, it is a must in his technique

but the pain that he was suddenly feeling now,

was an incredibly deep, humming warmth against his side

it felt as if his own qi was being taken, even though that can’t be possible

it takes Xingchen a moment to remember the haunted inn at the small village he was currently in

and the supposed demons-

Xingchen leaves the shop that he is in quickly,

runs through the town as the feeling in his side burns all the more

he runs to the near outskirts of the town,

bursting through the rickety doorway of the haunted establishment

Xingchen hears a muffled breathing, shallow breathing and lunges at the demon

even without his sight, Xingchen can sense the demon clearly, his gut hasn’t proved him wrong

and when it is slain

the quietness of the inn lobby makes him wonder

makes him unnecessarily fearful,

as a cultivator he is too familiar with death

yet...

Xingchen drops to his knees, hand reaching out blindly, painfully until he meets soft but torn robes

your hand is cold when he holds them, though when he feels your wrist there is hope again at the sluggish tug of your pulse

as Xingchen concentrates and pours his own spiritual energy into you

the pain in his side gradually lessens,

disappears

and he barely questions why

[blossom-hwa]

Time and Time Again - CHANGBIN

I cannot believe this is finished??? I feel like I say this every time but genuinely I didn’t think this would get done until maybe bin’s birthday in August but I somehow finished it the second day of January?? Anyway, I really loved this (the concept LITERALLY came to me in a dream), and I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it :)

(The idea that prompted this response to a @quillstarters​ challenge is the same one that inspired this story :D)

Pairing: Changbin x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, reincarnation!au, soulmate!au

Triggers: death, mentions of suicide, blood (nothing graphic)

Word Count: 10.8k

A vengeful god curses one hundred lifetimes of your love.

SKZ Masterlist

In your first life, the life that starts it all, your mother knows magic.

She’s a healer, one whose patients come from all walks of life, all over the world. From that first lifetime, you remember the heavy, comforting smell of dried herbs, the softness of her hair tickling your face, the shimmers of magic emanating from her practiced fingers into bubbling pots.

You sort of remember a father, hazy memories of a smiling man who wasn’t home very often but when he was, liked to pick you up and swing you around the room. He isn’t around by the time you’re six, maybe seven, though.

You know not to ask about it. The first time you did, your mother’s face just turned sad, an awful sort of sad that looked more like regret and repentance and anger and desolation. It takes a few more slip ups, but eventually you learn to ignore your curiosities. For though your mother never outright dismisses them, they upset her, and you never get a straight response.

Until the god arrives.

They appear in a shower of blinding light. Cold, white sparks burst into brilliant rainbows that fade in the air. You watch, mesmerized, even as your mother drags you away.

The god is beautiful. Fine, androgynous features, red eyes as soulful as song, lush locks of hair that tumble around their shoulders. But it is the severity in their face, as well as the bloodred bow and the bone-tipped arrow nocked in their hands that tell you who they are.

“You hid yourself well, disciple of Hekate.” Cupid’s beautiful lips curl in a mocking smile that doesn’t even attempt to disguise the anger in their eyes. “Eight years. I applaud you.”

Three slow, ominous claps echo loudly in the room.

You look up at your mother, heart about to leap out of your chest. Her face has gone pale, devoid of color. It only scares you more.

Cupid’s eyes flicker to you, clutching your mother’s skirts like a toddler. They freeze you in place. “So she never told you.”

Told me what?

“You never wondered where your father was, child?”

All the breath stops in your throat.

My father?

The god shakes his head disapprovingly. “It’s the least you could have done, sorceress.”

“What would you have me do?” Your mother’s voice brims with desperation and anger – though aimed at whom, you aren’t sure. “How could a child ever understand?”

“You should never have made the mistake in the first place.”

Understood what? Your eyes flit between the god and your mother. “Mother?” you whisper, tugging at her sleeve. “Mother, what do they mean?”

The story spills out in broken fragments. Your father had a liaison with your mother and she found she was pregnant with you. She loved him, but he didn’t want to stay. So she dabbled in forbidden magic. Gave a love potion to a man who did not care for her.

You were born. He realized, eventually, what she had done. Then he left, leaving you without a father.

You can’t even try to speak when the story is over. It feels as though you can’t breathe, can’t feel, can’t see anything beyond the god’s blood red eyes. Fingers cling to your mother’s skirts numbly as you attempt to process the flow of words that just passed through your ears.

Dimly, you register your mother pulling free from your hands to kneel on the floor. “Do with me as you see fit,” she whispers.

“With you?” Cupid laughs. The sound tears at the silence in the room. “What use would that be? No, I think your child will pay for your crimes.” They pin you under their gaze. “Yes, I see many lifetimes of pain in these eyes that would suffice.”

You don’t understand. You can’t understand. What does the god want with you? What have you done to anger them? It was your mother who committed the error, not you. Why must you pay for it? Your heart pounds faster and faster as their eyes refuse to waver.

“Yes.” They nod, finally satisfied. “A heart broken one hundred times will pay for your crime.” Cupid lifts their bow and arrow, aiming at your heart.

Your mother’s head snaps up. “You would condemn my child’s love to centuries of turmoil?” Her voice shakes with barely controlled anger. “You would punish my child for my mistakes? Take me instead!”

Cupid’s cruel eyes flicker between you and her. “Love is hardly fair, as you should well know,” they snarl. “By meddling in my affairs, you have secured your child’s fate.”

Their gaze fixes on you with the intensity of a thousand suns. You shrink under their glare, even as their eyes gain some semblance of softness. For a moment, it seems as though the god will take pity on you.

Then the arrow sinks into your chest, exploding into a shower of the god’s cold sparks. No blood flows but your chest throbs.

Through a dim haze of pain, as though they speak through water, you hear the god speak their final words.

“A hundred lifetimes will pass before I will allow your love to rest.”

. . . . .

It takes years, really, for the information to sink in. You don’t fault your mother entirely for her actions – raising a child alone is hard, you come to know as you grow older. But at the same time, you can’t find respect for a man who would abandon a woman he had a relationship with over the birth of a child. You can’t understand why your mother would love such a person, can’t quite understand love in general. You know you love your mother, of course, but what does such an emotion really mean?

You learn the meaning at age twenty in your first life when you meet Seo Changbin.

Your mother rushes into the house that day, almost collapsing under his unconscious weight. You immediately zero in on the huge gash on his leg that’s still leaking blood, despite the makeshift bandage, and start pulling down the necessary salves and potions.

He doesn’t wake up for a week. Other patients filter in and out of the little hut as the days go by and you dutifully do your best to treat them all, gently treating scrapes and brewing tonics. There’s something about the man lying unconscious and feverish at the back of the hut, though, that draws you in like a moth to a flame. Day by day, you sit by him when you can, wiping the sweat off of his forehead with cool cloths, forcing brews down his throat and dabbing creams onto his leg to fight the infection.

He doesn’t look like one of the gentlemen that sometimes come to town. He doesn’t seem like he has the stately grace of Hwang Hyunjin, the lord’s heir, nor does he exude the cold elegance of Choi Chanhee, the magistrate’s son.

So this man is probably a commoner, if your deductions are correct. But you know almost everyone in the village – they’ve all come to the healer’s hut at some point and met you – and this boy’s face is new. You don’t recognize him, not at all.

You wake up to a soft crash in the middle of the night, then the sound of a loud curse. For a moment, you lie back down on your pillow. Probably Mother.

Then you sit bolt upright. That was a man’s voice. Not your mother’s.

Thieves?

Then you realize.

He’s woken up!

Large, terrified eyes glow in the flickering light of your candle when you enter the healing ward, carefully holding your hands in a purposeful gesture of surrender. “Hello,” you say, trying not to fixate on the beauty of the boy’s eyes. “My name is Y/N. My mother found you in the forest with an infected wound and brought you to our home for treatment.”

He glares at you, still distrustful, but speaks. “How long have I been here?”

“Almost a week.”

The boy visibly tenses. “One week?”

“Yes.” You step forward. “And I would advise you not to leave for at least another two, given the condition of your leg. Wherever you’re going, if you go now, the infection will kill you before you get far.”

“How long will I have?” he asks.

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you suicidal?”

For several tense seconds, you stare at each other, neither backing down. Finally, the boy lowers his gaze. “Fine,” he says, the fight leaving his voice. He smiles a little, apologetically. “I’ll stay. Thank you for treating me.”

“You’re welcome.” You help him back onto the cot. “Now try to sleep. I’ll come back to check on you in the morning.”

Just before you fall asleep, you think of large, brown eyes and petulant lips. For some reason, they make you smile.

. . .

His name is Changbin, you come to learn after several days of pained grunts, spilled salve, and muted conversation. He won’t tell you where he comes from, but a name is far better than nothing. At least you have confirmation that he isn’t a local, and he smiles too much for you to suspect him as a murderer.

That would be unpleasant.

And Changbin is the opposite of unpleasant. He has this smile, a smile that no matter how small, is bright enough to light up the room. He’s so smart when it comes to life but he’s also a little dumb, really, telling bad jokes that make you roll your eyes but laugh anyway. He snorts when you tell your own stupid stories and insulting jokes and as a result, you think of more and more for him, more tall tales and bad puns just so you can hear that beautiful laugh that sounds like a cross between wedding bells and a pig’s snort.

He stays for your recommended two weeks, then another, and another. Your mother doesn’t mind, only smiles at him like he was her own son. Changbin isn’t useless, after all – he helps you tend to the herb garden, chops wood for the fire, and is receptive to the eventual lessons you give him on the basics of healing.

(And if you stare at his muscles when he lifts heavy pots over the fire, what of it?)

The boy your mother found so many weeks ago in the woods lights up your life in a way you’ve never experienced before. Even though it makes you feel guilty, sometimes you’re glad that Changbin injured himself in the forest. Otherwise, you might never have met the boy who sits with you shoulder to shoulder on the bank of the river that runs through the woods, laughs ringing through the trees.

“Y/N,” he says on one of those quiet days by the river. When you look up from your feet dangling feet in the swift current and when you look up, you find Changbin staring at you with something so soft, so deep in his gaze that you can’t decipher it.

(It makes your heart thump.)

“Hm?” You pull your feet out of the water, feeling almost shy as you meet his eyes.

“Have you ever been kissed?”

When Changbin kisses you that afternoon under a green canopy of leaves, golden light showering his dark hair and tanned skin, you can’t think. There are no thoughts of anything in your head (and certainly none of Cupid’s curse) except the euphoria of his lips against yours. With his mouth pressed softly to yours, you feel like you’re flying, drifting on the breeze without a care in the world. It’s bliss, pure bliss.

Your mother knows when you walk back into the hut, suppressing an uncontrollable smile. Her gaze remains carefully neutral for the rest of the day, but when Changbin has gone outside to chop wood, she speaks. “You know about the curse.”

Dread mixes with the bliss in your heart. Your head hangs over the herbs you’re grinding. “Yes, Mother.”

“Darling, look at me.” She turns you around, and you see the tears building in the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

There’s bitterness in your chest and mouth, tingeing the tip of your tongue, but this is your mother, the woman who bore you and cared for you alone for so much of your life. Though angry words rise in your throat, they never make it past your lips.

“It’s okay, Mother.” You brush the tears away, valiantly holding your own back. “I can’t blame you for a mistake you made in the name of love.” Blind, blind hope rises in your chest. “Maybe the god forgot. Maybe they will have mercy.”

Your mother just looks at you with dreadful eyes, eyes haunted by the knowledge that your words will prove false. But Changbin’s already coming back inside and the fluttering happiness in your heart from seeing him expels all negative thoughts from your mind.

One year passes in domestic bliss. Your mother never brings up the curse again, and you push any thought of it to the back of your mind. Changbin’s kisses do much to dispel any worries of yours, anyway.

Late one night, curled in a blanket next to the fire, Changbin tells you the reason he came. “I left because of a family dispute,” he says, almost ashamedly, staring into the flickering flames. “I had a falling out with my father, and he told me to leave. Even though I knew he really didn’t mean it, even though my mother pleaded with me to stay, I… I left anyway.”

You hold him closer under the blanket, comforting him with your warmth. In the light of the fire, his eyes look ghostly against the dark.

“I’m telling you this now because I want to go back.”

Your heart freezes.

Back? He wants to go back to his village, go back home… and leave you behind?

But Changbin’s smiling now, slightly. It settles your heart a little – he couldn’t speak of leaving you forever and smile in the same sentence, could he? You look at him, eyes pleading with him to continue.

“I want to go back to apologize,” he says, squeezing your hand. “I want to go back to make amends. But I’ll come back to the home I have here.”

“Can I come with you?” you can’t help but ask, even though you’re sure you know the answer.

He shakes his head, and your heart sinks. “No, I think this is something I have to do myself. But I won’t stay, I promise you that. I’ll come back home.”

“Promise?” you ask, voice barely a whisper over the crackling flames. Your fingers clutch his desperately. He has to come back, or you’ll go with him.

“I promise.” He lifts a thin silver chain from his neck, a necklace he’s never taken off since he arrived, and loops it around your throat. “That’s my promise, all right? I’m leaving this with you because I know I’ll return. And when I do…” He sweeps one of your hands out of the blanket and places a gentle kiss on it. “I’m going to marry you.” A note of uncertainty enters his gaze. “Unless you… uh, unless you don’t want to?”

You tug your hand out of his and punch him in the arm. “Are you stupid, Seo Changbin?” you ask over his yelps of mock pain. Eyes turning shy, you smile. “Of course I do.”

Your heart explodes in bliss when he kisses you, the fire’s warmth dancing on his lips.

. . .

“No more than two months,” he promises you the day he leaves. “I’ll come home.”

He keeps looking back and you keep waving as he starts out into the forest, green leaves beginning to shroud his path. The last you see of him is his bright smile as he disappears between the trees, the gentle pressure of his lips still a memory against yours.

One month passes, then two. You wait outside the hut eagerly every day, waiting for a sign of his returns.

Then another month goes by. And another. Winter settles in, heavy snow coating the forest in cold, white blankets.

“Perhaps he was held up,” your mother says, guiding your shivering body back inside the house. “He couldn’t travel in the winter, so he’s probably staying somewhere for the time being.”

You want to believe her. You really do, with all your heart and soul. But Cupid’s curse remains in the back of your mind, twisting and turning in its depths, whispering to you that Changbin is gone, that he will never return.

Winter has passed and a month of spring gone by before you decide to find Changbin’s family yourself. It takes several months because really, you don’t have any guide other than the name of his old village, but eventually, exhausted and almost losing hope, you find them.

A stooped woman answers the door with a confused smile on her lips. “Hello.”

“Um, hello.” You swallow. “Is this the Seo residence?”

“Yes, can I help you with anything?”

You pull the necklace from under the collar of your shirt. “Did Changbin come visit some months ago?”

For a single moment charged with hope, you see the widening of the woman’s eyes and believe that she will say yes, that Changbin came and is just having a hard time returning.

Then she shakes her head, and the world begins to crumble at the edges.

. . .

You stay just long enough to tell Changbin’s family who you are and what he set out to do, then flee back home as fast as you can. Tears stain the forest floor and when your mother opens the door to the hut so many months later, it only takes one look for her to fold you into her arms as you begin to cry on her shoulder.

He could be alive, you desperately hope. He could be somewhere, lost, unable to find his way back home. You know your Changbin would never break a promise to you, not if he could help it.

One year. Two years. Then three. The months pass with no sign of his return.

And you know, dead or not, he isn’t coming back.

It hurts. Everything reminds you of him, of Changbin, of what could have been and what should have been. You curse Cupid, cry for the god to come down so you can scream obscenities at them face to face, but they never answer your pleas.

The silver chain Changbin left you burns around your neck, but you can’t bring yourself to take it off. It’s the last thing you have of him, the only thing you have of him. You clutch it on your worst days, imprinting the tiny chain links into your palm when you fall sick, wasting away without a desire to live.

This is what it feels like, you think, delirious with fever, to have lost your entire world.

Your crying mother stays by your side as you wither, sponging your forehead, feeding you soup, whispering apologies into the blankets she covers you with. In moments of lucidity, you clutch her hand and tell her it’s not her fault. That you understand, now, what it means to love someone with the force of the universe.

Weeks pass in a feverish daze until winter seizes control of the earth. Numb with cold and sweating with warmth, you pray to the heavens above to release you from this pain.

The day you drift away is bitterly cold. You’re wrapped in at least five blankets, your mother shivering beside you as she grips your hands, trying desperately to warm them.

There is one brief moment of absolute clarity. You sit up, eyes wide, and cup your mother’s cheeks between cold, cold hands. “I love you, Mother.”

She kisses your forehead. “I love you too, my darling child.”

Her tears drip onto your cheeks. You don’t remember anything more.

In your first life, in the dead of winter, you die of a broken heart.

. . . . .

Your second life begins in a poor family, though happy. Sixteen years of life pass in ignorant bliss, with no knowledge of soulmates or vengeful gods. A week after your birthday, hope filling every step, you set off for the nearby village to try your skills at sewing. Luck paves your path and you find a kind mistress who values your quick fingers and eye for color. The village is bright and cheerful, you’re making money to send back to your family, and life is peaceful.

Then the dreams come.

The first vision is barely there, just a quick glimpse of green trees and a disappearing smile wedged between the scenes of your mind’s musings. You wake up, an uneasy feeling in your chest, but the image is already fading. You shake the discomfort away and get to work.

The second dream is longer, more vivid. You hear a voice, feel a gentle touch, see a mop of dark hair and a pair of gleaming eyes. In the moment, you feel happy, so happy in a way you’ve never felt before. It’s pure, this happiness, something so deep that your entire body feels warm when you wake, even as a chilling breeze seeps in through a crack in the window.

The dreams continue for several days, and each morning, you only grow more curious about the strange man who keeps wandering into your mind. Who is this man? you wonder as you sew, poking your fingers with the needle more times than you’d like to admit. Who is he, and why does he make me so happy?

Why does it feel like I should know him?

After a week of lovely, warm, but deeply unsettling dreams, it hits you all at once.

Needle in hand, you’re about to push the sliver of metal through a silk shirt, ready to begin embroidering the next leaf on a flowering vine. Taking a second glance at the embroidery you’ve already done, you blink in confusion.

This kind of vine doesn’t exist in your little village. In fact, you’ve never seen it before. But each leaf, each flower is so perfectly stitched that it doesn’t seem possible that you just made this up on the spot.

Oh.

Green leaves, sturdy trunks, water rushing down a river. Firm muscle, a flowering vine curled into a crown, fingers placing the circlet upon your head. A brilliant smile, bright as the sun, and a peal of snorting laughter that sounds like wedding bells.

One name hurtles through your mind, the name of the dark-haired, lovely-eyed boy who, by now, is a frequent visitor in your dreams.

Seo Changbin.

The needle embeds itself in your palm.

. . .

It’s hard to explain away your frazzled state when your mistress comes into the room to see you staring at the embroidered silk, palm dripping blood onto your clothes. Voice trembling only slightly (and you’re proud of yourself for that), you tell her that you just made a mistake, really.

Never mind the fact that the needle stuck itself far enough into your hand that you really have to pull it out, releasing a small spurt of blood that raises your mistress’s eyebrows so far they look like they’re about to jump off her forehead.

Shakily, you get back to work. Years of practice have steadied your fingers so that the stitches remain even, but as you sew, your mind races with memories. Memories of a trembling mother, a red-eyed god, a gaping leg wound festering on an apothecary table. Memories of boys you’ve never met in this life, a Hwang Hyunjin and a Choi Chanhee, but most importantly, a strong young man with sweet lips and a raspy, whining voice named Seo Changbin.

“Seo Changbin,” you murmur, testing the words between your lips. Just saying his name sends a rush of warmth through your chest and brings a small smile to your face.

The smile disappears, though, when you remember how the story ends.

Night brings dreams again, full, vivid scenes that begin with joy and happiness and warmth. You see your mother from another life, smell the comforting scent of herbs wafting through the air in the hut. You see your love, Changbin, feel his arms wrapped around your body, see the flush in his cheeks when you press your lips to his in a kiss.

The day he leaves is vivid, too. Sharp greens against a bright blue sky devoid of clouds, his smile disappearing into the forest as he begins his journey home.

A journey that you know he will never finish.

You know what will happen next and you don’t want to see it. You beg yourself to wake up, to stop these visions before your heart breaks, but sleep pins down your limbs and forces you to watch, to experience, to live the turmoil of emotions that flooded your heart those last few years of your life.

The next morning, you look so ill that your mistress forces you to take the day off, despite your pleas that you can work, you really can. The last thing you need is more sleep, after all, more time for vengeful gods to replay past lives for their leisure.

So after sixteen years of blissful ignorance, you know. You know of your love, you know of the curse, you know of the life that began it all. Sick emotions mix in your heart, syrupy and viscous and heavy, hope for a love as deep as your life before and terror for the heartbreak that will inevitably come.

And this time, you don’t have a loving mother who knows of your predicament.

You imagine Cupid laughing in the heavens as you face his wrath once more.

. . .

It happens by chance, purely by chance. On your days off, you sometimes like to visit the marketplace, see if you can find some fun trinket to send back to your family or to keep for yourself. Today is no exception.

Something makes you pause in front of a jewelry stand, a stand you don’t usually visit because your apprentice’s pay, though enough to support your family, doesn’t allow for expenses on jewels. However, a thin chain necklace catches your eye as you walk past.

It’s silver, shiny, not a hint of rust on the metal. A small black stone hangs as a pendant and you’ve never seen it before, but you can’t shake the suspicion that this is a necklace you wore in a past life.

A necklace Changbin gave you in a past life.

Uneasiness grows in your mind the longer you look at the chain. How did the jeweler even get this chain? Who took it away? You’re pretty sure you wore it until your death, and you don’t believe your previous mother, based on your dreams, would have taken it away.

You think you want it back.

Pointing at the chain, you look up at the jeweler. “How much is this?”

“Eight gold pieces.”

Your heart sinks. A day’s work gives you five silver pieces, and there are twenty silvers to a gold. Most of your money goes back home, leaving you with only a little pocket money of your own – certainly not enough for a piece of jewelry worth eight golds. Lips pressed thinly together, you nod before beginning to walk away.

A voice stops you, a familiar voice you’ve never heard before. Not in this life, at least.

“Wait!”

You turn around, slowly, slowly, as Changbin’s voice asks the jeweler, “Eight gold pieces, you said?”

It’s him, you think faintly. It’s really him. Different hair, skin a shade lighter, but his eyes… his eyes are the same. The absolute same.

He doesn’t look at you with any recognition, though, and he’s dressed in silk, indicating high status – at least, higher than yours. So you politely avert your gaze, trying to calm the pounding in your heart.

Eight golds appear on the counter, exchanged for a small silk pouch with the necklace inside. You’re about to walk away – why did Changbin stop you, anyway? There’s not a single chance he would give it to you – when the pouch appears in your line of vision, held by a familiar hand.

You blink once, twice, then look up from the pouch to the man holding it in his palm.

Only one thought runs through your mind.

There is no way, in two consecutive lives, that Seo Changbin would offer me the same necklace.

Your confusion must show, because he laughs. “It’s for you,” he says (and oh, gods, his voice makes you want to just sit and listen to it forever). “It looked like you wanted it, no?”

Thankfully, your vocal cords remember how to speak, even if your mind doesn’t. “I couldn’t possibly take such a gift, sir,” you say, stepping backward slightly. “You paid for it – it’s yours.”

“Then it is also mine to give. And I believe you would appreciate this much more than I.” He unstrings the pouch, slips the chain into his fingers. “May I?”

For any other person, you would have said a polite no before speed walking into the crowd, hoping to disappear between the stalls. Now, though, you stay in place, rooted to the ground under Changbin’s steady gaze.

You nod.

His hands are gentle in their feather-light touch against your skin, clasping the chain around your neck. The pendant hangs at the base of your throat, cold at first, but slowly warming with the afternoon sun.

It feels right.

“Thank you,” you whisper when he’s finished, sinking into a low bow. “Thank you so much.”

Changbin smiles, loosely taking your hand. He drops a butterfly kiss to your knuckles and you physically have to restrain yourself from gasping too loudly, because – oh, because –

The spot where his lips touch your skin sends warmth spreading throughout your body.

“It was my pleasure,” he says, still smiling. “My name is Changbin.”

I know.

“May I know yours?”

“Oh.” You smile, hoping your lips don’t tremble too much. “I’m Y/N.”

His smile widens at your words, making your heart flutter in shy embarrassment. “I hope to see you around once more, Y/N,” he says.

A sudden burst of courage turns your smile a little teasing. “Just once?”

Changbin’s laugh – it’s shy, it’s a shy laugh, your heart can’t take it – makes you want to melt into the ground. “Maybe not,” he finally says, ears red. “Maybe many times more.”

. . .

He keeps his promise of many times more, appearing again on your next day off, then again, and again. If possible, you seem to fall in love with him even more than you did in your previous life, his laughs tickling your heart, his smiles like sunshine against your skin.

Deep down, you know this won’t last. If Cupid took your love away so harshly in your last life, he won’t hesitate to do it again, possibly with even more malice. But Changbin is intoxicating, pulling you toward him like a leaf on the wind, forever fluttering in the breeze, only resting when the air does.

It’s not even just Cupid. At least before, you and Changbin were on equal footing – one a healer, the other a poor runaway. There was no status difference. Now, though, Changbin wears silk while you clothe yourself in homespun fabric, finer perhaps than a peasant’s, but homespun nonetheless. No matter how daintily you embroider the cloth with leftover threads from your work, it will never match up to the rich, gorgeous clothing of the nobles with whom Changbin must walk.

Such differences inevitably drive a wedge into a love that could have been.

It starts after you go to the market once, twice, three times, and Changbin doesn’t meet you at any of the stalls. It feels empty, walking around with no one by your side, and you’re just wondering if something’s happened when you receive a note written in your love’s handwriting, asking you to meet him at midnight where you first met.

He arrives a bit later than you, footsteps softly padding across the empty market. For a moment, you only stare at each other, faces lit just barely by the light of the moon.

Changbin breaks the silence. “I’m getting married.”

The words send a knife into your heart, but you try to ignore the pain. It was expected, you tell yourself, expected of someone with Changbin’s high status. The two of you could never end up together, not a sewing apprentice and a member of nobility. “I see,” is all you say.

For the first time since you’ve met, Changbin looks broken. It hurts your heart and you want nothing more than to hold him close until that expression disappears, but you can’t. You’ve barely even touched – you don’t have a right to hold him the way you’d like.

“I don’t want to be,” he says.

Your hands shake slightly with your reply. “Why?”

“Because…” Changbin’s voice almost fades into the silence. “I think I love you.”

His words should make you feel happy, should make fireworks burst in your heart the way they did when Changbin kissed you in your past life. And yes, a small part of you jumps for joy. But a larger part withers with disappointment, with pain, with the knowledge that none of this will come to good.

“Y/N.” His voice turns insistent. “Don’t you… don’t you feel the same?”

You swallow. Take a breath. “I do.”

A lovely brightness enters Changbin’s eyes, hope filling his face. You hate yourself for having to crush it. “But you have a duty to your family.”

“We can run away,” Changbin says, taking your hand. You want to melt yourself into his touch, rest in his warmth forever. “We can run, Y/N. We don’t have to stay.”

Only the greatest force of will allows you to pull your hand away. “I have a family, Changbin,” you say, trying not to focus on the light that’s fading out of his face with every second. “I have to support them. And you… you have a duty to the village.” You swallow. “We can’t run. It’s too selfish.”

He doesn’t blame you, you know. He understands what you’re saying, has probably already thought of it himself. Still, it doesn’t stop pain from breaking the glass in his eyes, gaze becoming fragmented as he nods once, twice. “I know. I just thought…”

Changbin never finishes his sentence. In fact, you never speak again. He walks you back to your mistress’s house that night, squeezes your hand once under the moonlight, then disappears back into the darkness.

And with that disappearance, he leaves your life forever.

Over the years, you hear stories of Changbin’s lovely partner, her flowing hair and vibrant face and pretty smile. You hear stories of how much they love each other, the children they have, how well they watch over the village together.

It doesn’t matter how much your heart hurts, you tell yourself every time you hear one of those stories. It doesn’t matter at all, not even when his wife commissions a dress from the shop you now own, years later. It doesn’t matter when Changbin comes with her and stands in the main room silently as you take her for fitting, and it doesn’t matter when his eyes linger slightly on you when you lead her back out.

You exchange no words that day, but you’re certain Changbin sees the black gemstone still resting at the base of your throat. He makes no obvious expression, but when his eyes flicker over it, their light dims the slightest bit.

In this life, there are no kisses, no hugs, none of the passion you shared in your first life. Instead, you love through vivid conversations, knowing smiles, and in the end, the barest brush of his hand against yours before he leads his wife out of your shop.

In the end, you never marry. Instead, you spend the rest of your life sewing until your eyes go blind, leaving you all too much time to contemplate everything you’ve lost.

Which is worse, you wonder, losing your love to death or to societal pressures and another woman? Which is worse, never knowing how Changbin suffered as he died, or knowing that he’s doing well without you?

Which is worse, having your love die in a land unknown, or having him live so close, yet so far away?

. . . . .

It continues, over and over again, endless cycles of living, remembering, loving. He’s a thief and you’re a merchant. You’re a shop owner and he’s a soldier. Both of you are orphans, living on the street. None of it matters, not gender, not occupation, not social status – no matter what, you end up apart.

With every lifetime, the dreams grow more vivid, as though to make sure you don’t forget a single instant of the love you experienced, the love you could never see to the end. You’d think that the lines between each life would grow blurred as each one passes, but they only grow sharper, more defined. It’s impossible to forget how many lives you’ve lived, not when Cupid forces each one to remain in your mind, endlessly playing in your dreams time and time again.

On your twenty-ninth reincarnation, you experience a month’s worth of dreams in your silken bed, the bed of a noble heir who can have nothing to do with the boy who stays by their side day and night as a bodyguard and nothing more. You wake up every night stifling screams resulting from twenty-eight lifetimes of broken hearts, muffled cries and tears that bring Changbin running into your room, asking if you’re all right, reminding you that you’re safe.

Physically, you agree. You trust Changbin entirely – he’s proven more than capable of protecting you after multiple attempts on your life – but mentally? Emotionally?

How can he protect you from a god’s wrath, a wrath he doesn’t know of, when you can’t even protect yourself from that same wrath you’ve known of for twenty-eight, soon to be twenty-nine lifetimes?

You try to harden your heart, speak to Changbin a little less, spend more time focused on your lesson books and less on Changbin’s lovely face, but it’s impossible, you find after several months of this forced silence. It’s impossible to ignore the allure of your guard’s lips, his entrancing eyes, impossible to ignore the gentleness of his strong, roughened hands guiding you through life.

But with every chaste kiss, with every stolen hug or brush of skin, you know, deep in your heart, that something will befall your love. Something will tear you two apart.

When he dies, stabbed in the chest by a traitor to your family, rage drives you to take the knife that fell out of your love’s hand and shove the blade into the attacker’s heart. It drives you to cry, to weep, to wail to the sky as Changbin’s skin grows cold, the remnants of his last “I love you” still hanging on his lips.

Watching your love die in front of you, you decide, is the worst punishment of all. Nothing, absolutely nothing could be worse than this, knowing that Changbin died because of you, for you, without a singular doubt in his mind as he did it because he knew you would do the same for him.

Moonlight streams through the windows, illuminating Changbin’s blank face and the blood on his chest. As people begin entering the room, pausing at the carnage next to your bed, you raise your head, tears still flowing down your face.

“YOU SELFISH GOD!” you scream at the cold moon, resisting the arms tugging you away from the body of your love. “YOU SELFISH GOD! I GAVE YOU TWENTY-EIGHT LIFETIMES OF MY LOVE, AND YOU WANT MORE?”

Someone’s speaking, trying to make you hear their words over the raging of your voice. You don’t care, violently wrenching yourself out of their grip to stay thrown over Changbin’s body, tears mixing with his blood. “COME DOWN AND FACE ME!” you gasp. “COME DOWN AND TAKE MY LIFE, DO ANYTHING, I DON'T CARE! FACE ME, YOU COWARD!”

Strong hands, too strong, containing none of the gentility Changbin used to show you, begin pulling you away. You thrash in their grip, still staring at the moon. “I WISH HE NEVER MET ME!” you scream as they drag you out of the room. Blood stains your nightclothes, sticky against your skin. “I WISH HE NEVER MET ME, NEVER DIED FOR ME, DO YOU HEAR?”

. . . . .

The god grants your wish.

. . .

You regret it more than anything in all of your now-thirty lives.

. . .

To know of your love, but to never experience any semblance of it in your entire life? To know of a certain Seo Changbin, but to never meet him, never know how he is, never see him once in over fifty years of living?

Torture.

. . .

From your sixteenth birthday, when you begin having the dreams, until your death well into your fifties, there’s only pain, endless pain, marred by a piece of disgusting hope that rests in your chest, a piece of hope that keeps you praying that you will see him just once in this lifetime, that you’ll know his face and he’ll know yours.

. . .

It becomes so clear as you grow older that you will never know the Changbin of this lifetime, if he even exists. You will never touch his skin, see his smile, bathe in the glory of his laugh. You’ll never kiss, never experience even the briefest joy of seeing his face.

But your heart hopes, anyway, even though your mind sees reason. It prays, refuses to accept the truth.

. . .

Hope, you decide, is a weapon. A weapon far deadlier than the sharpest sword or the heaviest club, a weapon wielded by only the most intelligent of tyrants.

. . .

Apparently, you go mad towards the end of this life. You can’t blame those who eventually put you in an institution, over fifty years old and withering away. They don’t know who Changbin is. They never will.

You never will.

. . .

You blame the dreams. If you didn’t know of your previous lives, if you didn’t know Changbin existed, you might have lived happily – well, maybe not happily, but you’d be content, at least. You wouldn’t be wishing you were dead every minute of your existence.

. . .

You die in that institution, supposedly of a wasting disease, but more accurately of a broken heart, a heart even more broken than the one Changbin left behind that first life when he never came back.

. . . . .

Your forty-sixth life is first one in which you end the love with death, not Changbin. Looking back, it was probably better for you, you suppose, because you didn’t have to feel the pain of losing your love. Maybe this was Cupid’s laughable attempt at some sort of mercy.

You loathe it anyway, loathe it almost as much as the lives – yes, plural by now, which automatically cancel anything Cupid tries to do to make up for it (if the god is even trying) – where you dreamt of certain sparkling eyes and a lovely smile but never met them face to face. It’s not quite as horrible, but nearly.

To know that your love had to deal with any measure of the pain you’ve felt for so long, the pain you wouldn’t impart on even your worst enemy, is unimaginable.

It’s ironic, too, considering your occupations in life. You’re a healer on the battlefield, wearing the strip of blue silk on your arm that denotes your immunity to the opposite forces. He’s a soldier on the same side, though he has no protection other than his skill from enemy swords.

You are sworn to heal. He is sworn to kill.

Isn’t it strange, then, that fate wills you to die first while forcing Changbin to live?

You weren’t supposed to be killed in war. Your healer status, that piece of blue silk tied around your arm, was supposed to protect you from enemy blades. But some unsuspecting enemy soldier, perhaps not seeing the blue amidst the dust of the battlefield or genuinely just not caring for the rules of war, drove their blade into your back as you knelt over a fallen man of your side.

Within minutes, you had succumbed to darkness. The pain of dying, the blade in your back wasn’t even the worst part.

All you could think, after all, as you lay there gasping, was that he would have to learn of your death from finding your body, that you wouldn’t even get to say a proper goodbye.

. . . . .

It’s a pitiful, desolate figure who sits on a clifftop fifteen lifetimes later, blankly staring at an expanse of open ocean, waves crashing against the rocks below, contemplating every single one of the sixty-one lives you’ve lived so far.

You married Changbin in this one, this sixty-first life. You married him for the first time in sixty-one lives, made your vows with him, kissed him under a shower of flower petals.

It didn’t change your fate, not even when, unable to have a baby of your own, you adopted your first, then your second child. It didn’t change anything, not when Changbin had a duty to this village that you couldn’t interfere with. It didn’t change anything, not when pirates came ashore and massacred the village population, killing your two children and half of the rest of your family.

Changbin threw himself from this very cliff, you remember, threw himself to a watery death rather than die at the hands of the pirates who came to raid the town so many years ago. He was brave to the last, fending off invaders even when countless others had thrown down their swords, and he never lived to see the defeat of the pirates whom he died fighting.

You hug your shoulders tightly, staring down at the waves crashing against the rocks. With all that’s happened to you over sixty-one lifetimes, who would blame you for tipping off the edge the same way Changbin died, albeit much less heroically? Who would blame you for giving up in this life, giving up in every life if you knew just how badly it would end every time?

“You’re right,” a rich voice sounds behind you, a voice that you once heard in person, many centuries ago. “Who would blame you? Not even I would.”

Your eyes slam shut, refusing to gaze into blood red. You don’t speak.

A sigh passes from the god’s lips, breath puffing softly. Where the air hits your neck, you feel your skin curdle with disgust.

“It’s no use not speaking,” he continues, a hint of amusement tinging his voice that makes your hands curl into fists. “I can hear your thoughts.”

A snarl twists your lips. “They must be very loud,” you snap, words dripping acid.

More silence.

“You hate me,” he finally says.

You breathe in, out, in, out. Calm, you tell yourself.

“Why wouldn’t I.”

A pause.

“Perhaps you can elaborate.”

For the first time since they appeared, you turn around, eyes blazing, to stare into the red gaze of the wrathful god who cursed you. “I would rather throw myself off this cliff,” you seethe, “than relive my lifetimes in front of you.”

Is it remorse that glitters in ruby eyes, pity that rests in their shadows? Whatever it is, it makes you smirk without mirth, lips curling without cheer as you turn back around to watch gray waves crash against the cliff. It doesn’t matter how a vengeful god feels after lifetimes of revenge. Apologies from the curser mean nothing to the spite of the cursed.

“I made mistakes,” the god says simply. “I acted rashly. I should not have taken my anger out on you, and certainly not with so harsh a punishment.”

You want to snort. “I am ever grateful you realize after sixty-one lifetimes of wrath,” you say, acid practically burning a hole in your tongue. “Now quit with the blather.” You don’t care that you’re staring at a god who could smite you down a thousand times over with a single flick of their finger – they’ve already hurt you too much for it to matter anymore. “After so many years of never answering my calls, you finally come, unbidden. Tell me why you’re here, or I will jump off this cliff.”

“I’ve come to offer an exchange,” they say. “It is impossible to erase a curse, but I can impart it on someone else.”

In a flash, you’re standing, staring the god dead in the center of their bright red eyes. “You said you could read my thoughts,” you snarl. “Tell me, God of Love, what I’m thinking right now.”

They raise an eyebrow. “You don’t want it,” they say calmly, though surprise coats their words. “You have no one, then, on whom you would impart this curse?”

“When I tell you,” you snap, “that I would not wish this curse on my worst enemy in all of my sixty-one lives, I do not lie. That –” you take a breath – “that is how much you have hurt me.”

Astonishment shows itself in the god’s gaze. “I don’t understand,” they say, for the first time looking bemused. “I have given you everything, dying first, dying last, watching him die in front of you, never seeing him in a lifetime –”

“You don’t need to remind me,” you cut him off. “I know it very well.”

“Then you would not even give this curse to me?” they ask. “Not to the god who has shown you so much pain?”

That almost gets you, almost. The desire for revenge claws its way through your chest, begging to be released in a monstrous cry of pain, but you rein it in with a scoff. “For a god of love,” you say, turning back around, “you really understand nothing of it.”

More silence.

“I will leave you with two gifts,” the god finally says. “Two gifts to try and make up for what you have lost.”

You suppress another snort.

“Your love will remember you on your one hundred and first lifetime,” they continue. “When the curse is over, your love will remember you, will know how you have lived one hundred lifetimes without him.”

The words, acerbic with derision, fall from your lips without missing a beat. “Will I remember him, then, or will you take that away from me too?”

A short pause. The air seems to grow slightly warmer, as though the god has been angered, but it cools quickly. “You will remember him,” they reply, voice thinner with a tinge of frustration.

You smirk.

They clear their throat. “The second gift you will find when you return home.”

You give no response to that, only stare resolutely at gray waves, feeling the ocean spray tickle your skin. The god must disappear at some point, because when you finally turn around to return home, they’re gone. But once you enter your empty house, there’s something on your table, something that sparkles in the last glimmers of sunlight peeking through the window.

You pick it up, eyes narrowed, and almost immediately drop it.

A thin silver necklace, polished to shine, with a small black gem as the pendant.

Though there’s no way to prove it, you’re sure this is the very same piece of jewelry that Changbin gifted you so many centuries ago, two lifetimes in a row.

The chain trembles on your shaking fingers as you place it back down, carefully, so carefully, like it’ll explode any second. You go to bed that night wondering if the necklace will have disappeared by morning, but when you wake up after a fitful rest, it’s still there, glittering on the table.

You wear it for the rest of this lifetime, hiding it beneath your clothing so no questions are asked. And when you feel you will die soon, you carefully place the chain in a small box and bury it just outside your home.

You’ll find it in your next life. You’ll find it in the next, then the next, time and time again until the end of your hundred-lifetime punishment.

It’s a small comfort, that simple silver chain with the little black jewel, but it’s a comfort nonetheless, a piece of your love to carry with you until the end of your times. Even if it was given back by the god who cursed you.

. . . . .

Years trudge along, years of waiting and waiting and more waiting for the torture to end. More death, more illness, more societal pressure to drive you two apart. In five lifetimes, you die first. In the others, Changbin either leaves you to face the world on your own, or you never know him at all.

It seems that even though Cupid may have felt some remorse for your curse, that didn’t stop the god from finding new ways to hurt you.

At some point, the lives finally begin to blur together. There have just been too many. If you tried, you could probably piece them all together, work out the details of how the two of you lived and how you were ripped apart, but after seventy, then eighty, then finally ninety lifetimes of broken hearts, it becomes too painful to relive.

(As you near the ninetieth lifetime, if you’re lucky enough to be born to a family who cares, someone always comes running in for months to the tears that stain your cheeks through dream-filled nights. You must have helped send so many people to an early grave with the endless screaming they would wake up to on the nights you dreamed of particularly painful lives.)

There are two saving graces to this pain, and as much as you hate to admit it, they came from Cupid. The god never deigns to meet you again (something you’re grateful for), but their gifts keep you from losing all hope as you near the end, the blissful end of your punishment.

One, the necklace. In every lifetime, no matter how painful, no matter whether or not you find Changbin, you find the thin silver necklace from your previous life. And no matter how rusty the chain gets, how dull the jewel becomes after years of wear, it shows up shiny and polished the next time you find it.

Two, the knowledge that Changbin will recognize you that first lifetime your punishment is over. You don’t have to keep track of your lifetimes, don’t have to count them until the hundredth has come and gone, don’t have to live any unnecessary lives with the fear that Changbin will be taken away from you suddenly and horribly.

As much as you loathe saying it, these gifts give you the slightest bit of hope that keeps you going.

So you trudge through lives, living as a tailor falling for a shoemaker, a nurse who comes to love a bedridden patient, a rich socialite who wants to marry the son of your family’s sworn enemy (this one’s interesting, quite like Romeo and Juliet, really. In your next life, when you dream of it, you wonder if Cupid met Shakespeare after the playwright’s death and decided to have a sick laugh at your expense). Seventy passes at some point, then eighty, then ninety.

By your hundredth life, you aren’t entirely sure what number you’re on. You think it must be ending soon, what with all the dreams your seventeen-year-old self had to suffer through, but it hurts too much to pick them apart and count. When Changbin doesn’t recognize you, though, a student at the same university as you, you resign yourself to several more lifetimes of heartbreak. It’s too much to hope for at this point, too much to hope that you’re on your last cycle of punishment, that the next time you live, you will be able to love Changbin wildly, freely, without a care in the world.

The dreams come once more in your hundredth and first life. It makes you despair that your punishment isn’t over, not even now (because though you don’t dare to freely pray, hope still buries itself deep in your chest, allowing Cupid to wield it like the monster he is).

Cupid assured you on his second and last visit that you would remember Changbin when you met him, though. You don’t like it, but hope only grows when you recall his words. Blind, blind hope.

It’s a cold morning, bitterly cold, when you roll out of bed to go to work. Eyes blinking blearily, you fumble around the cabinets for a package of coffee before remembering you ran out yesterday.

Just my luck, you think, scribbling “coffee” onto the grocery list on your refrigerator. You shove the piece of paper into your pocket, hoping you remember to go shopping later for whatever’s on the list. Your roommates are out of town, so you can’t rely on them to get anything this time.

Bitter wind slashes at your face as you walk to the small café just down the street for your daily fix of caffeine. By the time you’ve reached the shop, your nose is already stiff with cold, and the steaming cup of coffee the barista presses into your chilled hands only briefly warms your skin before you have to step back into the cold.

The bus will be coming soon, you note, checking your phone for the time. Steps quickening, you bend your head into the wind and set off for the stop.

So focused on your destination are you that you don’t notice the person until it’s too late. You smack right into them, sending them lurching into a nearby pole. They fall to the sidewalk as you spew apologies from freezing lips, holding out a hand to help them up.

They take your hand, squeezing with a grip that seems a little too familiar to be coincidental. A familiar sensation of warmth, a lovely, dreadful warmth, spreads through your body, emanating from where the stranger’s hand touches yours.

You freeze, eyes hardly daring to look up and gaze into someone who might be Changbin, who might be the love of one hundred of your lifetimes. You don’t even know whether to hope it is him, because if it is, will he finally recognize you after so many cycles of pain? Or will this just be another love that ends in heartbreak?

Slowly, slowly, your gazes meet.

It’s him.

It’s him.

It’s him.

Lovely brown eyes, eyes that throughout twenty, fifty, ninety years of pain, have remain unchanged in their depth and gentleness, stare into yours. Your breath catches. The coffee in your hand drops to the ground.  

It’s really him.

Belatedly, you realize he’s still on the ground and give a quick yank to pull him up. You try to apologize, both for hitting him and for the coffee that’s spattered onto his shoes, but your vocal cords won’t work. All you can do right now is stare.

He doesn’t recognize you. He hasn’t reacted to your touch, hasn’t given any indication that this is anything more than a chance meeting, an everyday occurrence where a stranger bumps into him (albeit a little harder than normal). You’re about to retract your hand, to force your vocal cords into giving an apology for smacking into him, but then he opens his mouth and speaks words you never dared to believe you would hear.

“It’s you,” he breathes, gripping your hand even more tightly, almost involuntarily, like he’s trying to keep himself grounded to the earth. His eyes, now wide with confusion and awe, search your face greedily. For what, you don’t know, but you’re doing the same, even though you’ve seen his face millions of times by now over a hundred lifetimes.

“It’s you,” he repeats once more, raspy voice breathless with emotion. “It’s really you.”

Finally, your throat manages to choke something out. “Changbin?” you try, words small and soft, conveying all of your disbelief in that one single word, that one single name. “Changbin?”

He says your name, then, says it once, twice, as he keeps staring into your eyes. It sounds like honey on his lips, sweet in a way that makes you heady with bliss, and only the biting wind keeps you rooted to the present, reminding you that this is real, this is not a dream, that this is real, completely real.

Slowly, naturally, one of your arms curls around his waist, just as his hands rise to cup your cheek. His fingers are cold against your bare skin but you lean into his touch, pulling him closer, closer, until your faces are only inches apart.

“It’s you,” Changbin murmurs, still as though he can barely believe it. “It’s really you.”

A strangled sound escapes your throat, something between a sob and a laugh all at once. “You remember,” you choke, eyes beginning to fill with warm, salty tears. “You remember, Changbin.”

He cups your cheek with an ungloved hand, cold skin brushing against yours with a gentleness that makes you want to melt. “I do,” he replies, voice almost cracking with emotion. “I’m only sorry I didn’t remember before.”

In your previous lives, time and time again, you kissed Changbin’s lips. It was always lovely, absolutely lovely, lovely in a way that made it feel like a field of flowers blooming in your chest, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. But there was always a lingering desolation on your part, a despair born of the knowledge that this love would not last, that Cupid would not allow you to see it to its natural end.

Today, Changbin’s lips taste of sunshine and honey, dew on green grass on a summer morning, the excitement of a first snow, nothing reminding you of a lingering heartbreak to come. You can’t even feel the bitter wind with him pressed so closely to you, lips molding against yours as his hands cup your cheeks.

The last walls on your heart crack down, walls formed with the knowledge of your hundred lifetimes of punishment. From the broken walls springs a new warmth, a sparkling warmth that you can’t even find the words to explain, a warmth that spills through your body and makes you feel full, happy, joyous in a way you’ve never felt, not once before in your hundred lifetimes of heartbroken love.

When you break away, tears are streaking down your cheeks. Changbin’s eyes glitter, too, but the smile on his face is radiant as he gazes at you.

Cupid’s punishment was cruel, you know, crueler than it had to be. It was harsh, evil, almost wicked in the pain he inflicted on you. But even though the vestiges of that pain still line the edges of your heart, it’s easy to ignore it in favor of staring at your love standing in front of you as a wobbly smile of the purest joy finally begins to curve your lips.

Is this real? you wonder to yourself. Is this truly real, your punishment finally ending, Changbin remembering who you are and the lifetimes you’ve shared? This bliss, this love, this warmth… it all seems too good to be true.

As though he can read your thoughts (and perhaps he can – a hundred lifetimes of love have probably given him a window into your soul, the same way it’s given you one into his), Changbin grins, vibrant, radiant, warm even in the bitter cold. “This is real,” he says, lovely lips curved into a brilliant smile.

“It is?” you ask, soft, wondrous, childlike, hardly daring to believe.

He brushes away a tear on your face, his thumb stroking your cheek with the gentlest touch. “It is,” he whispers. “As real as your love for me, and mine for you.”

Time and time again, you burned your heart for Changbin, burned it with the love you felt for him over one hundred lifetimes of a curse. Time and time again, you swore at love, swore at the god who inflicted the curse on you without so much as an afterthought until sixty-one lives had passed.

But now, as you crush Changbin close, fitting your lips to his once more, you push those thoughts to the back of your mind and lose yourself in a kiss finally free of pain.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 slap in the face for Cupid fuck them)

[massivedrickhead]

Bechloe Week 2021 - Day 5

July 30th: “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

Read on AO3

This is heavy heavy angst. It’s pretty sad (imo) and also kinda long. So, you know, read at your own risk.

-

With a throbbing in her hip, and a tight pain across her chest, Beca eased herself out of the cab she’d taken, and looked up at the entrance to Barden Nursing Home.

Although she visited several times a week, it seemed like they added more stairs each time she came.

“Can I give you a hand ma’am?”

“Well that depends, Raheem,” Beca said. Her voice wasn’t as strong as it had once been, but anyone who knew her could still detect the bite of sarcasm that filled almost every sentence. “Are you going to call me ma’am again, or are you going to call me Beca?”

Raheem smiled at her from his driver side window.

“Come on Mrs Mitchell, I can’t call you that. What would my grandmother say if she knew I was disrespecting my elders?”

Beca laughed and shook her head. “If you insist.” She held out an arm for him to take, and he left his cab immediately.

Truthfully, she didn’t think she’d make it up on her own anymore.

The doctor had given her a year, give or take, but she knew her own body.

This would be her last visit to Barden Nursing Home.

“Do you want me to wait with the cab?” Raheem asked when they reached the entryway.

“No, no,” Beca said. “The girls are meeting me here, they can drive me home.”

“I’ll see you next week then?”

Probably not. “I’ll give you a call.”

Raheem was Beca’s favourite driver and he happened to be the owner of the cab company, so he always made sure he was the one to drive Beca to her destination.

His mother had been a fan of hers, he’d told her during one of their first journeys, which made her feel older than she was. Or older than she thought she was. It still surprised her when she looked in the mirror and saw an old lady looking back at her.

She didn’t really recognise herself anymore.

Now that her hair was grey, her back slightly hunched, her joints sore and swollen.

They had taken her drivers licence a few years back due to her deteriorating eyesight, and her hearing wasn’t what it was.

And now her lungs were shot. Her liver. Her heart.

Her body was failing her, worsening by the day.

She was in almost constant pain, but she still had her mind. Her mind remained as sharp as it ever was.

For that, she was grateful.

Most of the time, anyway.

Leaning on a cane, with a bunch of flowers in her other hand, she made her way through the reception area.

“Morning Beca,” one of the nurses greeted her warmly. “She’s in her room today, didn’t feel like being social.”

“Thanks hun,” Beca replied. “How is she?”

“One of her better days.”

Good, Beca thought. That’s good.

If today was going to be her last visit, she wanted it to be a good one.

She knocked on door 216, and waited for a response.

“Come in,” came a voice that was both achingly familiar yet totally alien.

“Hi,” Beca said, smiling warmly as she entered the room.

Chloe was sitting in a chair by the window, a blanket over her knees.

Her once red hair was now silver, tied in a neat ponytail. She was still looking outside, but Beca knew her bright blue eyes were now milky and flat. Clouded.

Chloe turned to face her visitor.

“Can I help you?”

Beca felt something hard lodge itself in her chest.

She would never get used to this feeling. She never wanted to get used to this feeling.

She waited for a sign of recognition. A smile or a twinkle, but there was nothing.

Chloe simply looked at her with a patient curiosity.

Well, Beca thought. That’s that, then.

“I was just wondering if you would like some company? I’m new here and I don’t really know anyone.” She placed the flowers in an empty vase of water that she knew the nurses had left there for her, like they did every time she visited.

“Yes, okay. That would be fine,” Chloe said. “I’m Chloe Beale.” She held out her hand for Beca to shake.

Beca shook it, trying not to let the stab of pain show on her face at the sound of Chloe using her maiden name.

“Beca Mitchell,” Beca said, fighting the urge to cover Chloe’s hands with both of her own.

Even after all these years, Beca still wanted nothing more than to pull Chloe into her arms and kiss her.

She couldn’t remember the last time they’d really kissed. The last time they’d lain in bed together while Chloe ran her fingers through Beca’s hair. The last time Chloe had been Chloe.

Chloe’s diagnosis and the progression of her illness had been sudden and devastating and brutally quick.

It was so cruel, Beca thought almost every minute of every day, that she still had Chloe so close yet she couldn’t have been further from her.

“I’m afraid you can’t stay too long,” Chloe said. “My daughters are coming to visit later.”

She remembers the girls, Beca thought. That’s good.

Some days Chloe had no recollection of their daughters. Some days, Chloe had no recollection of any of them.

But once in a while, God, it was so rare now, Chloe would remember Beca and who they’d been together.

“Is that so?” Beca asked. “How old are your daughters?”

“Oh, I don’t know, middle-aged-ish. One’s older than the other,” Chloe said, waving a dismissive hand. “Of an age where they think they’re old but they don’t know they’re actually still very young.”

“Hmm, they must be the same age as my kids. What are their names?”

“Well there’s Blake and, um… shoot. I had it. Begins with a B…”

No it doesn’t.

“No it doesn’t,” Chloe said, shaking her head. “Hayley.”

Riley.

“Riley!”

Beca smiled. If only I could get you to remember me so easily.

“Do you have grandkids?” Beca asked.

“No,” Chloe said with a sigh.

Yes you do. You have four, and they’re beautiful.

“Do you?”

“Yes,” Beca said. “A little too much energy for me to handle these days.”

Chloe seemed to study Beca for a fraction longer.

“You know, you look a lot like my wife. Older, of course, but there’s something about the nose and the smile…”

Beca laughed because if she didn’t she would cry. “Is that right? Well to be honest I wasn’t going to say anything, but you look a lot like my wife.”

“How weird,” Chloe said.

“She was beautiful, just like you,” Beca said, fiddling with the wedding band she still wore.

“Is she still with us?”

Beca looked into Chloe’s eyes, searching for some semblance of the Chloe Beale she had fallen in love with. Searching for a glimmer of recognition. A spark. Anything.

“No,” Beca said. “We lost her a few years ago.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Chloe said, placing her hand on Beca’s as if that’s where it was meant to be. “How awful for you. You must miss her terribly.”

Beca let out a small laugh and tears filled her eyes.

It was unbearable to mourn someone who was sitting two feet in front of you.

“More than anything. We had,” Beca swallowed hard but her voice still broke when she spoke again, “the best life together. She was my best friend… my everything.”

Chloe squeezed her hand. “How lucky you are to have felt love like that. To have loved so strongly that even after all these years you’re still…” Chloe trailed off and looked out of the window again.

“Did… is your wife still with us?” Beca asked, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

“My… sorry, what did you say?”

“Is your wife still alive?”

“Oh, I don’t have a wife dear,” Chloe said, smiling. “This ginger is single and ready to mingle as my grandkids would say.”

Again, that knife in her heart.

Her grandkids were back, replacing her wife, and with them a spark of the old Chloe.

“Maybe you’ll meet someone here,” Beca said, the sadness taking hold of her now. Settling into her bones in the same way that the damp made her hip throb. “It’s never too late.”

“God, you’re crying, are you okay?”

“Perfectly fine,” Beca said, smiling. “Just thinking about my Chloe has made me go all… well… foolish is probably the best word.”

“Your… Chloe?”

“My wife,” Beca said. “Her name was Chloe.” She swallowed as she looked at the uncomprehending face before her. “She was beautiful. So beautiful. Red hair and bright blue eyes and she was kind, and good, and safe. She was my best my soulmate. And she had a voice like an angel. I’d give…” Beca swallowed again, “I’d give anything to hear her sing again. To hear my Chloe sing again.”

“Beca…”

“Do you know what she said to me the first time we kissed? She promised I would never lose her. We were in a tiny apartment in Brooklyn and she promised I wouldn’t lose her. But that’s the kind of promise only a kid could make. They have no idea, how could they?”

“Beca.”

Chloe’s hand gripped Beca’s and squeezed it. Tight.

“My… Beca?”

And there she was. Back like she’d never gone away.

“Chloe? You… you remember me?”

“Of course I remember you,” Chloe said. Then her eyebrows furrowed, and she looked around her room. “This isn’t our house.”

“No.”

Chloe swallowed and nodded. “I’m… I’m not well, am I?”

Beca sniffed and shook her head.

“Alzheimer’s?”

“Ah ha,” Beca said, fighting to keep her voice steady.

“Like my mom… How long?”

“T-two years,” Beca said. “I tried to take care of you but then I fell and broke my hip and I just… I couldn’t manage on my own anymore. The girls insisted. You’ve been here for about a year. You… you seem happy.”

Beca knew this lucidity wouldn’t last.

Chloe would be gone again, and probably soon.

This was her last chance.

“I love you, Chloe Mitchell, do you hear me? My heart belongs completely to you. And one day… one day soon, I’m not gonna be able to come and visit you anymore. And there may be days where you remember me, but you won’t remember I’m gone, and you’re gonna feel hurt and betrayed. You’re going to think I abandoned you,” Beca squeezed Chloe’s hand again, “but I promise you, if it was up to me, I would never leave your side.”

“So stay,” Chloe said, her voice breaking. “Stay with me.”

Beca gave her a sad smile. “In a few hours, you won’t remember me, baby.”

“How could I ever forget you?”

“Mom?” A voice spoke up from the doorway, and Beca turned to see Blake and Riley standing there. “Is everything-”

��Girls!” Chloe said, brightly. “Come in and meet my new friend Beca.”

No.

Not yet.

Please, not yet.

“Your new friend Beca?”

Beca forced the smile back onto her face, and she stood up.

“Nice to meet you,” Beca said, looking into the faces of her daughters. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

She turned to face Chloe.

“You’re leaving?”

“I should let you have some time with your girls,” Beca said. She took Chloe’s hand in hers, and looked at her wife for what would be the last time. “It was truly a pleasure meeting you, Chloe.”

“I’ll see you again I hope?”

Beca smiled. “Of course. You’ll remember what I said?”

Chloe tilted her head, her eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

“It’s okay,” Beca said. “I know you heard it. It’ll come back to you when you need it.”

“Okay,” Chloe said, still confused. “Do you think… would it be okay if we hugged? You can ask the girls, I’m a hugger.”

She heard a small sniff and she saw Riley quickly leave the room.

“Allergies,” Blake said, quickly.

“Of course we can hug,” Beca said. “I’ve had a wonderful afternoon with you Chloe.”

Chloe stood, her blanket slipping off her lap, and she wrapped her arms around Beca, and Beca hugged back as tight as she dared.

She buried her face in Chloe’s neck and breathed in.

She still smelled like Chloe.

“You know Beca, I think we’re gonna be really fast friends.”

And everything inside of Beca broke.

“Hey, what is it?” Chloe said, softly as Beca clung to her and cried.

“Mom, it’s okay,” Blake said. She stuck her head out of the door and called to her younger sister.

Chloe shot Blake a look of confusion as this apparent stranger sobbed into her shoulder.

“You’re okay,” Chloe said, softly. “Come on, now, you’re okay. I’ve got you.”

“I love you,” Beca whispered into her ear, choking it out between sobs. “Don’t forget that, okay? I love you.”

“Okay, that’s, um, very nice,” Chloe said.

Beca’s chest started feeling tight as she struggled to get air into her lungs.

“Why don’t you sit down? We can call a nurse and-”

“No,” Beca said, quickly, struggling to suck air into her useless lungs. “I just need… in my bag.”

“Here,” Blake said, handing her her inhaler.

“Thank you,” Beca said, taking several deep puffs from it. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry, Chloe.”

She looked at Chloe again, and knew with certainty it was for the last time.

She had gotten a couple of minutes with Chloe - the real Chloe - this afternoon and that was more than she could have hoped for.

“It really was lovely to meet you Chloe,” she said.

“Yes, you too,” Chloe replied, although she sounded less than convincing. “See you another time?”

“I look forward to it,” Beca said.

“Riley, why don’t you make sure… Beca, here, gets to where she needs to be,” Blake said, looking between her parents with pain in her eyes.

“Sure,” Riley said.

When they were away from the room, Riley pulled her Mom into a hug.

“That was a rough one, huh?” Riley asked.

“Unbearable,” Beca said. “She was… she was back. I had her back for like, five minutes. And then…”

Riley kissed her on the head. “Come on, I’ll get one of the nurses to get you some tea and when we’re done we can drive you home.”

Beca frowned. “It’s Thursday. Is Blake not doing dinner?”

“No, she is, but you don’t usually feel like company after a bad visit,” Riley said.

Beca waved a hand of dismissal. “I wanna spend some time getting climbed on by my grandkids. Will your new lady be joining us?”

Riley blushed like a teenager, despite being in her forties. “Not tonight, Mom. It’s a bit soon for a family dinner.”

“Oh come on, you’ve been dating for months! I want to meet her, I have so many embarrassing stories to tell!”

“I know you do,” Riley said. “Which is why we’re gonna wait a few more weeks before we scare her off. Don’t worry, there are endless amounts of family dinners ahead of us for you to embarrass me at.”

Beca smiled. “Okay,” she said.

She hadn’t told the girls she was sick. They had enough in their plates with Chloe, and she didn’t want to add to it.

When the time came, yes, she knew they’d be hurt. She knew that hurt didn’t even come close to covering it. They had all but said their goodbyes to Chloe, but they had no idea that Beca would be beating her to the afterlife.

She knew if she asked them, they’d rather she told them.

It was cruel to blindside them, but in a way wasn’t it crueler to have them watch her slowly waste away in a hospital? To leave them saddled with medical bills that their inheritance would only just cover?

Because she knew her girls, they wouldn’t just let her slip away. They’d want her to fight, and Beca was too tired for fighting.

No. She wouldn’t do that to them. She had already written letters for all of them - including Chloe - and she had left instructions with her solicitors that they would get handed out after her death.

In her will, she’d left most of her money to her daughters and Blake’s four kids, along with a lump-sum donation to Barden Nursing Home.

Her affairs were in order.

The girls didn’t need to know.

“Mom? Are you ready?”

Beca smiled as her daughters approached, and she gratefully took Riley’s hand when she offered it.

She was quiet on the drive back to Blake’s house.

“Sure you’re up for dinner, Mom?” Blake asked, glancing at her in the rear view mirror.

Beca smiled and nodded.

That night she basked in the attention of her grandkids.

The two twin boys - Jackson and Christopher, aged seven - kept trying to explain their favourite show to their grandmother.

They kept acting out scenes, speaking in odd voices, shooting each other with fake guns.

Beca tried to follow along but really she just wanted to watch them play.

The youngest - Davey, four - sat comfortably on her lap.

“Gram read it?” He said, holding up a book.

“Again?” Beca asked.

“Please?”

“Okay,” she said.

“Grandma!” Christopher said, pulling her attention back to him. “Grandma! Look! Then the bad guys do this!” He aimed a finger gun at his brother and deepened his voice. “Prepare to die!”

“Ah ha,” Beca said.

“Gram,” Davey tugged at her sleeve and then placed a hand on his book.

“Sorry,” Beca said, picking up where she left off from.

The noise and distraction was welcome.

It kept Beca’s mind from wandering. She needed a few hours where she wasn’t mourning Chloe.

It was working until ten year old Anne walked into the room, looking far too somber for any ten year old.

“Who’s upset you then?” Beca asked. “I might be old but I can still throw a punch.”

Anne smiled, but only just. “Is grandma better yet?”

Beca frowned. “No, honey. I’m sorry.”

Anne had been the apple of Chloe’s eye right up until the moment she started to forget her.

Blake and her husband David had made the decision early on that the kids shouldn’t visit Chloe. It would be too hard for them to see their grandma and have her not recognise them.

“Is she going to get better soon?”

Beca let out a small sigh. “I don’t know,” she said.

Anne’s face fell, and Beca’s heart broke.

She wished she didn’t have to leave these kids behind.

“Listen, your grandma loves you very much. And so do I. And we always will, no matter what.”

Davey started to fuss on Beca’s knee, and she turned her attention back to him.

“If I wrote grandma a letter, would you give it to her?” Anne asked. “I don’t want her to think I’ve forgotten her.”

Tears filled Beca’s eyes, and she smiled. “Of course. But you should give it to your Mom or aunt Riley. They’ll see her before I do.”

Anne nodded, and went off to her room.

The rest of the night continued the same way every Thursday night dinner did.

Blake complained that Beca ate too little and that her husband ate too much.

The twins would devour anything left too close to them, and Anne would pick out any bit of vegetable she found, no matter how small it had been cut up.

Then Beca would attempt to help with the dishes until she was told to cut it out, and Riley would drive her home.

Before she left that night, she hugged and kissed each of her grandkids, and told them all she loved them beyond comprehension.

She kissed Blake’s cheeks - standing on her tiptoes to do so - and briefly cupped her face in her hands. She told her she loved her too.

She patted David on the arm.

“You’re a good man,” she said. “You’ll take care of them.”

“Jeez, Mom, what’s got you so morbid?”

“Just the joys of ageing,” Beca said.

She didn’t know why she was feeling so sentimental that night, but she put it down to the emotion of the day.

In the car, Beca was quiet again.

“Something’s up with you,” Riley said.

“Today was tough,” Beca said, her head on the window. She turned to look at her daughter, and she seemed to transform in front of her eyes and back again. “Has anyone ever told you how much you look like your mom?”

“You, every day since I was born,” Riley said, laughing as she ran a hand through her short, ginger hair.

“This new girlfriend of yours,” Beca said, “is she nice?”

“What? Yes, Mom, of course.”

“She treats you well? She’s kind? She doesn’t blow up at wait staff or lose her temper in traffic?”

“She’s great,” Riley said. “Look, you can meet her soon, okay? She’s just a bit nervous around parents. She… she didn’t get on great with her own. They weren’t cool when she came out.”

Beca let out a sigh. “Poor girl. You’d think my generation would have grown out of that. Apparently not. As long as she makes you happy, and treats you well, then that’s all that matters.”

Riley laughed. “What, are you trying to make sure I’m married off before you kick it?”

Beca laughed too. “No. I just want you to be happy, my girl.”

“I am,” Riley said. “And not because I’m in a relationship, but because I just… am.”

Beca smiled. “Good. I’ve… I’ve had a very good life, Ri. And I don’t think I realised how good it was, how lucky I was, until your Mom got sick. I wish I could go back and just… enjoy it. Savour it. Those moments I spent with your mom where we would just… talk. And be with each other. I wish I could tell myself to appreciate each and every one.” Beca wiped her eyes. “Promise me you’ll do that?”

“Mom, you sound like you’re giving me some goodbye speech.”

Beca smiled and shook her head. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” Riley said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m sure,” Beca said.

They pulled up outside Beca’s home.

“You want me to walk you in?”

“I’m not that old yet. I love you. You know that, right?”

“Of course I do. I love you too, Mom.”

Beca smiled at her daughter, and leant across the car to kiss her cheek.

“See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Beca said. “I need to pop into town and pick up a prescription.”

“I’ll take you.”

Beca smiled. “You’re a good girl. See you tomorrow.”

Riley waved and watched as her Mom walked into her house and shut the door behind her. She drove to her girlfriend’s, her heart heavy with sadness for her parents.

Maybe tonight she should tell Sarah that she loved her.

It was true, she had always just been too scared to say it.

She wasn’t sure what she was afraid of anymore.

Beca’s house was as quiet as it always was these days.

She made a cup of chamomile tea, and popped open the Thursday PM slot on her pill caddy. She took the handful of pills and swallowed them with a mouthful of tea.

Then she settled herself in her favourite armchair, and turned on some music.

She was tired.

Really tired.

It had been such a long day.

She felt a tightness in her chest, but it wasn’t any worse than usual so she thought nothing of it.

The song changed and the opening notes of Titanium played out.

This was considered an oldie now.

Beca smiled, and closed her eyes as she remembered the first time she sang that song with her wife.

God, what a life they’d had.

She didn’t open her eyes again.

[viperbarnes]

The Tie That Binds – [Two of Eight]

[B. Barnes, Soulmate AU]

Summary: HYDRA took everything from you, your life, your future, they even burned off your soulmark to make sure nobody would go looking for you. Now the man they forced you to fix reappears in your life, to make amends and to be ‘of service’.

You know that they made him do all those things, that James ‘Bucky’ Barnes is not The Winter Soldier, that he’s innocent. You don’t blame him.

But that doesn’t make seeing him again any easier.

Warnings: Panic attacks, language, talk and depiction of home invasion and abduction, canon level violence, HYDRA levels of torture, angst, fluff, slow-ish burn, friends to lovers.

Note: This is entirely un-beta'd so all mistakes are my own. Thank you for reading!

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The room is cold enough that you can see your breath in the air. Around you, the low hum of activity signals the debrief after a mission well-done, various personnel seeing to their jobs as you do yours.

The Winter Soldier sits as still as a statue in the chair set out for him, already waiting when you’d arrived. You’d been in the middle of some of the best sleep you’d had in weeks when your cell door had flung open, and you’d been unceremoniously dragged from your bed. Even though they blindfolded you every time, by now you knew the way to the debrief room by heart.

You aren’t sure how long they’ve had you, time passes strangely when you only ever saw the inside of a cell. You’d attempted to keep track at first, but eventually you’d lost count of how many days had passed, or if they had at all… for all you know, you’d been counting nights, anyway.

It must have been years at this point.

You work quietly on the Soldier’s arm, the incredible piece of machinery and engineering the only bright spot in your confined life, but even that had worn thin some time ago. You were never permitted to really look at it, just fix any faults or problems that it had. And it certainly had its faults. After you’d first been taken, and you’d realised there was no way you were ever leaving here alive, you’d tried to make do, to make the best of your situation.

After every mission, the Soldier would need repairs made to the artificial limb which, while an astounding piece of biomechanical engineering, seemed to be oddly fragile. You had kept yourself busy, thinking up ways to improve elements of the arm, so that it wouldn't need so many repairs, but when you had approached someone vaguely in charge about it, you’d been told to keep your mouth shut.

Interestingly, a few of your proposed improvements seemed to present the next time you’d worked on him, though, none were executed in ways that made them truly useful.

You keep your head down as you work, eager to finish as soon as possible. You didn’t often pay much mind to the goings-on around you when you were called to service, but the heated conversation happening several meters away from where you sat beside the Soldier put you on edge.

A man in a suit and a man in nondescript military fatigues seemed to be having a barely civil discussion, moving in and out of English, and what you think may be Russian. The man in the military fatigues was one you’d seen plenty of times before. He never spoke to you directly, but the soldiers and guards of the facility responded to him like the lash of a whip. You’d heard him referred to as Karpov, and you can only assume he was in command of this facility.

The man in the suit however, you’d only seen a few times, and only ever in the debrief room when the Soldier had returned from a mission. He was American, his accent made that much clear, but further than that you didn’t know.

You’re still leant over the metal limb, several of its outer panels peeled open and removed so that you may access the mechanics inside, when the heated conversation gets nearer. You flinch at the movement out of the corner of your vision, causing your tweezers to tap into a wire that they really shouldn’t. The result is a small spark, and a slight shock for your ‘patient’, and though he doesn’t move an inch, when you hiss at your own mistake, and swivel your eyes up worriedly, you find he’s dipped his chin enough to watch you out of the corner of his eye.

You can’t tell if he’s glaring or not, his face always sullen and morose, but briefly you feel the urge to apologise.

You don’t however, fearing a reprimand from either of the arguing men who still near.

“You hide behind that book, Karpov.” The American man shakes his head.

“Without me and my book, you are nothing.” Karpov all but spits back. You feel your body stiffen as they begin to circle around the Soldier, and you by extension.

“Is that right?” The American man taunts, stopping on the other side of the chair to you and planting his feet. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“Солдат, убей ее.” He commands in perfect Russian.

Before you can even register what is happening, there is a hand around your throat, forcing you back and up, until your feet have left the ground. A crashing sound joins the sudden chaos, your small workbench of tools upended and scattered over the concrete floor, all other personnel in the room backing themselves against walls or desks as they watch on in shock and surprise.

You can only gasp as your airway is constricted, and you’re left to claw pathetically at the hand that has raised you from the ground. Fear and adrenaline fuel your futile fight, and you look desperately to Karpov, who watches on in thinly veiled horror.

Your eyes feel ready to pop from their sockets, your ears filled with nothing but the sound of your own blood when you’re suddenly released, dropping to the ground like a sack of bricks.

You gasp for air, the cold burning your throat and lungs as you drink it down. You scurry back out of pure instinct, spluttering and terrified, sending your fallen tools even further in every direction.

The American turns to his companion, a smug expression smeared across his features. You can’t hear what he says, your senses still too scrambled to pick it up properly, but he gestures to you, leaving Karpov with some final words before he turns on his heel and leaves.

You’re still shaking, gasping for air in terror when Karpov finally turns back to you.

He orders you to finish your work, and then he leaves.

You wake with a soft gasp.

Swallowing thickly, you force your eyes shut again as you take in several deep breaths, calming yourself as best you can. Unable to help yourself, you lift a hand to delicately touch your throat, where the bruises from your dream feel all too real for several seconds, before they fade into memory.

You could have died then, you’re sure of it. All your suffering, all the effort HYDRA went into seeking you out, it would have amounted to nothing. And for what? A petty power play?

It makes you feel small, which makes you angry.

You know they were an evil Nazi organisation and all, but they’d upended your entire life, completely ruined any semblance of normalcy you could ever hope to have again, and they hadn’t even had the decency to act as if you weren’t replaceable.

For all you did know about HYDRA and it’s going ons, there was so much you didn’t know. After you’d been freed, you hadn’t gone out of your way to seek out information, everything you knew was everything you’d found out about during your court hearings.

When Captain Rogers had brought down SHIELD and HYDRA, there had been a dozen raids on known facilities, the one you’d been at at the time being one of them. But bureaucracy would be bureaucracy and they’d had to officially investigate and clear your name before you were truly free to go.

There wasn’t much question about your innocence though, HYDRA hadn’t really bothered to code any of their notes or files on you or your capture.

By the time they’d let you go, you were more than willing to disappear and never hear about HYDRA or SHIELD or anything else to do with it ever again.

You’d managed it for almost seven years, too, until The Winter Soldie– Bucky– had shown up.

You chew on your lip and glare up at your ceiling, and then, with a hefty sigh, you reach for your phone on the nightstand, and the slip of paper tucked beneath it.

---

Once more, you marvel that the man before you is the same as the one who occasionally haunted your dreams.

It was rather incredible what simple expression could do to change a face.

Bucky Barnes sits in the corner of the coffeeshop looking both innocuous and extremely out of place as he fiddles with the gloves he still wears. His distraction must be true, because he only notices you once you’re already halfway to the booth, his face lighting up with recognition. For a moment he looks as though he might stand up to greet you, but you give him no time to do so, quickly sliding yourself in across from him with a thin smile.

“Thank you for meeting me.” You greet, settling yourself into the seat. Bucky waves you off with a shake of his head and seems to adjust himself in his place.

“Of course… is something wrong…?”

It’s strange to you, that you can pick out nervousness in his voice, that he would let himself be so readable, but then you wonder if he even realises. You give him another thin smile and shake your head, but reach for the menu.

“No. Nothing is wrong. Have you ordered?”

After two coffees are delivered to your table, yours a simple latte, and his a caramel mocha with marshmallows that you have to raise your brow at, you settle in once more and focus on why you’d asked him to come.

“You said… when you approached me, you said you were trying to make amends…?” You say, but it comes out more like a question than you intend. Bucky’s brows knit together and he nods.

“To be of service.” He confirms. A part of you bristles at that, a part that thinks he’s done quite enough of serving others for one lifetime, but you brush the thought aside.

“I– I thought of something that maybe you could help me with…” You aren’t expecting his face to light up the way it does, or for him to lean forward almost unwittingly. Momentarily you’re reminded of a very good dog.

“I don’t know much about HYDRA. Or why they did what they did… but I want to know.” You find yourself unable to meet his eye fully as you say this, instead focusing on gently turning your coffee cup around in place on its saucer.

“If you have questions, I’ll answer everything I know.” Bucky tells you a moment later. Something in his voice makes you feel as though he understood, and you wonder if he’d felt the same at some point. You look up at him briefly, grateful for the lack of judgement.

“Do you remember everything that you did? Were you aware of what was happening, or does it just feel sort of dream-like now?” You can’t help but blurt out seconds later, as if the opportunity might be gone in a few few minutes. Bucky blinks, and you can see him restraining the small quirk of his lips as he takes a sip from his cup and places it back down again.

“It’s a little bit of both. I remember everything, but it does feel ‘dream-like’, in retrospect.” He tells you.

“Who was Karpov?” Your next question makes him pause, a brief, almost undetectable flash of disgust and anger crossing his features before he clears his throat and speaks again.

“A Soviet, then Russian intelligence officer… He ran the program for a time…” Bucky frowns as he speaks. You nod, having thought as much.

“He’s dead, now.” He adds after a moment, and you glance up at him questioningly.

“Wasn’t me.”

You proceed to poke and prod at his brain for the next hour, and to his credit, he answers every single one of your questions as best he can. Even subjects that you think he may not normally broach, or things that seem like they might be classified, he tells you honestly.

You’ve both gone through two coffees when you’re finally coming to the end of your questioning, your mind filled up with more information than you could possibly hope to remember at length, but that wasn’t the point.

The odd ease you’d felt the last time, when he’d shadowed you around the grocery store, is gone. You no longer felt as though he posed some kind of threat, which was ridiculous, because the sheer size of him should have instilled that in you. The fact that you had so many traumatic memories tied to him should have sealed the deal, but somehow, it’s like none of that mattered.

That in itself gives off its own unease.

You feel like you’re in a constant limbo.

A comfortable silence had settled between you since your last question (and answer), and you watch Bucky finish off his drink. He’d removed his gloves halfway through your talk, and you’d done your best to steer your eyes away from the shiny black and gold of his new metal limb. Now though, you find your curiosity piqued at the sight of a strange black mark on the underside of his wrist, only visible when his sleeve pulls back just so.

You’d never noticed it before, though why would you have? You were always too focused on his metal limb. It makes you wonder though, which leads you to staring at your own hand, at the discreet lumpy white scar on the back of your palm.

“Do you know why they removed my soulmark?” The question comes quieter than all the others, and you don’t look at him as you ask it, though you see from the corner of your eye that he stops and stares down at your hand too.

He doesn’t reply at first, and you almost think he may not have heard you. When you do look up at him, he seems to jump, blinking rapidly and tearing his gaze from your hand.

“My guess is they didn’t want any loose ends…” He says slowly, but frowns.

“They didn’t remove yours?” You nod to his wrist, which he looks down at, clearly resisting the urge to cover it up again.

“They tried… but the serum… I guess it prevented them from doing any last damage to it.” Bucky tells you, finally meeting your eye again. He looked pained, but you don’t understand why. It wasn’t as though he really did lose his mark. Not like you.

For a brief few moments a burning jealousy overcomes you.

It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t fair that he should keep his and you should lose yours! You would forever be left wondering, no matter how much you healed from your ordeal, you would forever be left with the scars of it, unable to truly move past it.

You stare down at your hand again and feel the anger fuel you.

“They took everything from me. My life, my career… even love,” You wave your hand briefly before scoffing and shoving it into your lap. You didn’t want to look at it anymore. You didn’t want anybody to look at it anymore. Bucky sits quietly, face drawn into an intense scowl.

“I should hate you. I want to, believe me…” You purse your lips and shake your head, blinking away any tears that spring to your eyes. Now was not the time.

“But I can’t, ‘cause even though what they did to you was worse… You’re the only other person who understands. And I don’t have anybody else.” You shake your head again and feel the tension leave your body with your words.

It’s as if saying them out loud releases the anxiety in your bones. You feel lighter all of a sudden, the heaviness that you’d felt since gaining your freedom, the tiredness, it seems to diminish somewhat.

When you can finally bring yourself to meet his eye again, Bucky is watching you with something like sympathy, though, it feels softer than that.

“I was alone, and I thought I was fine with that.” You ball your hands into fists and let out a deep breath.

“And then you showed up.”

Bucky’s lips quirk, but this time he doesn’t try to hide it.

“Does that mean you’re no longer alone, or that you’re no longer fine with it?” He asks, and you can’t help but chortle.

“I don’t know yet.”

---

The burning question Bucky had had since he last saw you, the one he’d not known how to answer, resolves itself in the worst way possible.

He stares at the lumpy white scar on the back of your hand and feels his blood run cold. He’d been scared that you’d realised the truth, or that he’d have to tell you sooner or later, but this is far, far, worse than that.

They’d removed your soulmark.

Bucky knows they’d tried with him, remembers the searing pain, but it had never worked. With you however…

His chest aches just thinking about how you must feel. It was clear by the look on your face how much it affected you, and regardless of how you would have reacted had your soulmark been untouched, to find out he was your soulmate, Bucky wishes this were the one thing he could go back and change.

It leaves a hole deep in his chest.

But something else nags at his mind, long after he’s parted ways with you. You had no idea who you were to one another. It feels like a cruel joke played by the universe. Bucky clearly still made you uneasy, and even if you felt as though you could understand one another, that was very different to wanting to be soulmates.

No.

Bucky decides that you deserved more than a cruel joke. After everything you’d been through, you deserved true happiness.

And Bucky Barnes would rather see his soulmate happy without him, than miserable because of him.

If you like and enjoy, a comment or a reblog would be greatly appreciated!

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Serotonin - Sero x F!Reader

Serotonin is thought to regulate mood, anxiety, and happiness in our bodies.

italicized text is meant to be spanish, however, I don’t speak spanish, and I didn’t want to try to google translate and it be wrong. Latin sero is KING though.

Nobody ever wants to be a cliche, right? But here you were being one. You became roommates with Hanta Sero a little over a year ago, and you slowly fell in love with him, irrevocably in love with him, but you were determined to suffer through it because you were sure that he would never feel the same. He was a HERO for crying out loud, a damn good one. He could have anyone he wanted, with his neat quirk that may or may not bring about not so safe thoughts, at times, and his spanish accent that would make any man or woman drop their pants, especially when he was mad, but it wasn’t just that. He was caring, always trying to save the day and people. He would give someone the shirt off his back if they needed it, it’s just who he was. He was loving, especially towards his friends and family, if the pictures hung all over the two bedroom apartment that you guys shared were any indication, even if one of those friends was a blonde asshole who was the epitome of anger in human form. He was everything you wanted, and all the things you never thought you needed all wrapped up in one person. It wasn’t really a problem, living with him while being in love with him. He didn’t date because he was too busy with hero work, so you didn’t have to see him with other women, or even think about him possibly being with someone else, until today. 

Today, you woke up like any other day. You ate the same breakfast. You did the same morning routine, except when you walked out of your room, you walked into sero arguing with someone over the phone, in spanish. You could tell it was an argument because of the language his body was using.

 “I know his ideas are normally bad, but I can not think of any other viable option, Kirishima. I need these feelings to go away, look at her and look at me, she 's perfect and she deserves someone just as perfect.” 

He angrily hung up the phone and drug his fingers through his hair in frustration, and that’s when you decided to pipe up to let him know that you were in the room with him. 

“Hanta, are you okay?” You said making him jump in surprise, and he turned to you, forcing a smile on his face, but you could tell it was forced. 

“Everything’s fine. I was just talking with Kaminari and Kirishima, and they said something stupid that set me on edge, that’s all. Anyways, Goodmorning Sweetheart.” You felt your body flush at the usual pet name that he gave you, it always made your heart flutter. You smiled brightly at him. 

“Goodmorning Cellophane.” You teased at his hero name. He rolled his eyes and scanned the room, searching for something. You could tell he found it when his eyes lit up like a christmas tree. He sighed in relief, picking up the hero belt that he had finally found after searching for it the whole time while he was on the phone, but it was just his luck for it to be hiding in plain sight. 

“I’ll be out later tonight than usual, so we won’t be able to watch movies like we usually do on friday nights. Sorry Sweetheart.” He said with his back turned to you. Your heart dropped to your feet. You always looked forward to the movie nights that became a ritual for you and him. If you didn’t know better, you’d consider them dates. 

“Oh? Work Event?” You asked with curiosity, wondering what could drag him away from movie night, knowing it had to be something related to work. 

“No, not this time. Kaminari has set me up on a date with a girl he knows, and I told him I’d go. Give dating a shot, y’know, get back out there in the field.” He rambled out, but you weren’t paying any attention. As soon as the word “date” left his mouth, your heart crumbled after each word thereafter. You forced a smile onto your face while your heart broke into a thousand pieces while screaming at you to stop him, tell him how you feel, but you let it break and silenced its screams, letting your brain convince you that it was not a good idea. Letting him know you had feelings for him could mess everything up, and you loved hanta, loved living with him, loved being his friend. You didn’t want to ruin that.

“That’s great, Hanta. I am so happy for you.” You were not happy. You knew you should be. If this was what he wanted, you should be happy for him, but you weren’t. You wanted him to want you, wanted him to love you.

“Yeah. I think it might be a good thing. Everyone needs someone to love them and be loved in return, right?” Yes. Yes they did. 

“Right!” You said with enthusiasm that you could only hope sounded genuine. He smiled at you one last time before he walked out the door, headed to work as a hero.

Once you knew he was gone, you sighed, but it came out shaky and before you knew it, you were crying, sobbing really. You felt this sharp pain through your heart as if something was squeezing and would not let go. You knew in that moment, you were experiencing real heartbreak, and the only thing to do when you’re heart broken? Call your best friend. 

It rang twice before she picked up, and if you weren’t so upset, you’d smile because you knew you could always count on the ever reliable Mina Ashido.

“Yo Bestie.” She said as she answered, her typical nonchalant greeting for answering your calls. You opened your mouth to say something to her, but all that came out was a sob. 

“I’ll be there in ten.” She said without you having to say anything, hanging up the call quickly to get to you. You let your phone fall out of your hand, clattering to the floor. How could everything go to hell so fast? You were living peacefully with the man you were secretly in love with, with no problems in sight, now he was going on a date, and it felt like the end of the world. 

She made it in eight. She came into your apartment with you on the couch sobbing, hardly able to catch your breath. 

“What Happened, Y/N?” She asked, quietly, needing to know what the problem was, so she could hopefully fix it, hating to see her best friend in this condition.

“H-h-he’s g-g-going on a-a-a da-a-a-te.” You stuttered out between your sobs. You didn’t say a name, but you didn’t have too. The thing was that your feelings towards Sero was evident to everyone but him, and apparently Kaminari who kept trying to set him up with girls, and his feelings for you were evident to everyone but you. 

“He told you that?” She said to you, all you could do was nod. 

“And you’re letting him?” She asked, making you look at her. What did she mean letting him? You didn’t have a choice in the matter of whether or not he goes out on a date. You weren’t his girlfriend, just someone that was hopelessly, desperately in love with him, who happened to be his roommate. It was like she could read your mind, and maybe she could, you had been friends since you were kids, friends throughout highschool, even though you weren’t at UA or in a hero course. She’s the reason that you were able to score this roommate when you were desperate to get out of your family home. She’s the reason you were able to meet Hanta at all. 

“N/N, you have two options here, and I am going to tell you what they are, honestly, with no sugar-coating bullshit. You can let him go out on this date, ignore your feelings forever, be insanely upset as you watch him maybe fall in love with this nameless, faceless girl, or maybe he won’t, but then there will be another one after her, and another, until he finds “the one,” and you can wallow in all the “what if?” scenarios you can come up with about your feelings towards him and how it might’ve played out if you had just said something, or you can open your eyes, and see that you are “the one” for him, and say something to him. Tell him how you feel. Then nothing has to change. He will either let you down gently because he’s not an asshole like our neighborhood #1 hero that is also an angry pomeranian, he’s SERO for crying out loud. He’s either gonna let you down gently, or he’s gonna return your feelings, but it’s a chance that you’re gonna have to take because I know you. You’ll regret it, in the long run, if you never tell him.” She took a deep breath after that monologue. Your tears continuously dried up as the words poured out of her mouth, and you felt silly. Why were you so scared to begin with? Was it rejection? She was right. Sero wouldn’t be harsh if he didn’t return your feelings. Was it the fear of change? What would really change if you confessed? You’d still be friends, if he didn’t feel the same, and you’d still be roommates, even if it’d be awkward for awhile. 

That’s when you decided. You were going to tell him how you felt. You were going to take a leap of faith and just go for it. Mina was all about living carefree and with no regrets, and she was right, when you thought about it. You would definitely regret not telling him.

You nodded at her and gave her a small smile.

“I’ll do it.” 

She sat down beside you.

“What’s the plan then?” She asked with a mischievous smirk on her face, and seeing that, you couldn’t help but match it with one of your own. Sero was certainly the love of your life, but Mina was undoubtedly your soulmate, two halves of the same hole.

“So here’s the plan…” You told her what your plan was, and she nodded along with you, agreeing with your plan, piping up when she thought something needed tweaking, and you two had a solid, doable plan almost an hour later. She left you to your own devices because she was on hero duty tonight, and she needed some semblance of rest to be able to protect the citizens at full potential.

You got dressed for the occasion and watched the clock until you knew he was almost due to clock out, and you called him.

Ring. Ring.

“Princesa. Are you okay? You never call me when I’m at work unless something is wrong.” He rushed out, answering after only two rings. Your heart soared when he called you a princess in spanish, and then it twisted in horror thinking that if you didn’t do this, that he’d call someone else that, or at the least, cease calling you that because what girl wants their boyfriend calling another girl “princess?” 

“... I’m actually not okay, Hanta. I know you have a date, but can you come home before you go? I really need you.” You inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to keep your breathing even from all the nerves in your body standing on edge.

“... sure, princesa. I can come home before then. I’ll be there in 20. I just have to turn in paperwork and stuff. Will you be okay till then?” You nodded even though he couldn’t see you and breathed out a “yes” to give him confirmation that you’d be okay for twenty more minutes.

You hung up with him and stood up, started pacing back and forth while looking at the clock. You were actually gonna do this. This was a pivotal moment. After this, there was no going back, only forward. 

Pacing back and forth, time seemed to only drag on making those twenty minutes feel like an hour, until you heard hanta’s keys jingle in the slot, unlocking the door. 

“N/N? Where are you?” He said as he opened the door, not noticing you in the small living room. You looked at him, and your heart clenched, in the best way. He was so beautiful. He looked tired from a day of hero work. His hair was still wet from taking a shower at the hero office, like he always did, hating coming into the apartment smelly and sweaty. 

“I’m right here, Hanta.” You said making him snap his gaze to you.  He looked you up and down, probably checking to see if you were physically okay, and when he noticed that nothing was physically wrong with you, he gave you a curious look.

“You’re not hurt?” 

“I am. It’s just not a wound you can see.” you replied to him, trying to strain a smile, but not quite making it work. 

“I don’t -” He started but you shook your head.

“Do you know her name?” You asked, words tumbling out of your mouth without you really being able to think about them.

“Who?” Sero said, clearly not realizing you were talking about the girl he was supposed to go out with tonight.

“Do you know what she looks like? Is she prettier than me?” You asked, making his look grow even more confused.

“I -” He went to say something, but you continued on with your tirade, not being able to stop the words coming out of your mouth now.

“I sat here today, and I just thought, how has he not noticed? Has he, and just chose to ignore it, but you’re not that kind of person, you wouldn’t blatantly ignore someones’ feelings. You’re a hero, acknowledging people and their feelings is a part of that job, but then you told me you were going on a date today, and my world stopped. It literally stopped because I was okay with it being unnoticed as long as nothing changed, but you dating changes everything hanta because I can’t just stand by and watch the man that I am hopelessly in love with, who just so happens to be my roommate, go on a date with someone that’s not me. Not without telling him how I feel. I don’t want to live the rest of my life with unanswered questions and thoughts about what could happen.” You sighed. Taking a breath, looking at him as you did, seeing him with wide eyes and an open mouth. He opened and closed his mouth as if to say something, but you could tell he wasn’t sure what to say. 

“I love you, Hanta Sero. I love the way you care about people in your life and people you don’t even know. I love the way you try to make sure I am okay when you get home, even though you’re the one that is out there saving lives every single day. I love the way your eyes crinkle and you have a little dimple when you smile, and I mean really smile. I love the sound of your laugh. I love the way you smell when we cuddle on the couch while watching movies because I get cold so easy. I love the way you play with my hair when you think I’ve fallen asleep during the movie, when the truth is that I just pretend because I don’t want you to stop. I love how smart you are and how you continue to surpass everyone’s beliefs about you because you’re so great and no one ever sees that, always doubting you. I see that though. I see you, Hanta, and I love you just the way that you are.” You were so into your thoughts and feelings that you weren’t even aware of the huge smile that had made its way onto his face. You just kept talking.

“I know I’m not the greatest. I get upset easily, and I’m not the smartest. I’m not athletic, and I’m a decent cook, but nothing noteworthy, and there are probably so many people that would be better for you, who could love you better, take better care of you while you’re out there saving the world, but instead of dating someone that you don’t even know, that KAMINARI picked out, is it so far fetched that you never even consider dating me, when I was right here, all along? Was I not even a thought? No matter. I’m here. I’m pouring out my feelings, despite my intense fear of you rejecting me, and I’m asking you, pleading with you to pick me. Pick me, hanta. Choose me. LOVE ME. If you just do that, if you just choose me, I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you that you made the right decision, that I’m worthy of your love. That I -” You were cut off by the feel of lips slamming onto yours, words dying in your throat as the band that was stretching so tight, finally snapped. You had kissed guys before, but it had never felt like this, no one’s lips had ever felt like they were made just for yours, but his did. They fit together with yours perfectly, in sync, as the kiss went on and on, and you never wanted it to end, but it did. He slowly pulled his lips away and took a breath.

“Please. Stop talking. I wouldn’t want to choose anyone else. How have we both been hopelessly in love with the other and never noticed each other’s feelings?” He breathed out. His words made your stomach flutter with butterflies and instead of tears or sobbing, laughter, unadulterated laughter, flew out of your mouth, making him laugh along with you.

“I guess we’re both blind when it comes to feelings, huh?” You asked, smirking, and he nodded as he leaned in to kiss you again, and everything melted away, your brain flooding with serotonin.

[fanfiction-funtime]

IM SORRY IVE BEEN SLACKING ON HYPING YOU UP

Anyway I’m reading through the Things ™ and wow

Can I request something? There’s an idea I’ve been pondering for a bit. You know already who I’ll ask for, I’m guessing.

What if the reader fell for Xiao in Genshin, in a state where they constantly daydream about him. Rather than working on scenarios and scenes, it happens in real time.

Meanwhile, in another universe, Xiao in a modern setting has fallen for a Genshin character- the reader. He daydreams about them in the same manner.

To the reader, their Xiao is a guardian yaksha, Golden adeptus, and doombane itself.

To Xiao, his (y/n) is something just as exalted. I tend to use a seelie, since they’re an immortal race of ancient and now weak gods.

What they both don’t know is that they’re actually meeting in those daydreams. It’s not just imagination and the longing for company, but an actual relationship with another person.

Bonus points if it’s some sort of soulmate au and they physically can’t find each other and eventually realize it.

I’ve never told anyone about this before, and I’m excited to see what you do with it! I might work with it one day, just not yet.

(Hoo boy, this will be tough, but I'm sure I can do it! Xiao might be a bit ooc as I'm getting his personality from wiki and fanon, as well as modern au [hopefully] gives him less trauma and a slightly different personality.)

(Also, I can't do sad endings. So a bit of deus ex OC at the 3rd part)

---------------------------

Your game

---------------------------

Your pov: the dream eater of your dreams

---------------------------

You are (y/n)(l/n), and you are in the saddest love story this side of the lake.

Ever since you saw him in that first quest you were in love!

You were just a teen though, so it wasn't real right? After all, your red string wasn't connected to the screen.

Well, your string isn't connected to anything...

Y-your just a late bloomer though right?

(Ten years later)

Your now in your twenties and you still love Xiao!

He permeates your thoughts like how lovers do, you feel an inexplicable hurt in your chest similar to what many describe feeling when they see their soulmate prior to their string appearing, not to mention whenever you aren't busy you feel like you're...slipping...in...in and...

[Daydream]

It was happening again.

It was like a daydream but more...real.

Like a lucid dream.

You saw your string, just like so many other times, and you followed it.

You ran and ran, turquoise clouds parting and making paths for you to find him.

Him..

You ran and ran, glad that atleast in some way your delusions can give you some semblance of true love.

You saw the..wait..that's not the inn.

Well it is the inn, but more modern. And there was a school next to it, and a small village not far away.

Another of thing was that you were in some kind of yellow armor, it reminded you of those baby geovisnaps from genshin impact(that are absolutely BULL-)

You went into the elevator, which seemed more ancient than usual.

And when you reached the balcony, you saw him. But he was different.

Instead of the Yaksha you usually saw, you were greeted by an equally shocked man in a martial arts gi. But it was him.

But different.

You reached out, and he did the same.

And you touched

---------------------------

Xiao's pov: the midsummer knight of his dreams

---------------------------

(Clarifying: in this version Liyue is based on European mythology and aesthetic while Mondstadt is based on Chinese. So you are a fae hunting knight rather than a demon hunting yaksha)

Xiao had always been reserved, but what happened to him as a kid drew him further into his shell.

Abusive parents, accidentally giving his sister trauma induced amnesia, he felt the weight of his actions like atlas feels the world on his shoulders.

Luckily, two people took him and his sister QiQi in: QiQi's doctor Baizhu, and Xiao's therapist(and Baizhu's husband) Morax.

It was difficult to come out, even after Xiao stopped feeling so at fault. So he mostly stayed in his room and played video games.

That is until he met you.

Well met is the wrong word here.

He saw your character in his world's version of genshin impact: tribunal eruption

The way you used your weapon, the way your armor shined in the night as you rode to his wanderer. The smile you gave as he handed you (favourite food).

But most of all, the way you used fighting styles from so many martial arts and hand to hand combat techniques.

From irish kickboxing to karate, from assassination arts in ancient history of japan to systema.

It awoken two things in him: first was his want to learn martial arts and make his own.

The second was his love for you.

But don't worry, your physical attributes only drew him in. Your personality made him stay.

Years went on, he became a martial arts instructor for his own style, and moved into an apartment near a small village.

He started teaching at a school nearby, he even gets a discount on rent for giving free lessons to the owner's sons, Ivan and Viktor.

He's also convinced those two have a crush on him but it's pointless.

After all, he was a dream eater, a common group of people who have a strange ability to find their soulmate.

Specifically, the ability to have "lucid daydreams" where they meet their soulmate.

But he must be defective. After all his soulmate kept appearing as...well you. As a knight that would meet him on the balcony every night.

He assumed maybe it was your voice actor or designer, but neither of them have had the lucid daydreams.

He began thinking he'd never find his soulmate

Until one daydream...

He was on the balcony again, like a prince awaiting his knight to rescue him.

But it was different.

The apartment complex he lived in now looked much smaller, as did the tree it was built around, and the building looked far more ancient in design yet so much younger in age.

And the village and school nearby aren't there anymore.

Oddest change of all is that his gi he was wearing just a second ago is now similar to the outfit warn by the mondstadt demon slayer Corps

And when you arrived at the balcony, he noticed a red string, one that connected your heart to his. But you weren't wearing your armor, you were wearing casual, modern clothes.

He knew it was stupid, after all you can't touch your soulmate in the daydreams. But he felt compelled to....to reach out and..

You touched him.

---------------------------

nothing never comes between you, and nobody helps you get together

---------------------------

(3rd person pov)

He really did find it annoying, how often mortals would find themselves in the wrong dimension, especially when it's because the writer wants drama. And now he's written in to solve the problem.

Ah well, it's his job.

(2nd person pov)

You didn't know how to feel. You were touching Xiao...and you weren't waking up. Was this...real?

"You... you're real...different but....still the person I love...." Xiao seemed to be equally in a trance at the prospect

"yeah...so are you..."

The armor you wore melted away, and you cant see it but Xiao's fictional clothes melted from him as well. You were both equally real, in your own reality.

But you knew it couldn't last.

"When the daydream ends, I wont be able to see you anymore," Xiao said with a sea of tears in his eyes, "We've actually met now...and now...now the dreams will end."

You lean into him, "then let's make this dream the best one we've ever had."

Your about to kiss when-

"Terribly sorry about this!" A childlike voice called, "you know, interrupting your moment and all that. See for the sake of narrative, you both were put in separate universes. And it's my job to give you a happy ending."

When you both looked, you saw a child made of bone climbing into reality from some kind of hole.

"Now just wait a moment aaannnd-"

The turquoise clouds cleared, and the world rippled into a conjoined reality between genshin impact and tribunal eruption.

"Welcome to your dream world, enjoy eternal love!" The child said as he crawled back into the hole and it closed.

When he was gone, you both observed the world around you: a beautiful mix of aesthetics surrounded you, and both your armor and his adeptus clothing were on you both.

You gazed into eachother's eyes.

He placed one hand on your cheek while another held your hand, "I'm not good with speaking..speaking my emotions..but I....maybe my actions can do that for me..."

You felt your red string radiate with the warmth of love, likewise Xiao felt his daydreams dissipate like a haze leaving his mind.

You grab his hand and place your free hand on his cheek, mirroring his love, as you always have.

"Xiao...your very existence tells me all I need to hear.."

You both leaned in, and kissed.

Two lovers, in a dream made reality,

A paradise for all eternity.

---------------------------

I feel it kinda fell apart with the deus ex, but I think I scraped it back together in the end!

I hope it's good enough for what you envisioned buddy, I tried my best!

(Also I think you deserve something just as good as what happens to the reader insert in this fic, story)

(Tagging: @golden-wingseos (this is the writing blog for someone you told to tag you), and @storytravelled (just to keep the idea of tagging in mind))

[oldbay-on-apples]

Dystopian Larry Fic Rec

Inspired by some of the lovely people and fic recers on here, I’ve decided to start making my own fic recs.  If you’d like, you can request recs in my inbox and I’ll see what I can do <3!

Please read the ratings and tags to these fics (because some of them are dark or have dark themes) and enjoy!

You Try To Be Everything (I Need) by lululawrence - @lululawrence​  (NR, 36k)

Wars, and rumours of wars, were nothing new for the world in the twenty-fourth century. The fighting had evolved over the years, and rarely did it involve traditional weapons. A group most widely known as the Southern Powers gained strength amongst portions of the western European continent and spread quickly. There was a fight the Southern Powers didn’t expect coming from the north of England, though. Resistance came in the form of an organised underground; a group comprised of people with the Touch that did the best they could to enforce a line that would not be crossed. Slowly, that line was moved from the Channel to boundaries further and further north. It seemed only a matter of time before the Southern Powers took over everywhere. Until that time, people did the best they could to live their lives in some semblance of normality. For Louis Tomlinson, that sense of normality was about to change when his best friend, Harry Styles, goes missing. Louis embarks on the journey of a lifetime where he uses his newly developed abilities to search for his friend, even when it takes him to places he never thought he would see while surmounting trials he never could have imagined. -

I loved the way the magic and technology in this fic intersected in such a unique way and the way the world was built was extraordinary!

red hands by reveries_passions - @dystopianharry​ (T, 132k)

I’ve never told anyone,” Harry murmurs, voice so soft no one else would be able to hear, if it wasn’t just the two of them. “But you’ve told someone,” Louis says firmly. “And that’s not gonna fucking happen around here. You don’t speak a word of it, or someone’s going to kill you, and we can’t let that happen.” * a dystopian au in which harry, an ex-soldier who’s escaped from his government run camp, accidentally stumbles across the biggest rebel movement in the country, and louis, one of the rebellion’s mysterious leaders who appears to hate him, seems to simultaneously have an obsession with keeping him alive. or: harry is wanted for treason, niall hasn’t changed in four years, liam is always smiling, and louis is angry. like, really angry.

- The plot of this is just *chef’s kiss* in so many ways!  I love the way the characters interact with each other and I’m weak for Niall and Harry’s friendship in this.

Love After the End of the World by writing_practice - @mercurial-madhouse​ (E 158k)

“Wait. Just so I’m clear in me fucking noggin,” Niall says. “An international worldwide takeover is well under way and the only thing standing between having hot showers and a second end of the world is us five fuckers?”    -----    Society shattered when all electricity suddenly cut off across the globe, plunging the world into darkness. Now, Prometheus Industries is the sole remaining supply of power, a saving grace to those who survived Lights Out. As fugitives in no-man’s land struggling to break into Prometheus HQ, death lurks around every corner for Louis and Zayn. Things get complicated when a routine recon falls apart and Louis collides with Harry and his mates Niall and Liam, survivors with their own agenda.    When staying alive is already a constant battle, the deadliest weakness is to be in love. For Harry and Louis, finding each other sits on top of the endless list of What Else Could Go Wrong.

-

This just came out in the most recent Big Bang (that’s still on going so you should definitely check that out) and this fic is so amazing!  I think it does a great job of just really immersing you in the world the characters exist in.  Love After the End of the World is also a Soulmate AU and I love the way those parts come together.  It also has an amazing prologue called PROMETHEUS RISING (M 5k) that I enjoyed immensely set in the same world!

at last, at last by suspendrs - @suspendrs​ (NR 41k) Locked

“Come with us,” Tommo says, stopping at the other end of the gymnasium, near the doors. “Don’t let them make you suffer any longer. Come with us, and be human.”

   Before Harry has even finished thinking it through, he’s on his feet, gaining the attention of every single person in the gymnasium. What has he got to lose, anyway?

   Or, Harry is born into a cult in a post-apocalyptic world, and Louis is the leader of the rebel group tasked with the mission of shutting them down. Together, they make a rather effective team.

-

This fic does a great job of making you feel like you’re experiencing with the characters, like I could practically smell what the characters were smelling!  The world it’s set in is so cool and the entire fic feels so well thought out and everything is so consistent!

my love will never leave you by we_are_the_same @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed​ (T 10k)

In a world where memories are used as currency, Louis will do anything it takes for Harry to get better.

-

I loved the idea behind this. Like the entire world is so brilliantly done! And it was all based on ONE word (because of the wordplay challenge).  Even though it’s set in a different world everything feels so grounded and realistic and I really really like that about it.

a prayer for which no words exist by Eliane (M 34k) Locked

"Louis is a few seconds away from blowing up a rather important section of the New York subway when he sees Harry for the first time."

-

In this fic the characters motivations are so clear (to the reader) and I love how it goes from Louis accidentally sort of, kind of, kidnapping Harry to them becoming friends then more.  I also love how no matter where they are the fic has a real sense of place. This is part 1 of landscapes of war.  The entire series is really good!

Who Painted the Moon Black by throughthedark (E 95k) Locked

   “People died,” Harry whispers so quietly Louis strains to hear. “People died, and I killed some of them. How does life just go on after something like that?”

   Louis shakes his head. “I don't know. It just does.”

   Hunger Games AU where Louis Tomlinson is district six's victor from the 69th Hunger Games and Harry Styles is district seven's victor from the 72nd Hunger Games.

-

This fic is a hunger games AU that both people who have and haven't read/watched the Hunger Games can enjoy. I like how it explores the world of the Hunger Games in a way that isn’t explored in the Hunger Games canon.  It’s really intense (like the E is for the darker themes and violence) and I enjoy it a lot.  There is a happy ending (as the author assures in the tags) and I really enjoy all the struggles that the characters go through.

Nobody Marks You by graceling_in_a_suit @graceling-in-a-suit​ (T 33k)

“The plan is: we’re gonna put on a play. Now, I see some doubtful faces–” Louis looked around and found zero doubtful faces. Liam looked intrigued, Zayn looked bored, and Harry looked scarily blank. “But this is what’s happening. We’re gonna do some fucking acting, we’re gonna perform our hearts out, and we’re not going to think about anything else. The past, the future; none of it. All we’re going to think about is... “ Niall trailed off, eyeing the bookshelf to his left. He closed his eyes and reached a hand out towards it, running his fingers over the covers before pulling a book out at random. “William Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing.”

AU: Five assholes stuck in a bunker put on a play.

-

This is one of my absolute favorite fics.  I just love the way the characters interact and they way the story is told.  It’s nonlinear so you jump around in time and it shows the way the character's relationships change throughout.  I’m a sucker for Much Ado About Nothing and though you don’t need to read it to fully appreciate the fic I think the use of the play throughout is genius. 

@1dfanfictionbookcovers​ has a really cool cover for the fic as well HERE

With a whimper by kitundercover  @kitundercover​​ (M 132k)

Dystopian AU. Louis has been alone for too long to remember how not to be, and Harry has too much to worry about to deal with a scrawny, wild, stranger.

---

The man grips his arm tightly. “You’re not going to say anything.” It’s not a question.

Louis shakes his head, his body twitching.

“Fine.” Large green eyes survey him before letting go. “It’s cold. Take this. Wear it.”

Louis can’t help another flinch as the man’s long scarf is wrapped around his tender neck, it’s still warm. He touches the soft material. “Thank you.”

The man bears his teeth. “Don’t thank me. Don’t ever thank me.”

-

The thing this fic does really does is showing emotional reactions.  Louis’ inner monologue is so well done and I really like the plot of the story.

these bountiful silences by tommoandbambi (T 123k)

they live in a world where they can only say four words per day. harry meets some people that don't want to live that way.

-

I really, really, really, like this plot and the story! The world that the characters exist in is so interesting and I just love the way in which it is a dystopia.

[after-avenging-hours]

Heart Skip [16]: Steve x Reader

Series Summary:  A soulmate AU where from the moment you are born, two partners share a heartbeat.  They race in times of joy, slow in times of sadness, and they skip at the same moment.

Word Count: 2236

Warnings: ANGST, couple quarrel, yelling, light swearing, heart ache

Heart Skip / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 /  Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 /  Part 13 / Part 14 / Part 15

Steve’s eyes blink open and it takes a second for his vision to clear up. His lips pull into a frown as he tries to figure out where he is, but the movement of his lips makes his face hurt. Just about everything hurts. It doesn’t take long for him to figure out that he’s in the hospital. He looks around, catching sight of Sam sitting next to him.

“On your left,” he speaks, his voice sounding gruff in his ears.

Sam glances up from his book, meeting his gaze and smirks. “Look who’s finally awake.”

Steve makes another sweep of his eyes around the room. “Where’s Y/N?” he asks.

The question sobers Sam a little. “She’s on the first floor. Getting treated for shock.” He sees the concern growing in Steve’s eyes. “Nat’s with her. She’ll be okay, but you nearly dying put some strain on her heart.”

“Shit,” Steve grimaces, hating that once again he’s causing you to have heart problems.

“Let me text Nat to let her know you’re awake. I’m sure they’ll be able to bring Y/N up here.” Sam closes his book and walks around Steve’s bed to grab his phone off the docking station.

A few minutes later, the door swings open and Nat walks in, wheeling you in a hospital wheelchair. Sam shifts his chair back to make room, so Nat can wheel you to the bedside. “Steve…” you breathe his name with relief, seeing that he’s truly awake. Nat locks the wheels of your chair before she and Sam step out to give you both some privacy.

“You okay?” Steve asks in concern, reaching for your hand.

You quickly burst into tears. “I should be asking you that,” you speak through your sobs. “I was so scared you were-” you choke on another sob, unable to continue.

Steve squeezes your hand, feeling a pang in his chest from your pain. “Oh, Y/N… Please don’t cry. I’m okay.” he swipes his thumb over the back of your hand, wishing he had the strength to pull you into his arms.

You sniff your nose and wipe your free hand over your eyes. “I’m crying because you ruined my uniform and now it can’t be returned back to the museum.”

Steve huffs out a short laugh, before groaning in pain. “Sweetheart, please don’t make me laugh,” he winces, holding his other hand against his stomach, where his gunshot wound is just beginning to heal.

You bite your bottom lip and give him an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

He gives you a half-smile of reassurance with the undamaged side of his mouth. “S’okay. I do already feel a lot better having you here with me.” His eyelids begin to grow heavy and his blinks are slower. “I’m still pretty tired though…” he sighs quietly.

You move your second hand to where he holds your first and gently run your fingers up and down his forearm. “You should sleep some more. Your body needs time to heal.” The words have no sooner left your mouth before he’s fallen back asleep.

Sam and Natasha come back in a little later. You thank them both heavily for being there for both you and Steve. After a few hours, Steve wakes back up and feels better enough to insist that you should be discharged and taken somewhere to get some rest for yourself. The apartment complex you both were living in is still considered a crime scene and isn’t safe for you to return to by yourself. Nat was able to sneak into the building to get you a change of clothes and your toiletries, so you could at least change and get some rest at a hotel near the hospital.

You’re sitting at Steve’s bedside the next day when someone new enters the hospital room. The man wears a three-piece suit and a pair of sunglasses, even though he’s indoors. Steve raises a brow, the corner of his mouth lifting as much as the stitches in his cheek will allow. “Tony?”

“Cap,” the man greets with a nod.

“Did you bring me flowers?” Steve asks dubiously, noting the colorful bouquet in the man’s arms.

“These are actually for Miss America,” Tony smiles charmingly, handing the bouquet to you. “We haven’t met yet. Tony Stark.”

You release a small laugh and stand up to take the flowers from him. “Thank you, they’re beautiful.”

Tony gives you a once over as you cradle the flowers to your chest, before sending a smirk to Steve. “She’s entirely too cute for you.”

“Believe me, I know,” Steve agrees, sending you a look that makes your face hot.

Tony moves to stand at the foot of Steve’s bed and looks him over. “Wow, you didn’t even look this bad after New York.”

Steve shoots him a dry look. “Thanks,” he responds flatly, making you giggle. Steve’s eyes move to you and they immediately turn soft.

“I hear the both of you are in the market for some decent housing,” Tony speaks up, gripping the rail at the foot of Steve’s bed. The two of you share a curious look before turning back to Tony. “Avengers Tower is now fully operational. I wanted to extend a formal invitation to you both. There’s plenty of room, you can even have a whole floor to yourselves if you so desire. Banner’s already been staying with us. Thor pops in every once in awhile when he’s not off with his scientist lady. I would have reached out earlier, but you seemed rather content in your little bubble. At least until that bubble popped into an inter-agency conspiracy… Sorry about that, by the way.”

“…Are you asking us to move to New York?” Steve questions.

Tony shrugs casually, trying to downplay it. “I’m just saying, the offer is there.”

You and Steve share another look. Steve looks just about ready to jump out of the hospital bed and start packing now. You’re much more hesitant. It feels like you were just beginning to get used to some semblance of a normal life, but now everything’s been turned upside down. Again. The only thing that seems to be consistent in your life is its inconsistency. Steve’s brows furrow when he reads the hesitation in your eyes. “Can we think about it?” he finally asks Tony.

“Sure thing. No pressure. You know how to find me,” he taps his hands against the bed rail before taking his leave.

“You okay?” Steve asks, the concerned crease appears between his brows.

“Yeah,” you force a smile. “It’s just been a strange couple of days.”

--

With Steve’s accelerated healing, he recovers enough to get released from the hospital a few days later. The chaos around your apartment building has eased up and you’re allowed to stay there once again. Steve’s apartment is still technically considered a crime scene, so he just grabs a few essentials and stays with you. He’s currently making dinner, while you work on a school reading assignment at the table.

“I think we should move to New York,” Steve speaks, breaking the otherwise comfortable silence of the room.

You immediately pause in the middle of the notes you’d been writing. You absorb his words before releasing a long sigh and set your pen down. You’ve been dreading this conversation ever since it was brought up as an option. “You’re really ready to just jump back into it, aren’t you?” your question comes out in a strange mix of disbelief and resignation.

Steve gives you a look of confusion. “What do you mean?”

You pin him with a look that says it should be obvious to him. “You almost died, Steve. Shouldn’t that warrant at least some consideration into your life choices before you jump into the next thing?”

He looks back at you incredulously, like he can’t believe the words coming out of your mouth. “I’m needed as Captain America. That’s not a choice. That’s who I am.”

“No,” you deny fervently. “Captain America is a job. Who you are is Steve Rogers.”

He narrows his eyes into a pointed look. “I can’t stop, not when I know that Hydra is still out there. The world needs Captain America. Now more than ever.”

You huff in frustration. “The world is always going to need Captain America. But I need Steve Rogers.”

“Please don’t make me do this,” he shakes his head slowly, pain filtering into his eyes. “Don’t make me choose between one life and the rest of the world.”

“It’s not just one life, Steve. It’s two! This is your life, too! Our life!” You urge, begging him to see it. “And you’re letting it slip through your fingers,” the pain in your own chest makes your voice waiver.

“Why are you making such a big deal about this? The only decision we’re making is whether or not to move to New York.”

“That’s not true, and you know it.” You give him a blatant stare. “Maria told me what really happened up there.” Steve’s face blanches at your words. “Did you even think about me when you gave her the order to bring down the airship while you were still on it?”

He releases a long sigh, crossing his arms over his chest and dropping his gaze. “Of course, I did. But I didn’t have a choice.”

You scoff dryly, looking off into the distance, unable to stand looking back at him. “There’s always a choice, but I guess it will never be me.”

“Y/N, that’s not fair.”

Irritation creases your brow when you finally turn back to meet his gaze. “Don’t you want a future together? To settle down? To get married. Have children. Don’t you want any of that?”

Steve runs his fingers through his hair and shrugs a shoulder. “I thought I did. But that was before…” His voice trails off.

You look at him incredulously. “Before what?” you question. “Before you woke up in the future?” you guess. But then you come to the realization, “Or before you took the serum and became Captain America?”

He releases a soft sigh. 

“I don’t know.”

Your lungs make every breath feel like the vice around them is growing tighter. “When you stepped into that pod, did you even once consider the things you would be losing?”

“You wouldn’t have been happy,” he tries to give an excuse but you’re not having it.

“No, Steve. You wouldn’t have been happy. You’re always telling me that you think I needed you to be strong, to be a hero… But I didn’t. I never cared about how tall you were, or how much weight you could lift. I would have been happy with you before the serum. Because I love you, Steve Rogers. Not Captain America. You are enough for me. You’re all I want. But I guess I’m not enough for you.”

“Don’t say that. You are enough.”

“Am I? Then why are you so willing to run out that door, every day?”

“Because the world needs me! If I don’t fight for what’s right, then who will?”

Your eyes turn sad as you look back at him. “You’ve spent your whole life fighting; you don’t know how to stop picking them. Do you?”

His jaw clenches and there’s a tick in his cheek, but he doesn’t grace that with a response.

“If Steve Rogers is worthless to Captain America? What does that make me?” You let the question hang in the air for a moment, but the sadness within you only grows as he continues to remain silent. “I guess I’ll only ever be a liability.” You don’t give him much of a chance to respond to that. It’s becoming too much; you have to get out of this room. Pushing your chair back, you stand from your spot at the table and head for the doorway out of the kitchen.

“Y/N,” Steve calls. “We’re not done talking about this. Come back,” he speaks sternly. When you don’t even pause, Steve releases a harsh huff. “Y/N, that’s an order.”

As soon as the words are out in the air, Steve immediately regrets them. Your entire body stiffens, back straightening, shoulders tensing. 

When you slowly turn back around to face him, there’s a fire in your eyes. “Excuse me?” you ask dangerously. Tears of frustration and pain line the rim of your eyes, threatening to spill over. “You do not get to give me orders,” your tone is sharper than a blade. You shake your head at him in disbelief. “You are my soulmate. NOT my captain!”

The look of disgust that crosses your features pierces Steve’s gut. He can’t even find the words to try to stop you when you walk away from him again. There’s a resounding slam of the bedroom door coming from deep within the apartment.

“Damn it,” he huffs, mostly annoyed with himself now. He runs both hands through his hair, gripping tightly at the short strands. There’s a hollow sort of ache deep within his chest that he’s never felt before. It’s horrible.

What happens next is so much worse.

Through the walls of the apartment, Steve’s sensitive hearing picks up on the sound of your utterly broken sobbing. It’s enough to bring him to his knees. His back slides against the kitchen cupboards as he sinks to the floor. If there’s a hell on earth, this is it.

[dismuch47]

ADVANCED SETTINGS (Part 1)

And the winner of the Scarlet Vision Drabbles Voting is... Advanced Settings! With Custom Skin as a close second. Luckily this one is turning out waaay longer than I thought it would be, so I had to break it into two parts. Second part will come out later this week. 

It’s been awhile since I’ve fanfic dabbled, so this has felt really nice. I feel I will be writing more about these soulmates.

Advanced Settings: Wanda and Vision find there is more to iron out in making their relationship “work”. Rated Mature.

Wanda made her way down the narrow stairs, holding her two bags close to her person. The creaky boards protested against her dainty weight and brown chips of aged paint flaked away with each step of her boots. She strode to the stained plaid couch in the musty living area and plopped down her burdens. A roach scurried out from between the cushions and zoomed to the sanctuary of a hole in the upholstered armrest.

No… she would not miss this location.

“Has anyone seen my… oh, I see it.” Wanda walked to the defunct treadmill in the corner of the room, plucking her ear-pods from the treadmill’s control panel. The train ride would be long and music was the only way she would survive it. She shoved the corded earphones into her jacket pocket with her phone and smoothed the sides of her hair behind her ears as she ran through her mental checklist again.

“Got your ticket?” Natasha inquired over a near empty dinner plate, supplying the reminder, not out of real concern but rather a sense of familial normalcy. She was a stern but stunning mother hen.

“Ah… yes!” Wanda had to pat herself down and found the ticket in her back pocket. She held it up victoriously before putting it in the smaller of her bags. “I think I have everything…”

“Not everything.” Steve’s rich tenor voice cut in over the hissing and bubbling of the shabby kitchenette that occupied the same small space as the living area. He placed a plate of peppered chicken, plain rice, and steamed broccoli in front of Wanda before draping a dish towel over a toned shoulder. “No one should travel on an empty stomach. Eat up.”

Wanda scrunched her nose up at the the corny paternal grin he gave, but accepted the plate. She took her seat at one of the mismatched chairs that occupied the dingy room, refusing to sit on the couch with food. 

“Moscow… my old stomping grounds.” Nat sighed, before taking another bite of chicken. “Shto-to s chem-to.” Her Russian was comically muffled by food.

“I’ll take pictures.” Wanda promised, scarfing rice. “I’m forcing myself to take in more of scenery this time. But I swear once I’m in a hotel, all I want to do is shower and never leave the bed.”

Wanda winced as soon as she dropped that setup.

“Oooooh? Do tell…” Wanda had actually forgotten that Sam was in the room as well, as small as it was. He had been unusually quiet, nursing some leg soreness from a tech-recalibration injury. Nothing seriously hurt, save for pride. The plastic baggies of ice duct-taped to his thighs sloshed and clacked as he shifted in the only run-down chair with padding. “And when exactly are we gonna meet this mystery boyfriend of yours? Who pays your way to exotic locations and expensive hotels, hmmm?”

Wanda gave a tight smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes… and forked more food into her mouth to occupy it.

Sam chuckled at the intentional silence. “I see how it is.”

“A girl’s got to have her secrets.” Nat supplied, taking her plate to the sink to rinse. “Besides, I don’t recall you being very open about your copious tawdry affairs back at Avenger Headquarters.” Wanda smiled down at her food, thankful for the deflection of topic.

“Copious, yes. Tawdry… never.” Sam grinned back, putting his joined hands up behind his head in bemusement, leaning back in his chair. “I’m an open book about the ladies, Steve can tell yah.”

Steve shook his head, but acknowledged it was true with a dimpled grin. A far cry from his blank expression that used to overshadow his stoic face at any mention of Avengers history. It had been 8 brutal months since the fall-out with Tony Stark and the US government.

“And as I seem to recall, Romanoff, you were caught more than once coming back to the compound. Late. Shoeless��.” Sam continued.

“Late night scrapbooking.” The ex-assassin responded dryly. “Scout’s honor.”

“And then we have Mr. Virtue over there. Clamped tighter than a nun’s thighs…” Sam continued.

Steve gave an innocent shrug. “Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell.” Nat was looking down, but gave a small grin, arms folded over her chest. Wanda briefly wondered if the two had ever connected on a level other than as a commander and his right-hand.

“Tony, well… Tony had Pepper.” The topic was exhausted, but he kept talking. Steve turned away, back to the grimy stove to tidy-up. “Brody,  shit, I don’t know how Brody had time for anything other than cleaning up after Stark, but he consistently wowed even me with all his ‘war stories’ in the battle of love.”

“And Clint was the honorable family-man.” Wanda said half-heartedly. She turned her wrist up to check the time on her watch.

“Yeah. Good man. Good man.” Sam nodded, respect for the settled existence that Hawkeye had found and chose over a life on the run. “And then there was Vision...”

Wanda’s grip on her fork slightly tightened. 

“Yeah, I couldn’t figure that guy out. He invited to his room, like, twice to talk about a painting he purchased. Twice. One of the three things in his room. A little odd…”

Wanda’s jaw tightened. The painting was a New York Street Artist’s rendition of the Tree of Life. The artist was also blind. He created a picture from memory, using odd colors to convey a synthetic translation to the image to stand out against what would be considered normal and correct. It created something beautiful and breathtaking in the process. It resinated with Vision deeply. The proceeds went to a medical facility that specialized in therapeutics for children with disabilities. Wanda had been there with the Synthezoid when he had become enamored with it at first sight. Had come to his room numerous times afterwards to talk about it, or just sit with him, staring at it’s mastery as he read aloud.

“I don’t think he ever…you know?” Sam finally said. It cut through Wanda’s thoughts. “I mean, how could he? I don’t think he even had the… machinery… for it. Poor guy.”

“Sam…” Steve didn’t have to look at Wanda to feel her bristling. He didn’t always understand it, but he knew that she had a close friendship with the synthezoid.

“Oh don’t tell me you never wondered about it.” Sam huffed.

“No, Sam. I don’t wonder about a teammate’s junk.” Steve turned around, impatient that his friend wasn’t picking up on his annoyance. He took a sip from a mug of black coffee.

“Or lack, there of.” Sam countered, oblivious.

“I have to go.” Wanda stated, louder than needed. She went to the sink with her plate.

“To be fair, Vision has molecular control of his physical structure and density.” Natasha continued, to Steve’s surprise. “So, in theory, he could get the job done. But it would be very one-sided.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “How so?” 

“I imagine it would be like using an over-elaborate vibrator. All sensation for the partner… nothing for him.” Nat shrugged. “A safe and controlled simulation, where there is nothing asked of you.”

Sam blinked at the thought-out response. “Damn, Romanoff…”

Dishes clanked loudly, even angrily, at sink. Wanda didn’t meet Steve’s concerned look. “Sorry I don’t have time to clean these.” She strode to her bags on the couch and muttered a farewell before storming out of the apartment. The door slammed shut with the flick of Wanda’s wrist and a flash of bright scarlet energy. 

Sam’s brown eyes drifted from the door where the youngest teammate had just left. He glanced at Steve and Nat. “Did I say something?”

“We all did.” Steve put his mug down on the counter, brows knit in concern. “Vision is her friend. She misses him.” He gazed at the hot brown liquid in his mug thoughtfully, thinking of those who he missed. “We shouldn’t have talked about her friend that way.”

“Oh…” Sam blinked, and then frowned at himself. “I didn’t  think… Should I go and-?“

“Just stop talking for a sec and take your pills.” Nat interrupted, striding over to him to offer two painkillers in one hand and a glass of water in the other. “I’ll go talk to her. Smooth things over before she leaves.” Sam nodded sheepishly and accepted her offerings.

Steve made a noise of protest, to perhaps leave Wanda be, but Nat gave him an understanding “Time for Girl Talk” wink before stalking after her companion’s trail out the door.

It didn’t take her long to catch up with Wanda, who walking down the stretch of road to the nearest bus pick-up to take her to the station.

“Hey.” Nat called, not even out of breath after the jog. “You did forget something,” she held up a flash drive. “…with the next meet-up location, job details, instruction on-“

“How could you say all that about him?” Wanda shot back.

Nat considered her young teammate… her friend… for a moment. “Well, it’s the kind of thing I would say if I didn’t think that you had an intimate relationship with Vision going on, currently.”

Wanda’s lips thinned into a firm line. She crossed her arms and looked down at her feet.

“It’s the kind of thing that throws the boys off the trail about what I saw in the Netherlands when I tailed you.” Nat shook her blonde-dyed head. “I hate lying to teammates. Especially Steve. But out of respect for you and female bonding, I’ve kept my word. Keep yours and don’t let your feelings ruin your focus.”

“If you think my focus is a problem, why even let me go?” Wanda asked.

“I wouldn’t.” Nat retorted. “But Rogers seems to think you deserve some semblance of a young-adulthood. He thinks your mysterious Euro-boyfriend phase is healthy for you. And that’s of utmost importance, considering how closely your control is tethered to your emotions.”

Blunt, as always, but Wanda appreciated the honesty. And the freedom. She reached out for the flash drive after a moment. “I’ll keep my head down. Check in when I need to.”

Nat nodded approvingly, then turned to leave.

“Natasha,” Wanda called, halting her friend. “Did…did you mean what you said, though?” She searched Nat’s guarded blue eyes for truth. “That…he can’t feel what I...”

The silent response was deafening.

“That I’m  just… using him?” Wanda finally ventured.

“I won’t pretend to understand… any of that.” Natasha shrugged. “But what does it really matter what I think?”

It wasn’t reassurance. And the cold sentiments expressed in the apartment would loop themselves in Wanda’s head, no matter how loud she turned up her music on the bus. And then later on the long train ride.

As farmland and rolling hillsides blurred past, Wanda kept her forehead pressed against the cool glass of her window. She felt like Vision, her mind endlessly running and playing out memories and scenarios whether she wanted it or not. Analyzing and computing to try and find a solution to ease the pit in her stomach. 

She knew that Vision could feel. She had stumbled upon that realization during one of their first few kisses, 5 months ago. What linked her given abilities to it’s source in Vision’s forehead, though unexplainable, proved that what she felt for him…label-less yet profound…he definitively felt for her. And her absence from him, the lack of that engulfing feeling, caused him a wounding loneliness. It’s what had made Wanda want to give herself fully to him.

But with the introduction of intimate relations 1 month later…

Vision had learned everything there was to know about her body and what delighted it. What actions and sentiments yielded the most sincerest, and surfeited, responses. Always so lost in her desires and satisfaction, she always believed it when he said that his greatest pleasure was bringing about hers. But if she really thought about it…. really thought about it…

Wanda pulled her knees into her chest, boot heels digging into her seat. 

He didn’t moan. He didn’t sigh. He didn’t heave. He didn’t lose himself like she could completely in him. His eyes never left her face even when she had to close hers in convulsive ecstasy. His broad and handsome smile was always waiting for her when she would come back to reality. Waiting and in need of no reprieve.

She hated this feeling. This feeling that she was doing something wrong. That she was taking and taking without giving when she would literally set the world on fire if it meant Vision’s well-being.

Wanda was so consumed that she didn’t look up to take in the environment of Moscow as the taxi pulled in to take her to the hotel. She almost dreaded it. She was tugging at her sleeves to cover more of her hands. Did Vision have resentment about this? That she could flaunt how human she could be when he couldn’t? She hadn’t thought about that when she took the plunge to have him. She had followed instincts and emotion… like always. Wanda rubbed her forehead, upset with herself.

She checked in as usual, requesting a key to a room under “Victor Shade”, always left for her at the front per Mr. Shade’s instructions. The front desk clerk was beaming at Wanda, expressing how nice Victor was and how he talked about his world-traveling girlfriend with so much admiration. Wanda smiled weakly and accepted the extra $100 room credit gift because Victor was just “so sweet to hotel staff”.

Wanda stepped off the elevator and drudged down the hall to their room. She arrived and took her keycard out, ready to use it on the card-scanner, when the door swung wide open. 

Vision was there, beaming down at her stunned face, keycard still held up in her hand. Though of course, at the risk of being seen even for an instant, he was visible in his human mapping. Blonde hair smoothed with a slight, playful waive. Skin fair but peppered with human imperfections like freckles, freshly shaved skin texture. But his cerulean eyes were the same piercing blue true to his actual form.

“The front desk computer confirmed your arrival.” He said, to quell her surprise. “Wanda. Darling.” He said, deeply, and reverently. “Welcome to-“

Wanda let her bags fall to the floor and leaped up into his arms, legs wrapped as high on his torso as she could manage, lips crushing the end of his sentence. Vision grinned handsomely against her needy lips.

“I’ve missed you.” She managed finally, pressing her cheek against his.

“I reciprocate your sentiments.” He combed graceful fingers through her auburn hair. “Considerably, so.

***

Ever the perfect gentlesynthe, Vision carried his barnacle of a girlfriend to the suite’s luxury bathroom. She detached from his waist with a gasp as he showed her the candlelit bathroom, large clawfoot tub frothing with lavender scented bubbles, soft piano renditions of movie love-themes emanated from a portable radio he had relocated from the bed stand. He gave a controlled ray from the mindstone in his forehead to bring the lukewarm temperature of the bath back to a simper again.

“Vision… this is…”

“Exactly what you need after a long day of training and travel.” He placed a hand on either side of her head tenderly and tilted her forehead up to plant a kiss. His human facade shimmered away with the contact. “Are you hungry?”

“No.” Wanda then realized that she didn’t even eat her whole dinner. Hours ago. She reconsidered. “Well…”

“How about Olivier Salad? Or Shuba? Better known as ‘Herring under a Fur Coat’? A Russian delicacy, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

Wanda scrunched her nose up at Vision.

“Cocktail shrimp and cheese sticks it is. “ He grinned at her default preference.

“And wine! You know the kind I like…” She added, unzipping her jacket.

Vision smiled, emitting a chuckle. He left her in privacy to unwind and rejuvenate, while he called down to the front about room service to be delivered in 30 minutes. He then sat down to compose a note on hotel stationary, thanking the staff for the lovely presentation of the room and the warm reception for his Wanda. Satisfied with the flourish of his penmanship, he then accessed streaming guides to find vintage sitcoms that might please Wanda.

Only 10 minutes had passed when he heard his name being called from the bathroom.

The synthezoid was there in an instant, concern conveyed in his tone. “Wanda, I’m here. Are you-“

“I’m fine, Vis.” His human girlfriend peeked over the tub’s edge, visible only from her shoulders and up. Her long hair was wound in a sloppy bun, piled atop her head. “I just… wanted to look at you…”

Vision felt his lips curl into yet another smile. A frequent, unprompted state of expression when Wanda was near. “And…?” He inquired, kneeling to the floor to gain eye-level with her rich hazel gaze. 

Wanda bit her lip, taking his hands in her own, lacing her soapy fingers with his maroon digits. “And… I think you are wearing far too much. For a bubble bath.”

“You would like me to join you?” Vision asked, after a beat of processing the subtextual request. “Would that not defeat the purpose of… relaxing?”

“I’m tired of relaxing alone.” Wanda retorted, leaning her head down against their joined hands. “Come assist me.”

Vision stood, untangling his fingers from hers, and began stripping down. He could easily phase through his clothing, but he found the act of undressing much more interesting and human than being unencumbered by the physical properties of clothing. It also slowed down his naturally speedy rhythm of existence, which he observed pleased Wanda. The human drank in the sight of her nude synthetic boyfriend, mindlessly swirling her index finger around in the warm water she soaked in.

One long vibranium-infused leg stepped into the tub. Wanda maneuvered to the far end to make room, until Vision had sat down, adjusting his sculpted length to the confined space. She floated herself to sit on his lap, her back leaning heavily into his chest, auburn head resting against the dip of his shoulder. She signed deeply and emitted a noise of contentment at the feeling of him against her. Vision brought a hand up to cup her dainty shoulder. The other slipped across her belly, splayed out to absorb the toned smoothness of her.

“This feels nice.” Wanda murmured. Vision smiled into her neck, planting a firm kiss at the base. “Does this feel nice, Vision?”

Something in her tone of her inquiry sounded peculiar. As if there was an answer she was desiring. It puzzled the Synthezoid, who had most of her variations of responses and phrasings committed to his memory. But humans were complex and ever-evolving. Wanda was no exception.

“I am very content  to be a variable in your relaxation.” Vision retorted. He was met with silence. She was unable to see the smile on his face falter. “Unless… you wish for something more stimulating now…” HIs hand skimmed through the water, over slick skin, down her navel, to the her silky region. Seeking her sensitive entrance…

Wanda lightly clenched her thighs together, pulling his hand up out of the water and kissing his knuckles. “I just want to sit like this for a bit, Vis.”

There was a pause before his response. It made Wanda wince. “Of course, darling. Whatever you desire.” He wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “Is this alright?”

“Yes…it feels nice. It always feels nice.” Again, her words said pleasant things, but conveyed a tone ill-at-ease.

“Wanda?” 

She turned to face Vision, straddling his lap. Chest to chest.

“I’m sorry….I…” She sighed deeply. “Natasha said something and… it got to me.” Wanda looked up into Vision’s cerulean eyes. “I don’t… use you… do I? When we are together?”

“Use me?” What an odd statement.  His hand cupped the side of her face. “I have no qualms about being put to ‘use’ by you, Wanda. Ever. If that is what you ask.”

“No. I mean… ugh, how do I say this….”

“You know you can say anything, Wanda. I’m made of vibranium. I won’t be damaged.”

Wanda smiled weakly. He had come so fair in his speech patterns. Had learned personality traits that he obviously preferred. She could feel… him… a soul within, if that was what it was. She took comfort in that. 

“When we come together, intimately-“

“Sexually.” Vision supplied. Unabashed.

Wanda huffed. “Yes…sexually… you give so much. And I’m not complaining. At all. It’s… unreal.” 

Vision smiled tenderly, placing another hand on her other cheek, kissing her lips the way she had showed him awhile ago. He liked the little noises she made when he did so. And would watch her face as their lips departed from one another, her eyes usually heavy with serenity and arousal.

But not tonight.

“What do I give you, Vision?” Her inquiry was direct. She rested a cream-colored hand against the rich maroon and reflective vibranium of his chest.

Vision tilted his head at her. “Your pleasure and well-being is of paramount significance to me.” His eyes blinked excessively as she pulled her face away from his contact. He had said something unsatisfactory. “Is that not enough?”

Wanda’s gaze was now downcast. “I suppose I underestimated how much it would mean to me. To not be able to give you pleasure. To not see you able to take it for yourself, instead of just for my sake.”

The sythezoid’s eyes darted away as he processed. Avoiding her returned hazel glance. He knew it would betray his discomfort. But stoicism was not what he wanted with his Wanda during moments like these. He wanted her to see him… really see him… even in time of uncomfortable vulnerability. 

“This body was not made with human reproduction in mind, but synthesized evolution.” Vision said, finally breaking the silence. “Pleasure, desire… arousal… these are constructs that I loosely understand in definition only, and by observing how they manifest in you…who I care a great deal for. And that was enough for me.”

“Was?”

He finally brought his eyes back to her face. Her expression, contorted in aching sympathy, made his eyes close. The repressed hurt upon his face seemed an honest response, though he knew it would further upset the situation. He sought to remove himself before causing Wanda more distress.

“Vision, no…” She gently protested, but his form  disappeared from the tub and rose outside of it. The vibranium striations across his broad back glittered from the reflection of the flickering candlelight. “Vis…”

He turned towards her, his smile was back, as if it had never left. “Room service will be here soon. I surmise it best I not greet them naked.” He stooped to kiss her on top of her head, then collected his clothes before leaving her presence.

[bmblboop]

Struck Like Lightning

    (Contains spoilers for RWBY Volume 4)

Absorb Electricity. He felt something, not an emotion, just a gut-instinct. With everything that had happened; every coincidence that led Nora, that Grimm, and his family to Kuroyuri that night, he knew, somehow, that this phrase on his arm was connected to… something. It must be important.

The following is the introductory chapter to a Semblance-Soulmate AU in which a name or description of someone’s semblance will appear on their soulmate’s skin. The concept of a ‘soulmate’ is discussed in-universe and is treated as less of a one-and-done deal (nothing is 100% predetermined in RWBY). I plan to elaborate more on the Semblance mechanics if I end up finishing more chapters.

I am posting this in commemoration of Renora Week 2021 because this chapter features Ren and Nora! Let me know if you enjoyed it!

The days and weeks after the fall of Kuroyuri allowed Nora and Ren time to readjust and explore new parts of themselves. Ren’s sudden companionship had brought out a new side of Nora; she had someone to talk to, someone to bounce ideas off of. Someone who didn’t judge her or pretend she didn’t exist. Nora often took the lead when following the trails and roads, in hopes of finding them someplace else to stay. That town had never felt like a home to her, but to Ren, it was everything he’d ever known. He was quiet, but observant, and getting better at his newfound abilities, which gave them both a sense of comfort. They didn’t have to fear the dark so long as they had each other.

One restless morning, the two were walking east, caught up in conversation.

“…so that’s why I think I like my hair short. Not that long hair is bad – it just gets tangled up in everything. You’re smart Ren, keeping it tied up like that.”

“-huh?” The sudden praise had caught him off guard.

“You pull hair up to keep it out of your face! I have no patience for that, so that’s why mine is short!”

“Oh, yeah. Do you think we could take a break soon?”

“Sure!” She scanned the treeline for a spot. “Ummm, let’s sit there.”

They made their way to a small boulder under the shade of the trees. Nora climbed up and sprawled on top of it to stare at the sky. Ren sat at the rock’s base and scratched his sleeve. His arm wasn’t itchy, but there was something-

It must have been the light of the fire playing tricks on my eyes he thought. He gripped his wrist tighter.

But something was nagging at him, something deep in his soul. To look again, to make sure it was just nothing. In broad daylight, surely if there was anything there-

Pulling his right sleeve back, Ren balked. On the inside of his arm were two words.

Absorb Electricity

“What-“

“What? What is it?” Nora pondered, sitting up and leaning over.

“Absorb-? What do those words mean?”

“What words?”

Ren turned around. Nora was looking at his arm too, with a quizzical expression on her face.

“Those words!” he pointed to inky writing on his arm.

“I don’t see anything?”

Ren did a double take; looking at Nora, then back to his arm.

“If you’re making a joke, I don’t get it.” Nora deadpanned, head propped up in her hands.

You don’t-? But it-? I’m not-? Ren dropped his arm and pushed the sleeve down. “It’s fine, I must be seeing things.”

Nora shrugged and turned back over, watching the clouds gather above.

--

They found a rocky overhang to camp under for the night. Nora passed out pretty fast; she had gotten a lot more comfortable sleeping through the demon-filled nights with someone by her side. Ren just stared at the embers of the fire and let his thoughts wander.

I know they weren’t there before I met her. Before… that night. So where did it come from?

A distant shriek echoed over the valley, and Ren could feel his heart beating in his ears. Immediately, he was awash with the calming greytones of his semblance. The scream turned to baying. A Beowulf then, probably alone and several miles away.

Exhaling slowly, he returned to color, the gears in his head returning to the question of the mysterious words. He looked at Nora, her deep sleep undisturbed by the distant Grimm calls.

I also never had this power, this courage, before that night. I feel like there is something…

He gripped his arm. Absorb Electricity. He felt something, not an emotion, just a gut-instinct. With everything that had happened; every coincidence that led Nora, that Grimm, and his family to Kuroyuri that night, he knew, somehow, that this phrase on his arm was connected to… something. It must be important.

And what does electricity have to do with anything?

--

Climbing over a mountain in a thunderstorm was never their intended route, even less so when a stray bolt pierced the heavens and struck true.

Nora collapsed, and so could have Ren from the shock. Without thinking, he ran toward her - her body lying still and crackling with electricity. To both of their surprise, Nora was alive. She sat up, singed but supercharged, and no worse for wear other than some temporary hearing loss. (Which she demonstrated when she inadvertently screamed in his face: “Wow Ren, I lived!”)

Together, they settled into a rocky alcove further down the mountain to wait for the storm to pass. Once out of the rain, the pair took the time to laugh away the adrenaline. Safely out of the storm, Nora shouted to the sky, taunting the Gods that had tried to kill her and failed. The thunder only grumbled in response. She traced the thunderbolt-shaped markings the impact left on her with her fingers, and watched them fade away over the next few days.

It felt dream-like, the week following the storm. Perhaps it was just the stress of surviving something so scary, but Ren felt stronger and closer to her than before. One night, curling next to the fire, he began to lay his head on his arm to go to sleep. Out of curiosity, he pushed back his sleeve and stared at his arm.

By the light of the campfire, his skin was blank - the words were gone.

Perhaps, he pondered, that was just a warning. It told him that lightning was going to strike, but she would be okay. Perhaps the words disappeared because they were fulfilled, like a destiny that had come to pass? He was too tired for this, his eyelids were growing heavy. He pushed the thoughts away and drifted to sleep.

-

Years later, when the two survivors worked their way into Beacon Academy, did all the stars align. It was at lunch, with their team and their friends of team RWBY.  Pyrrha had brought up the importance of balanced meals when Yang interjected that Jaune had taken all the chicken nuggets.

“I did NOT!”

“Then why is it the only thing on your plate?”

“BECAUSE, um…”

Ren looked back at the textbook, tuning out the argument and glancing over the chapter’s topic for next class. His preemptive studying was interrupted with an elbow jab to his ribcage.

“What?” he said.

“We should be social, you know.” Nora scolded under her breath before turning to the group and gesturing with a boisterous “HEY!”

A sinking feeling in his gut began to form. If there was one thing Ren could never figure out about Nora, it was her immunity to social anxiety.

“Not that taking down a monstrous Nevermore and giant Deathstalker isn’t bonding enough, but I think we should get to know each other better!” she exclaimed. “Anyone know a good ice-breaker?”

Their leader Jaune perked up, “Ooh, how about everyone’s favorite movie or franchise?”

“Too broad.” Weiss replied.

“How about our weapons? I bet everyone has a cool story about theirs!” Ruby added with a glint in her eyes.

“We could talk about our favorite books.” Blake offered.

“Ha, everyone knows the best ice-breaker is sharing semblances,” Yang smirked, “and your semblance-soulmate.”

Pyrrha choked on her salad. Ruby groaned and leaned back in her seat. Blake visibly stiffened.

Breaking the silence, Jaune scoffed. “C’mon, not everyone knows that.” He then rushed to clarify - “It’s not like it tells you their name. You could walk right past them and never know!”

“Yeah,” Ruby pouted, “and maybe some of us don’t want to deal with that extra layer of existential dread.”

“Aw, but that’s what makes it exciting!” Yang teased.

“That’s what makes it agonizing!” Ruby retorted, “Knowing you have a compatible life-partner somewhere in the world and your only hint will disappear when you meet them?!”

“Hang on a second.” Ren interjected, “I thought we were talking about semblances?”

“We are, but y’know…” Weiss was tapping the inside of her arm. “…the Semblance mark.  It can only be read by the person whose skin it appears on, so sharing that knowledge would be another way of bearing your soul to the world.”

“It’s highly personal.” Pyrrha nodded in agreement.

Yang put her hands up in defense. “We don’t have to share them. I just suggested it because it’s so personal. It’s like the fastest ice-breaker in the world.”

Yang’s awkward laughing aside, Ren was still lost. Luckily, Blake picked up on his uncertainty and continued the conversation fluidly.

“It describes the semblance of a person you are destined to come across. According to popular belief, that person is your equal – your other half so to speak.” Blake’s voice then dropped into a hushed monotone, gripping her wrist. “Of course, some people believe strongly in it, while others prefer to forge their own path.”

“Right,” Jaune jumped in, “there’s no rule about marrying them or anything.”

“So it’s more of a suggestion, then?” Nora asked in confusion.

“I find it all very poetic.” Pyrrha said. “I’ve heard that your soulmate mark will disappear after you meet them. After that, it is up to you to forge that bond in person. Nothing is set in stone; it’s a path you can choose to take.”

“Whoaaa.” Nora mused. “Wait, how come I never got one!?” Nora was on her feet in surprise. “Is it possible I didn’t notice?”

Ren was only half listening to the conversation now as the puzzle pieces aligned and clicked together. Words. Semblances. Partners. Those letters he nearly blocked from memory, blocked with the rest of Kuroyuri... didn’t they mention something about electricity?

Two semblances tied together. Two souls cross paths and find each other’s company.

It is pretty poetic, isn’t it?

--

[bridgyrose]

heya! can I request a continuation to the fallen petals damaged soulmate au? really interested to see where you go with it from here!

Ruby looked at the passengers of the train, hesitating for a moment at how scared they look. “I dont think we have much of a choice right now. Jaune, I need you, Ren, Nora, and Cinder-” 

“Seriously? You’re going to have her stay with us?” Jaune asked. 

“I dont want to fight you on this, but we’re running out of options on what we can do. The lamp is drawing grimm and Yang, Weiss, Blake, and I can fight them off. Oscar can come with us since he's the one holding the lamp and Qrow can help us fend off the grimm. But we need to get these people away from the grimm as quickly as we can.” 

“And I’m not going to let what happened to Pyrrha happen to you.” 

Cinder rolled her eyes a bit. “You dont have to worry about what happened to Pyrrha happening to her. I’m not after her.” 

Jaune turned and glared at Cinder. “And you’re still on thin ice.” 

Cinder went quiet and went to another train car. 

Ruby sighed and shook her head a bit. “Will you both please just get along? We need to work together if we’re going to make this work.” 

“You’re right, we do. But together means all of us staying together, not splitting up the teams.” Jaune sighed and looked at Ruby. “I’m… not going to talk you out of this one, am I?” 

Ruby smiled at him. “I’ll be fine. I promise, we’ll meet you all in Argus and then we can make our way to Atlas after that.” 

“So, what’s the plan then?” 

Ruby started walking over to her team. “Get the rest of the passengers to the front of the train and use Ren’s semblance to hide them from the grimm. You can boost him to get the whole train. At that point, the grimm should be focused on the rest of us.” 

Jaune nodded and went to his team to relay the orders. “Please make it back to us alive.” 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cinder sighed and sat down in a seat on the train. “You really think it was a good idea to let them go off like that?” 

“I trust Ruby and she hasnt let us down yet,” said Jaune. “Just remember though, you’re still on probation with us. We still dont know if we can actually trust you yet.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Cinder looked down at her bandaged arm, gently gripping it. “I still dont get why she’s giving me another chance. The rest of you are right, I did just end up hurting all of you.” 

Nora sat down next to Cinder. “That’s just who she is. She gives people a chance because she doesnt actually believe that anyone is evil. And as much as all of us dont see what she sees in you, we’re not going to keep her from giving you a chance to prove yourself.” 

Cinder smiled slightly, just as a jolt of pain rushed through her arm and back. She winced and pulled forward a bit, hesitating. “I… dont think Ruby’s plan is going all that great.” 

Ren got up and started walking to the other passengers. “I’m going to make sure we’re still not being followed by more grimm.” 

Jaune nodded and checked on Cinder. “I hope they’re going to be okay.” 

“Well, this is Ruby you are all putting your faith in.” Cinder took a deep breath as the pain started going away. “And as far as I can tell, she’s harder to kill than you all give her credit for.”

[companionship]

okay one big post to get the finale out of my system! it's been lovely reading all of your analyses and reactions, and looking at all your amazing gifs and edits :')

fair warning: this is going to be so stinking long omfg

the things i enjoyed:

vincenzo remaining an anti-hero through and through, especially the fact that he didn't hold back at all when it came to myunghee and hanseok's death. he gave them a taste of their own medicine and then some forreal, their deaths were brutal but oddly satisfying, and i'm saying this as someone who usually hates violence/gore. throughout the show, they've always hinted at what he was Truly Capable Of and boy did we get to see it

vincenzo fumbling in hanseok's house and not being his usual self – a lot of people thought it was ooc, which i understand! i felt like that was the Point, to show that for once, he's not the invincible mafia consigliere that everyone thinks he is. what he did to the man who killed his mother and the army of security guards was a reaction, but this is the first time he's flustered, caught at a disadvantage, and faced with the very real possibility that he might lose somebody incredibly important to him. idk it made him more human to me

vincenzo literally not hesitating for even 0.1 seconds to fold his entire body around hers when he thought hanseok was going to shoot again – yeah that whole bit made my heart clench i feel like a crazy person i won't get over it

the chayenzo hospital scene... my god it was so tender my heart broke. the laugh they both shared, out of sheer relief that she's okay. the little joke about paying for the private room. the way not much was being said, but everything was being said at once. the way they looked at each other, as if it wouldnt ever be enough :( the quiet acceptance that this is their last night together, and that he's going to have to kill a bunch of people after this, but for now they have this. for however brief.

chayoung being chayoung – her big ass personality at the courtroom at the end after winning ms oh's case. her hopping around in those heels, looking elegant and sleek, mocking the hell out of rich conglomorates. she's in her element again and it made me so, so happy to see. i absolutely adore her, she's everything really. after all that loss and the whole ordeal, i'm glad she's able to return to what she does best: putting capitalists back in their place

mr lee being Very Much Not Dead – idk how i wouldve been able to handle it after witnessing hanseo's death like im glad he got the chance to be a dad

the kiss – my god....

the things i didn't like:

hanseo's death – lmao is it even a surprise... say what you will about his death being foreshadowed, but i really just hated hated it. i hate that hanseok won this one. i hate that hanseo worked so hard to redeem himself, only to lose it all. i hate that he was given a taste of what a real family was like, and then having it taken away so cruelly. even though i said above that i didn't mind that vincenzo was ooc at the mansion, i was still screaming at the screen because there were plenty of opportunities for the situation to be reversed. i don't necessarily blame vincenzo for hanseo's death, but i do wish that they had a funeral scene for him. i wish they acknowledged his sacrifice, and how pivotal he was in turning the tables. if not for hanseo, vincenzo really couldn't have pulled any of this off, from the interpol tipoff to the tracking device in the watch. idc idc hanseo is in malta rn, enjoying the sun and the beach, going to therapy, and teaching the local kids how to play hockey even though there's no ice :(

chayoung being bedridden the whole finale – like... NAH lmao this aint it chief... if things went my way, she wouldve gotten out of the hospital depite her injury and dealt with myunghee before handing her off to vincenzo. i loved their animosity for each other, and i wanted chayoung to be the one at myunghee's apartment waiting for her, rubbing it into her face. i wanted chayoung to verbally finish myunghee with that sharp ass tongue of hers and really dump a load of salt on her wounds. then vincenzo could do whatever the hell he wanted. you could argue that the show is called Vincenzo but i really dont care lmao it started with chayoung avenging her dad and she should've been able to strike the final blow. also what was her big second party? are we really just going to ignore her capacity for evil? after all that moral work done, after that time she spent coming to terms with using evil to combat evil, we're just going to... keep her bedridden? park jaebum u will pay for this

vincenzo losing his family – besides hanseo's death, i think this was what i hated the most from the ending. the start of the show showed us vincenzo's departure from the mafia with the very clear intention of Not Returning. the capo died, his loyalties lie with no one, paolo can suck it. throughout the show, we see him repeat over and over that he wants to get the gold and skip off to malta to enjoy a peaceful life there, while reflecting/repenting for the things he's done. vincenzo was gearing up for a lifetime of solitude. the whole point of the show was for him to find a real family and have a real chance at happiness. park jaebum really said FUCK THAT! we're gonna have him ditch the family that he built from scratch with the love of his life and then make him return to the family that tried to kill him AND make him the capo... pjb said we're gonna separate vincenzo from the family that accepts his past and sees it as a strength and not a weakness. the family that was formed out of solidarity, the family that he fought for and fought alongside with blood, sweat and tears. not to mention the goddaughter of his? sorry i would laugh if it didn't actually rile me up so bad

vincenzo not being able to come back to korea – i've said this in another post of mine, but given that he is The Vincenzo Cassano with all those resources at his disposal (guillotine file, mr ahn/mr cho/the chief etc.), the fact that he isnt even able to stay in korea for 30 fuckin minutes after finishing hanseok was ridiculous. the whole police chase was dumb as hell considering that the show has managed to stop politicians and mf presidential candidates from going after him like ? huh LMAO park jaebum had an on-demand pigeon army in this show and Yet he can't stop like 10 suddenly-righteous policemen. another big ass HUH

chayenzo (here we go...):

NOPE! i've reflected on the ending and decided that i'm going to be petty and salty for a while more before coming to terms with it

i can rationalise and try to be positive and tell myself that their love is enduring can transcend space and time and that in due time, they will find their way back to each other, and i have no doubt that they will because they're one soul in two bodies. it's quite literally canon that they're soulmates.

but let me wallow for a second

here we have two people who have done questionable and terrible things in their past coming together, growing together, grieving together, fighting together... you get the gist of it. you have two people who have found a home in each other. two people who, for all intents and purposes, were about to live in a whole lot of bitterness and solitude if not for each other and the life they built together (chayoung didn't have friends like that, and her family is gone too). to separate them like that at the very end is cruel. i know chayoung and vincenzo are mature and incredible and will be able to function without the other next to them. i know that they will still excel as lawyers and will defeat evil with their underhand methods the way they do so well but my god are they going to feel the absence and miss each other

my point is that they shouldn't have to. from what i could tell, they can't even communicate on a regular basis bc he'll be tracked and whatnot, hence the postcards. a postcard every month is a poor substitute for all those nights they stayed up drinking makgeolli and celebrating their wins. its a shitty replacement for coffee dates and fist bumps and all the moments in between. after everything they've been through, after literally fighting to death for their family, they don't deserve this. they don't deserve to meet up once a year for a couple of hours. they don't deserve pockets of time in malta or korea, their life in a perpetual countdown to when they're going to see each other next

they both deserve love and some semblance of peace (finally finally). they both deserve to have someone to come home to after a hard day of work, because doing what they do cannot be easy. they both deserve a family, deserve to have someone next to them that accepts their past and would embrace their future. they both deserve a hand to hold and a shoulder to lean on. i know they will still be It for each other despite the distance, i just wish the distance didn't even exist in the first place bc its stupid and cruel and their love shouldnt have to be proven or tested with time and space. let them stay together. let them grow together. let them be.

side note: song joongki and jeon yeobeen need another project together idc take it up with god

tl;dr: park jaebum u will be paying for my therapy bills

[chrisrainicorn]

Fair Game Week Day 4: Birds/Soulmates

A classic tattoo AU. Qrow realizes almost immediately Clover could be his soulmate because it’s obvious af, Clover isn’t sure right away because people named after birds are relatively common in Remnant so he needs more proof than that. 

One day he rescues a bird from the snow thinking the poor thing is probably lost and freezing after flying so high to Atlas and Qrow is freaking out internally after seeing his mark because it’s totally him!

So... my original plan was to try to write a fic for this. Tho I knew I wouldn’t be able to complete it on time, and I would need more time to just stop and figure how the story was going to go exactly cuz I’m the kind of person that likes to plan a lot before putting stuff on paper.

I still have a little prologue tho, but I decided not to go further until I’m more sure about the plot so it doesn’t end up forced. Hopefully, I can one day I can go back to it and complete it!! Still, you can take a peek at what would probs be the first 2k under the cut:

Qrow was born with a bond mark.

He was still a rascal of a kid, who ran barefoot and chewed with his mouth open, tripped on the ropes that held up the tents of their current campsite, and liked to try to peek at the new shiny items the tribe people had stolen from their most recent raid only to be caught at the same second - though he still didn’t know they were stolen, or understand what a raid was - when someone finally explained to him the weirdly shaped spot on his abdomen he kept scratching wasn’t just a normal birthmark.

They explained to his sister too. He actually was intrigued enough by the story to settle down on the tent’s floor to hear about it, though she brushed all of that talk off with a “yeah, whatever”, rolling her eyes at the existence of magic symbols that would appear on your skin, connecting you to a person who, at some point of you life, you would realize they mean a lot to you.

“It’s like a guaranteed best friend!” He had grinned with a mouth that missed a few teeth as the explanation was concluded. 

The explainer only smiled at him, letting out a pensive hum before shrugging and deciding on “Yeah, you could say that kid.”

He didn’t understand why his sister was so grumpy after that. How the premise of a friend didn’t get her excited - they barely had kids their age to hang with on the camp, the younger ones were annoying and the older boring, he could get behind the idea of some company besides his moody twin. And when he had asked, “Hey, what does your bond mark look like anyway?” She flicked at his direction one of the pebbles they had been throwing at the river to see them skip, and stormed off without a word.

He was still a restless kid, yet now one that had learned to avoid the ropes before he could get his foot caught on them, when he found out a bit more about the marks. How they could appear at any time of your life, or not at all, how you could get a new tattoo before actually meeting the person, or after years of knowing them. How his sister didn’t have one yet, how she didn’t like the idea of her lame brother having something she didn’t. 

How some people would consider lucky he was born with one, how many would give everything to have a mark appear that early.

That would be the last time someone thought of him that way - lucky. Because soon he was tripping over the ropes again and taking tents down with him, and that was just one of the minor consequences of what they later would classify as his semblance.

The people of their tribe had thought it had been a funny inside joke naming the kid born with a mark shaped like that after a bird that was popularly known as a bad omen. Now it was just rightfully fitting. And not even the permanent tattoo on his skin of a four-leafed clover could serve as a good luck charm against the misfortune that now followed him wherever he went.

***

As he grew up as an outcast teen, the novelty of the marks went away together with the childhood wonder. Maybe because at his tribe, there weren’t many bonded people - they also weren’t really open about talking about this mushy stuff, so maybe he never knew about them. Or the ones who talked about it, did that because it came together with an almost-always tragic tale about how they were betrayed, backstabbed or straight-up stabbed by their match, or how they perished in some gruesome way, so he didn’t have a lot of positive examples to work with - perks of growing up around bandits. 

Guaranteed best friend was now just some naive though he scoffed at. He was so stupid as a kid, maybe his sister was wise to just go “whatever” since the beginning - he would never admit that to her in his lifetime, of course. (In the future though, there would be a point his sister wouldn't make a face to the mention of bond marks anymore, and then a good while later he would stop to really think about how her semblance worked. And he would connect the two dots - he still never saw the marks, but they had to be there, right?)

Who decided those things were a good idea? They could pop up on you any second, without a warning, with just a random shape to tell you about this random person you were supposed to meet one random day. People would talk about letting fate run its course until you would meet them, and how there would be a moment when you would just know. It sounded so unreliable, and too much for him to bother worrying about when he needed to survive frequenting - or infiltrating as his people would have put - a Huntsman Academy.

Yeah, they would have some impact on your life. But that could mean anything apparently. You could be bonded to your parents, to your siblings, to any relative, you could be bonded to someone you looked up to or who would look up to you, you could be bonded to someone who you would only interact for a few months, days, minutes, or less. Or, the most coveted of all, you could be bonded to someone you would fall in love with. Those cases even had a specific name - soulmates. How special.

You could even have more than one. If you thought having to worry about a single unknown individual could make someone paranoid, just imagine having multiple marks! Thankfully, he just had one.

That was good. Because it would be just one person that would have to put up with him. He wasn't exactly the person someone would dream to meet, much less be bonded with. Who would want a bad luck magnet connected to them anyway? Just unfortunate, how the unsuspected match would have to deal with it. At least it was no one from the tribe, that would only hinder them down - those were the kind of things people talked about him at the camp, on the rare times they dared to make the cursed kid a conversation topic anyway, and he was just unlucky enough to eavesdrop it.

He also didn’t want more because he despised the one he already had - he would say he had never liked it, but it was just his sour mindset clouding the childhood memories about him happily imagining how his friend would be like. It had to be a sick joke. A small symbol that represented everything he couldn’t have. Years and years went by with it just there, mocking him constantly.

He had met many people he would have said they had influenced his life, yet apparently none of them were the one. Unlikely his sister, he wasn't bonded with anyone from his team - he assumed her semblance only worked on him because they were related. He wasn't bonded to the man who mentored him and gave a purpose in life - though after finding out the truth, he supposed that was a good thing. He wasn't bonded to his nieces, who were more family to him than his own blood, girls he had watched grow up from hyperactive, sweet-toothed brats to strong, independent young warriors - they were still a bit of a brat though.

So, at his age, he assumed that his semblance affected him in such a way he would never have the luck of finding the person. Fine by him. He stopped caring about that long ago anyway.

And that meant that, at his age, at this place, in the middle of what he could only call the beginning of a war, he should have not been thinking about any of this.

But here he was. Halfway through undressing to take a much needed shower to relax and warm him up after the mission at the dust mines. Feet planted in front of the bathroom mirror. The mark still just there, right at the end of the scar he got from a scorpion tail as if, by some stroke of luck, it had barely avoided being slashed in half. He instinctively grimaced at the sight.

Even if he strongly didn’t want to think about it, it felt as if there was a force preventing him from shoving the thoughts to the back of his mind, not allowing him to ignore the signs.

He had seen the pin when they were captured on the first day. Heck, he even did a double-take at the shape that was unfortunately too familiar. But there were other more important things on his mind at the moment - like how they were being arrested.

Later he found out that was literally that guy’s name! And he didn't like how the information made a cold settle on the bottom of his stomach.

And then James partnered them up. He didn't like the idea, it had been too long since he had worked with other huntsmen on the field - and that happened for a reason. The company made him feel weirdly numb. Or that was him not being used to the cold of Atlas anymore, being in a mine with ice-covered walls certainly didn't help - how he just strutted along without sleeves?

Yet, he did his best to focus on the mission. Ignoring how Clover made sure to match his pace and walk by his side as they scanned the tunnels for any sign of the Grimm that had been wrecking the place. The silence would only be broken from time to time with inputs coming from his earpiece, and it had been just a step away from being uncomfortable. So he decided to not make this situation more unbearable for himself, taking a breath, he took a risk at the grueling task that was small talk.

“Gotta say, I’m still not really used to working with other huntsmen in the field.” He was surprised with how casual he made himself sound.

“But you were on a team before, weren’t you?” How Clover seamlessly encouraged the conversation with a question also surprised him for some reason.

“Long time ago.” He sighed, gaze dropping to the floor. “I just found working alone tends to be for the best.” Great. With just a second into their talk, he had managed to bring its mood down. Not an unusual occurrence for any kind of interaction he was involved though. So why this time did he feel so… bothered?

It was just this entire situation bothering him - he rationalized with himself.

"Well, I think that’s a shame." Of course you would.

He didn't know how to respond, yet he didn't even have the chance. One misstep, and his foot left the ground with a slip. What prevented him from making more of a fool of himself by crashing his face on the icy floor was a quick strong grip on his arm, catching him mid-fall and pulling him back up without seemingly any effort whatsoever.

Clover patted his shoulder as he regained his balance and he didn't hold back the frown on his face. He just walked forward as he responded to the voice coming from his communicator, and it took him a second to realize he was glaring at his confident walk on the grounds he had just proved to be extremely slippery. 

Who does this guy think he is?

Of course, they found the Grimm first, of course, it made himself stronger right in front of their eyes, of course, it ran away, and of course, there was now a gigantic hole on their path. One his partner there could have been at the bottom of it if he wasn't used to his semblance playing tricks just at the right time. 

And when he dismissed his thanks for the head ups with a brief explanation about his semblance, his reaction was like no other he experienced before. No weird glances, no steps back, no awkward ‘that sucks’, just a nonchalant "that so?" 

"Well, hey, don’t beat yourself up about it." He continued, and with a swing of his weapon, he made a new path for them to continue down the tunnel. "My Semblance is good fortune. Lucky you, huh?"

He punctuated his sentence with a wink before walking forward, completely unaware of how that revelation had shaken him to his core. He was still frozen on his tracks as if the ice from the floor had risen to his shoes and stuck him in place. 

Good fortune. That guy was a walking luck charm! 

Everything he couldn’t have… 

His eyes were downcast, flickering everywhere as his mind processed the events. Yet now he wasn’t staring down at the icy ground, but the smooth tiles of the bathroom of his room provided by the Atlas academy. Though his expression was the same from when the words had just reached his ears hours ago.

Looking up by a fraction, the ink of his mark seemed more lively than ever against his skin. He hadn’t truly looked at it for a good while, avoiding it like he avoided the eyes of strangers, and doing so now, he found out he was unable to divert his gaze off it as quickly as he used to do before.

A pin. A name. My semblance is good fortune. A wink.

You would just know.

He let out a dry chuckle, the sound devoid of any emotion. That couldn’t be right. He barely knew the guy. And he didn’t need any of that cluttering his mind right now.

Lucky you, huh?