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moonbaby26 · 3 years

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Title: What the Heart Wants

Pairings: Young!Shota Aizawa x GN!Reader

Summary: You were a young hero in training, living in the United States. And when your high school offered an exchange internship to one of the hero agencies in Japan, you were first in line. But the last thing you expected was to fall for another of their young hopefuls.

Notes: Story features the other dumbigos as well. It’s implied that this story is just the reader reminiscing, and that the reader and Aizawa have been in an established relationship ever since.

Warnings: Mention of blood and a little battle damage, otherwise just superpowered teenage friends being pretty wholesome honestly.

My Masterlist

——————————

The first time you’d ever met the now pro hero Eraser Head, he hadn’t been much more than another teenager in over their head so much like yourself.

Back then you hadn’t known how to say no to anything either. While most of your classmates had been taking the typical internship offers from your state’s local hero agencies, you’d heard about a new exchange program abroad. And of course you’d jumped at the opportunity, anything to set yourself even one hair’s edge above the amazing competition.

Your Japanese had been terrible too honestly, so much so that you’d almost been afraid to speak for fear of ridicule once you reached Japan.

Luckily, the hero you were assigned to, Stunner Man was fluent in several languages. And his quirk was something akin to fireworks from his body at will, like a human flash bang. It greatly complimented your own quirk of consuming light energy to then expel it as energy blasts as well.

For the first few jobs together, you’d likely grown too confident and complacent because of this. It was all too easy to replace your own energy by drawing in that light from his fireworks. Sometimes to the point that all around you went dark, before then expelling the energy again as concentrated blasts from your hands to help incapacitate the small time villains you both ran across.

But then had come that rainy night and reports of a much stronger villain taking out actual teams of heroes somewhere downtown. Multiple agencies had responded to this of course, but your hero had been adamant about you staying behind. This was real danger he said, and it would be unheroic to let your desire for success blind you to your own inexperience. You would be a liability in the main battle, and you could be just as valuable assisting firemen and police in their efforts to evacuate the nearby apartment buildings instead.

Of course you were obedient, and so there you’d been, running up the stairs and through the corridors as fire alarms blared and people cried in panic in these high rise buildings. You’d put on your best act of confidence, directing the scared people to exits, asking them to mind their neighbors. You told them not to push, to please help those that were elderly or disabled, and that it would all be all right. Surely it would be because so many pro heroes were now on the job.

But just as you were almost done clearing the last floor at the top of that building, a terrible crash had sounded from far down the hall. Maybe debris breaking through from the nearby battle? You were cautious enough though to make sure that the police and firemen safely exited this floor entirely with the last civilians before you went to investigate.

You would make sure no one was left behind, that no one was hurt or trapped. But as you’d rounded the corner, in a glitter of broken glass and blood, that was where you’d first seen Shota Aizawa…Eraser Head.

He was only a sidekick you thought immediately though just from his age, so similar to your own. Yet he was already trying to get back to his feet even as you called out to him. The hole he’d come through in the large windows and the cracked wall around it were letting the rain now blow fiercely inside.

“Get back!” He’d yelled right back to you in Japanese however. As if he wasn’t losing blood all over the floor as you did pause brief enough to hear an odd humming sound outside even over the rain.

It was reflex of course. He hadn’t even been facing you, but the way he tensed you’d assumed what was going to happen only that fraction of a second before it did. Before whatever villain had just thrown him through this window attacked again, you’d used your energy reserves to make a shield of light between Shota and the broken windows and wall.

The blast that came through the hole had likely been intended to finish the boy. As it was, it still exploded violently against your force field, the recoil sending pain through your arms as you’d dug your boots into the floor beneath you as much as you could just to keep from being knocked backwards with the force.

You wouldn’t be able to take another direct strike like that without gathering more energy. And in the confusion as the blast did dissipate, you ran forward, grabbing the boy by the wrist. “Come on!”

You only saw the surprise in his reddened eyes for just a moment, the first time he’d really looked at you. His shaggy black hair was dripping on you from the rain before you both ran together.

“It’s going to get dark. Just hold on to me and trust me!” You spoke as you pulled your goggles down from off your head to cover your eyes in mid run. The goggles were a support item developed especially for you. In darkness you could switch between night-vision and thermal imaging to allow you to still see when your opponents and even teammates could not. And when you used your light abilities to discharge energy again, the opacity of the lenses darkened instantly to keep you from being blinded by the brightness of your own quirk as well.

As you both ran, you activated your quirk to draw energy from the artificial lighting in the hallway. True to your word, the whole hall became almost pitch black in short time. Your skin darkening to an inhuman shade as well as you used your power, a color akin to the lightless void now around you as you led him to a stairwell in the center of the building.

“Will the villain follow us in?” You asked as you closed the door, but making sure not to absorb all the light of the stairwell as well as you could still hear people making their way down to evacuate below. You knew you couldn’t stay in this place long. You had to protect these people you had already been trying to rescue as well. But information was always crucial to having a better chance at victory, and you needed anything that the boy could tell you quickly now.

As you lifted your goggles back up in the light of the stairwell, you were already trying to assess his wounds as well. But when you realized he was just staring at you, you finally made eye contact with him again just before he spoke.

“He’s more powerful out in the open.” The boy said. “So I don’t think he’ll follow us inside yet. But you’re assuming I’m a hero?” He sounded somewhat surprised? But the way he was looking you over, he was also trying to discern your quirk even in his own confusion.

“You told me to get back when I found you in the hallway, even though you were hurt.” You saw now that most of the blood was coming from his lower abdomen. A puncture wound maybe? “Who else would worry about others even when being attacked themselves?”

You saw his eyes widen a little at the sort of compliment, but you kept on. “And I’m sorry if I’m hard to understand. My name is (Y/N). I’m from the United States. Part of the intern exchange. I’m working for Stunner Man right now.”

“I can understand you.” He admitted. Though still looking at you in that odd way. “My name is Shota Aizawa.” He paused, seeming a little less confident, before he admitted his nickname. “Codename Eraser Head. I’m interning from the UA with His Purple Highness.”

“Oh,” You said, impressed truthfully, as that school’s hero course was obviously world renowned. But from the quizzical look you couldn’t help but show at his codename, he clearly had already discerned your next question.

He answered before you could ask, but even as he did you could tell he was already steeling himself for your disappointment. “I can erase others’ quirks just by looking at them.”

“You can…what?” You stared helplessly, for a moment almost forgetting your training to always be cool and collected as you tried to fathom what on earth this boy could really mean.

But he just stared back at you, was he that surprised at your reaction?

When he said nothing more, you had to shake away your shock to press further. “I’m sorry. This might be the language barrier again, but I need you to explain that to me please.”

Hero work could lead to unexpected team up situations at any time. And if this was to be one of those times, you both needed to know what you would be dealing with.

He frowned slightly, like he was having to talk more about himself than he was comfortable with. But he did comply. “If I activate my quirk while someone is in my direct line of sight, it inactivates theirs. But I can only do it for so long. Once I blink, or the line of sight is broken, their powers will come back.”

Silence hung between you for one long moment after his admission, and you could sense the tangible unease building in him.

You didn’t mean to make him jump either when you just blurted out. “That’s amazing!”

You still didn’t yell, but it was loud enough to be unexpected. But you couldn’t help it. You’d never heard of such a quirk. How could anyone be so powerful to make someone else quirkless just by looking at them!?

And why the hell did he look so self conscious about this? “You can’t be this modest. How are you not believing me that this is amazing!? I bet you only got thrown in here then because the rain obscured your vision, right!?” Your voice was quickening with your excitement. Your strategies to victory also readily multiplying in your brain. You could make a shield of light to push away the rain and Shota could look at the villain to make them helpless, then you could take them out with a subsequent light blast!

“My quirk has no offensive merit.” He deadpanned.

“Not every quirk has to!” You retorted, but maybe yourself now finally starting to understand a hint to his self conscious nature. “There are always multiple ways to win! Don’t they teach you that at UA?”

“We need to get moving,” He grumbled still in resistance to this subject. “People could be being killed out there.”

He wasn’t wrong you knew, as you nodded. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to gather information.” Which fair was fair as you tried to keep your own explanation as straight forward as you could.

“As you saw, my quirk is that I can absorb visible light energy. It doesn’t matter what kind. I darken everything as I absorb the light around me. I can store it inside myself, then discharge it when I’m ready, to make force fields for defense…or light blasts for offense or distraction to blind opponents.” Like everyone though, there was always still a catch as you continued. “But the weakness is that once I’ve discharged what I have, I’m tapped out until I can absorb more light. Which, at night in a rainstorm like this…there’s not much to be had.”

He was mostly stone faced as he listened to you though. But there was an analytic sharpness to his eyes, like you were inputting information into a human calculator before abruptly he tried to walk back away from you as if to continue up the stairs.

“I have a plan then,” He announced quietly, his back already to you again.

As much as you somehow believed him already though, you grabbed his hand before he could get much farther. “And whatever that plan is, we still won’t be much help to anyone if you faint from blood loss.”

It was obvious he was someone not used to being touched, you could tell that from the instant way he stilled and looked back at you.

But you didn’t weaken at the stare, only offering him a slight smile. “I’ve been trained in emergency first aid as well. There are first aid kits all through this stairway.” You’d passed them on the way up. “I’ll be quick, alright?”

————————————

The logical side of him must have won out that night in that stairwell. He’d known you were right about at least stopping his bleeding. But that was the real beginning you thought. This odd relationship that would keep its hold on you both for so many years to come.

Him, still so skinny then and self conscious, quiet and awkward as he’d sat on one of the stairs, holding his shirt up so you could clean and disinfect the wound just above his belt while you kneeled in front of him. Luckily the injury was not as deep as it could have been. Just too wide to close or clot on its own as you’d wrapped his abdomen with the appropriate bandages after cleaning out the debris.

And you kept your word, you still weren’t negligent of your duty as a hero in training even then. You didn’t waste any time at all, being as quick and efficient as you could while working on him. But even if all your training told you to also keep your mind on the mission at hand, you’d still felt that warmth in you.

The intimacy was practical, professional. But it still had its effect as you’d run your fingers across his abdomen to finish securing the bandage. You felt him tremble just for the slightest moment, and then it was over. His shirt was back down and he was standing again.

He’d only muttered a quick “Thank you,” as you’d both headed for the roof to execute his plan.

And still only being teenagers then, the clumsiness of your yelling and waving to attract the villain’s attention again would be something you’d both have been embarrassed about now. But at the time, you’d really both done rather well considering your low experience levels.

That villain of course hadn’t been the only villain that night. The main heroes had had their hands full with the other, stronger one at the heart of downtown. This one had been more like the sidekick really, just trying to keep on the outskirts to run interference and keep even more heroes from joining the fray for his boss.

He’d picked off Shota earlier he thought, so he was easy to get worked up when he realized Aizawa was now back for more.

But that villain had drawn his power from the difference of electrical charges in the air. Obviously then at an even greater advantage over the two of you with the thunderstorm above. But the trick had only been avoiding his electrical blasts, but drawing the light energy from them enough times to eventually surprise him with a big enough blast in return.

There’d been a few miscues of course, as well as you using your shielding to protect Shota all the while trying not to get hit either before you could finally land that big enough return hit to stun the villain. Then Shota binding him up in his scarf like weapon and removing the enemy’s quirk long enough to deliver a decisive knockout kick to the villain’s head.

It was your first ever victory as a team.

—————————————

And it’d been a bit of a whirlwind afterward. The congratulations and acknowledgement from your respective heroes for the small, but positive role you had both played of course. But more personally for you, you had owed so much to one of Shota’s best friends you had met immediately in the hustle and bustle afterward.

Oboro Shirakumo, otherwise known as Loud Cloud had been there immediately, ecstatic to hear the story of Shota’s and your success. His extroverted and effervescent personality such a direct opposite to Aizawa’s quiet nature. But Oboro had been the one seemingly so excited to learn you were from the United States as well.

He’d insisted that he, Shota, and their fellow UA student and other best friend, Hizashi Yamada (codename Present Mic) show you the real young hero life in Japan before you would leave again in the coming weeks.

Without Oboro’s intervention, there was likely no way otherwise you would have gotten to see the shy Aizawa so many times again after that night.

As a group the four of you had gone to malls, out to eat, and to see the touristy sights you likely never would have gone to alone. They didn’t even make fun of your bad Japanese, well not seriously anyway. Hizashi did a few times, but in a way that had you laughing with him as he teasingly walked you through a few pronunciations you’d butchered yet again.

On your last night in Japan, you’d been feeling a little sad really though as you’d wished you had gotten to speak to Shota a little more one on one. Even though he’d accompanied you all on your excursions together in those few weeks, you still had noticed how little he really talked and how often he seemed to always be looking away from you.

In the end you just had to think you were being silly for the way you’d felt in the stairwell with him briefly that night and how often you’d thought of him ever since. You’d probably never see him again you knew.

That night though you’d all gone to a park together that met the beach and ocean. Oboro was insistent that you needed to see the view of the sea there before you flew back to the United States the next morning.

Oboro had made one of his clouds, taking just the two of you up high into the air. As Shota and Hizashi still on the ground grew smaller and smaller, you did look away to the horizon and the starlit ocean beyond. It was beautiful of course.

But what Oboro said next, made you forget all about that view entirely.

“He likes you you know. He just doesn’t know what to do about it.” The blue haired boy said as if it was as simple a truth as saying the sun would come up tomorrow.

Your head turned immediately, just to see Oboro smiling at you in an almost conspiring way. “And you feel the same don’t you?” He asked you. “You look at him the same way he looks at you.”

“He doesn’t look at me!” You blurted, stupidly protesting as if your stomach wasn’t already trying to tie itself into a knot.

But Oboro just laughed, that genuine, happy one you’d heard from him so many times already. “Well he knows what to do with his eyes doesn’t he? He has practice. Of course he doesn’t let you catch him staring!”

So many emotions ran through you at once then. Embarrassment at your naivety, sadness that you still had to be leaving the country regardless, shock that this could even be true, and….frustration that you would just be being told now!?

“I’m leaving tomorrow, Oboro. Why would you even tell me this now!?” You asked somewhat desperately, but still keeping your voice down in your escalating panic.

He raised his hands innocently, yet unafraid of you either way. “Hizashi and I have been encouraging him as much as we could to speak up, but Shota is like those stories where an unstoppable force meets an immovable object…but in this story both are Shota!”

You stared, the absurdity only mounting at his words.

He chuckled, looking a little embarrassed then. “He’s quite stubborn is what I mean? And he says it’s pointless because you’ll be thousands of miles away. And I said that’s what phones, email, and video calling are for! Of course conversation is not one of his better skills…”

“Oh, man” You sighed, yet trying to think in your nervousness. “Did he send you to tell me all this? Or does he even know we’re having this conversation right now?”

The boy just shook his head. “He didn’t tell me to, and I didn’t ask his permission, no. He would have only told me not to. But sometimes heroes have to do what heroes have to do, right?” A kind look overtook his face again. “I want to see him smile sometime. He actually has a nice smile you know. I think I’ve seen it all of twice,” Oboro joked.

And it was true, it’s not like Shota was cruel or anything. But he didn’t smile, he didn’t laugh. It was like he was always afraid to perhaps. You weren’t really sure yet. You hadn’t known him long enough. But surely Oboro and Hizashi had. You should at least be able to trust that they had made a correct assessment of their friend’s feelings.

“Well…” You hesitated. “If I told him I wanted to stay in contact…do you think he’d actually call or write me?” You looked at Oboro imploringly, unsure if it would hurt more to try this and be rejected later anyway if you still never heard from him again.

“I can only promise you that we’ll try to keep him from screwing up if it’s only his fear that’s holding him back. We all have to overcome fear in one way or another if we’re going to be pros one day.” He smirked then, before looking a little more boastful. “You know, when Shota, Hizashi, and I graduate, we’re going to start our own hero agency. I’m sure by then if you wanted to come and do some more work in Japan, we could make a space for you too. I’d be a bad manager to turn down foreign talent you know.”

He did seem so sincere, you couldn’t help but smile back at him. “I’ll talk to Shota. But, whatever happens, thank you for trying to help either way.”

Oboro gave an exaggerated thumbs up with, what honestly you were guessing was his best imitation of an All Might type grin. “Of course! Plus Ultra! Always!”

———————————

It was something how quickly Oboro and Hizashi got themselves out of sight, now just you and Shota on the beach together. Yet you suspected they may still be in earshot somewhere in the distance. No doubt painfully curious of how this would go and silently cheering their best friend on.

At first you were afraid that Shota was angry actually, the way he’d visibly bristled, shooting his friends’ quite unhappy stares before they’d left as he fully realized what was about to happen.

But he didn’t ignore you, nor did he look away from you this time as you got closer to hopefully speak a little more privately. “I’m sorry if this is…weird.” You started awkwardly. “But I don’t think you should be too hard on your friends either. It’s obvious they really care about you.”

Your foot was kind of shifting in the sand. Nervousness still flowing freely as you just kept on. “But I’d still like to hear it from you…if you’re wanting to keep in touch. If you want to get to know me better, I’d like that…so…um-” Ah, this would be awful at any time, but stumbling over words you’d only recently learned made it all the worse. “So is it true, Shota? Do you want to keep talking after I’m back home…maybe I can come back again though…I’d like to see you again…I really would.”

He was silent at first, but he was clearly listening. Intently, as if analyzing your every movement, your every word.

But it was painful how long you had to wait for a response. Surely it wasn’t really as long as it felt though before he finally responded. His voice surprisingly even, almost emotionless?

“You’ll be a successful hero if you keep to your studies and training. I find it unlikely that you wouldn’t be able to start at any agency of your choosing in the United States once you graduate.”

A huge compliment to be sure, as you stared at him in surprise. But what did that have to do with the subject at hand? Was he trying to avoid your questioning entirely?

Yet his eyebrows lowered before you could interrupt as he kept on. “So I don’t understand why you would ever want to come back to Japan longterm where your reputation would have to be built back up again just to get equivalent job offers to what you could attain already in the US. The one instance with capturing the villain at that apartment complex isn’t enough for top placement at the agencies here in Japan. Especially without UA accreditation on your record. You would be putting yourself at a disadvantage to be here. It would be a mistake for your career.”

You could swear you almost heard a groan from somewhere in the distance. If you’d put your goggles on now, you were sure you’d probably see Oboro and Hizashi hanging on every word, wherever they were hiding to eavesdrop in the dark.

But your brain was also quite busy trying to digest the most words you’d ever heard from Shota at one time. Was this his excuse to reject you more lightly? To say he was only thinking of your career?

Of course he was under no obligation to feel anything for you. You knew there were certainly those with more powerful or interesting quirks than your own, or people more physically attractive. You weren’t anything amazing in your own mind compared to all the potential superstars you interacted with on a daily basis back home.

Yet if he didn’t feel how you did, you wanted to hear it outright instead of buried in a confusing way like this, and you couldn’t help but admit so then. “So you think I shouldn’t ever want to date you because it could make me spend too much time in Japan and not become as famous as I could have been otherwise? Nice that you assume working at a top tier agency is the only thing I would care about for my future….”

Perhaps you did come across a little harsher than you intended, but the way his normally tired looking eyes suddenly widened in shock had you realizing you had definitely brought some sort of emotion out of him at last with those words.

“You…wanted to…date me?” He uttered the words as if he never would have expected that combination of syllables to ever leave his mouth.

Well, you never would have been so forward if you didn’t feel he forced your hand with that strange insinuation of saying your personal choices should all be tied to a need for future fame and fortune.

You put one hand on your hip, trying not to sound as dumb as he was making you feel in this moment. “Well, not like tomorrow or anything. We’d need to get to know each other some more of course. But yes, I thought about it a lot these last few weeks. But if you didn’t like me like that, then friends is fine. I was hoping that was what we were going to talk about here. If you…liked me like that or not.”

Oh Lord, was this high school like it should be or was this elementary playground kind of drama? You didn’t have enough experience to be any more adult about this. But it was a yes or no type of question wasn’t it? Either he felt some sort of interest and attraction like you did, or he didn’t. You just needed to know.

“I…think you’re talented. And capable.” He said, like it was taking so much just to do this.

It was maddening somehow though. Could he not just say he felt nothing if that was the case? Was he so afraid of hurting your feelings? But honestly, he didn’t seem the type to ever mince words either. “Shota…” You tried. “You know you don’t have to worry about sparing my feelings. All you have to say is that you’re not interested. I’m not some delicate flower.”

Yet, you were starting to feel guilty yourself. Maybe this was all wrong, trying to force him out of his comfort zone too much. You should just take a hint right?

When he still said nothing more, your stomach finally sank as you stepped back from him a little again. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to know the truth, so I didn’t have to worry wondering later. If I’m not your type that’s okay. I appreciate you taking the time to try and talk to me like this.”

Oboro must have been wrong. That was all it could be. His friends had seen something that wasn’t there, and then pushed it this far in a sincere, but misguided attempt to help their friend.

But the let down still hurt. In the span of a short time, Oboro had gotten your hopes up and then they’d crashed down again. You’d been able to admit your feelings to Shota, just for it to end up as one sided.

Or so you thought.

You started to walk away, not wanting to be further embarrassed if the disappointment in your face had really started to show.

But you froze as soon as you felt his shockingly quick hand grab around your wrist. The memory of you doing the same to him in the apartment complex flashed through your mind.

“I didn’t say you weren’t my type…not that I’ve had a type before.” He spoke, but not in his usual even tone as you looked back at him.

And that was likely the very first time you’d ever seen a little bit of fear in his expression. He was still holding your wrist tightly, but it was like he didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know how to express whatever it was that he was really thinking.

“Eraser really is that bad at this! Just run with it, (Y/N)!” Hizashi’s voice boomed in the distance even if he was only partially using his quirk. The vibration startling you both as Shota immediately shot a death glare in that direction, his hair levitating as he activated his quirk as if trying to lock on to Present Mic even in the dark.

And you couldn’t help it then, slipping your wrist out of Shota’s grip at his distraction, but just as quickly clasping your hand warmly around his own instead as you used your quirk to absorb some of the ambient starlight. It created a dark spot on the beach between the two of you and the others, just enough that Oboro and Hizashi would no longer be able to see. Though Shota would still be able to see you as you chose to take a risk, leaning in enough to kiss his pale cheek.

His hair fell back down at that very personal touch, the red glow also leaving his eyes as he looked back to you.

But you couldn’t read him then. You weren’t sure at all what would happen.

Yet he was still human wasn’t he? Even as stoic and calculating of a person as you’d ever met, he was still human, and still young then with that touch of recklessness you all had deep down.

And when you felt his lips touch yours not long afterward, it was as clumsy as could be expected for teenagers. But you didn’t care at all as you easily returned the kiss.

You knew immediately then that you would be coming back to Japan as soon as you could. Your goal was still to be a pro hero, but it didn’t really matter where.

A true hero’s spirit came from the heart. And if your heart ended up in Japan…who were you to tell it no?

———————————

(End for now. ❤️ I will likely write more of this pairing, but not sure of how soon. Thank you for reading!)

#shota aizawa #shouta aizawa #shota aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x you #shota aizawa x you #shouta x reader #eraser head #shouta x you #eraserhead #shouta x y/n #eraser head x reader #eraser head x you #my hero fanfic #my hero x reader #my hero academy fanfiction #my hero academia #my hero imagines

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icequeenbae · 3 years

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Daddy’s Struggles (m) | BBH

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Dad!Baek, domestic au, established relationship (duh), a slice of life, fluff, a lil smutty(!)

Warnings: some friskiness between mom and dad if you know what I mean, mentions of teenagers watching porn (I’m not promoting it, you guys lol), also this gets fluffin’ sweet get a bucket in advance

Word Count: ~2.2k

Summary: Baekhyun overhears your teenage daughter watching porn. You have to handle a small crisis.

Event: the BBH day @supermwritersnet

Author’s Note: This… came out of nowhere:D I blame my dear beta @baekshoney – we'd once discussed the idea of Baek being a teenager’s parent (in relation to a different story). Don’t we all love dilf Baek though? lol Anyways, this is a tiny glimpse into his future as a cute af father and husband <3 Let’s name him puppydad!Baek 😊 I hope this lifts your mood a little on a day like this!

On that note – happy birthday to our genius idol (aka mochi-cheeked hyperactive puppy), I wish that he stays healthy and happy and on the radar throughout the next 2 years (and forever)!! Don’t be too sad, guys, he’s hopefully going to finally lead a somewhat normal life for a bit 💞 Ok, I’ll let you get to it already~

A yawn.

You rubbed your tired eyes and dictated a reminder for tomorrow morning to your AI assistant. It was pretty late and you had your hands full all day with your kids. And while family time was always great, there hadn’t been a spare moment for you to tend to your own business. But two decades of dealing with your hyperactive yet loveable children (and husband) taught you to make the most out of what you got. So you were doing just that, organizing your errands and sorting important emails after everyone had scurried off to their rooms, and your husband — to the shower.

Baekhyun was quite exhausted himself, so you realized he must’ve gotten in the common bathroom by the time you exited the one in your bedroom. He did that sometimes when you locked the door out of habit. Not that he couldn’t come in, it was just… You used to scold him pretty badly for breaking into the bathroom. Picking locks wasn’t something you wanted your juniors to acquire as a habit. They had enough of their daddy’s traits as it was.

The thought made you chuckle. Your eldest son had already outgrown his father by at least five and a half – gotta be precise here! – centimeters (which made daddy very proud, but also a teeny tiny bit jealous). Despite his height, which, you were sure, was going to break the golden 180cm in the next few months, your boy’s build was exactly the same as Baekhyun’s. His shoulders were broad, his hips wide, and his waist was naturally narrow. Legs long and lean, and eyes always mischievous. He was eighteen and already seemed more like Baekhyun’s best friend rather than his child. Being both the hyung and the oppa of the household, he was the most mature out of the bunch, and always a big help to his parents.

Your middle child, your precious daughter, resembled you a lot. Her wavy hair and her big eyes with the longest eyelashes either of you’d ever witnessed. Seriously, that was the first thing Baekhyun’s friends had commented on when they came by to meet your new baby. ‘Is this even normal? Can she see through those? That’s one pretty baby!’ She was even prettier now, at her sweet sixteen, cheeks still a bit chubby, which – just as her button nose – were definitely an homage to her dad. Not to mention her hands that were even more delicate and exquisite than his.

The youngest, your six-year-old son, was a blessing. You weren’t planning to have more children after the first two until you suddenly thought… why not? Cannot say that you weren’t a little bit under the influence at the time. It was one of those rare weekends when your kids had a sleepover at their grandparents’, so you had the whole house to yourself. Deciding to have a domestic date and enjoy shameless daytime drinking, you indulged in a whole glass of wine before both of you were tipsy and giggling, then you added one more to the mix. At that point, all kinds of crazy things were brought up.

‘We should do this more often…’ You informed your partner. ‘This is exciting! We can walk around naked the way we used to before we had teenagers in the house!’

‘I miss our naked Saturdays…’ Baekhyun whined, almost spilling his wine while trying to sip it gracefully. ‘Now I barely even see you naked with your shower locking obsession!’

Pursing your lips, you dismissed his complaint.

‘After that incident… You cannot blame me for my caution.’

The incident was, well, your son needing to use the bathroom while his sister was taking too long and heading to the one in your bedroom. He nearly walked in on… an adult scene.

‘He didn’t even see anything, Y/N-ah,’ your husband grumbled, but you waved him off, downing your drink as if it was a shot of tequila rather than a glass of wine.

‘I don’t see a problem though,’ he blinked at you, not following. ‘We’re alone. Why not… See each other naked again?’

‘Right. We can also- Y/N-ah!’

‘What?’ You eyed his suddenly enthusiastic form with nothing but suspicion.

‘We can create a distraction!’

‘Hm?’

‘A distraction for them. So that they’d be busy with something else while we’re away.’

‘Hmm?’ You still couldn’t locate the source of his excitement.

‘Lemme show you,’ he slurred, tugging on your wrist to get you up and dragging you to the bedroom.

Let’s have another baby – that was his brilliant idea. Had you both not been such poor drinkers, one of you would’ve thought this through.

Nevertheless, you were glad that you didn’t. Because your little angel, who could sometimes be more of a tiny demon, to be frank, was the single sweetest thing to ever exist on planet Earth. He had his entire family wrapped around his little finger, and you – most of all. How could anyone blame you? That troublemaker was the spitting image of his dad and had a personality to match — just as playful and affectionate.

The chill spring breeze from the window licked at the bare skin of your arm, causing you to shiver slightly, coming back from the land of reminiscing. You stretched on the bed, noticing how protruding your nipples became from the cold even while hidden by the gentle fabric of your nightgown. Pulling the covers up, you grunted under your breath, wondering what was taking Baekhyun so long.

Just as you did, the door cracked open, and your husband sauntered into the room.

‘Ah finally, I thought I needed to go rescue you again,’ you chuckled.

That had happened before. He once used the common bathroom to shower before bed and ended up captured by your daughter, who was around six or seven at the time, in the hallway. She then demanded cuddles, knowing that her father was too weak to turn his precious girl down and send her back to bed. You found them both huddled up asleep on the couch, with your husband’s head tilted dangerously to the side. Terrible sleeping postures always had consequences, so you spared him the agony of the next morning, waking him up mercifully and helping to get your little girl to her bed. This was only one of many occasions – Baekhyun was a softie.

This time, however, he was a bit stupefied.

He didn’t react to your remark and seemed like he was going on autopilot when he came closer and sat on the bed.

You lifted the covers, inviting him to join you, and he followed your lead, still staring at the wall across the room.

‘Yeobo,’ you called, getting slightly alarmed. ‘Are you okay?’

He blinked, the stupor breaking, and looked at you with astounded eyes.

‘I- I think,’ he began, making you shift to face him properly. ‘I think I just overheard our daughter watching porn!’

His voice lowered to a whisper by the end of that sentence.

‘Oh my god,’ you whispered back. ‘How do you figure?’

‘I was walking down the hallway, and I thought I heard something from her room. I didn’t fully register what it was, but now that it processed… It was definitely porn!’

The signs of distress on his face almost caused you to break down in a fit of laughter. You held it in with all you got. Fathers and daughters, the eternal struggle.

‘First of all, ew. Aren’t you even a little bit ashamed to be eavesdropping on your kids like that?’ You didn’t let him protest. ‘Also, how do you even know it was porn, you know she sometimes mumbles and whimpers in her sleep. Like someone else we know…’

Giving him a pointed look, you leaned over his chest to turn the lights to the lowest mode, leaving the room dimly lit. It was always effective when you wanted to help him relax.

‘I wasn’t ea- And you think I can’t tell what porn sounds like? There are some generic… sounds. That give it away.’

‘When was the last time you watched it?’ You murmured, eyeing him curiously.

Of all people, you knew best how short his attention span was. Sometimes it could work to your advantage. Like right now, when you needed to de-escalate this before you could reason with him.

‘I- wh- I don’t know, probably when you were pregnant,’ he recalled. ‘The third one was somehow the toughest on me. You looked way too attractive for a heavily pregnant lady, let me tell you.’

‘Heavily pregnant??’ You scoffed, softening right after. ‘Well, you have a point, he was pretty huge. I swear, if he doesn’t grow up to be taller than Chanyeol, I’d be offended. That boy’s giant head prolonged my healing by at least a month.’

Baekhyun sighed and looked up at the ceiling, thinking back to that time.

‘He was the only one who caused you to tear, right?’

‘Yeah. Which is weird, considering that he was my third one. Ah well, I guess I’m not getting any younger…’

‘Aren’t you though? I’m constantly being asked about my pretty young wife,’ Baekhyun smiled at you charmingly. ‘And you only became prettier after the third pregnancy. I say it’s the hormones.’

Your cunning little plan was working. He was incredibly easy to distract.

‘Tell me the truth, was it the boobs? Or my butt? I did gain the most weight with the little daredevil, that’s for sure.’

‘It was all of you. You always looked so sexy when pregnant, I just wanted to have you all to myself,’ he cooed at you. ‘To feed you handpicked strawberries. And smother you with kisses. My beautiful young wife.’

At some point during this conversation, you shuffled closer to each other, now cuddled up snugly on the bed. Your finger slowly traced abstract patterns on his chest, happily exploiting the access to his skin where his pajama shirt was unbuttoned.

‘Ah, you’re just saying that to get under my nightgown,’ you batted your eyelashes at him, and he shook his head.

‘Maybe a little, but that’s true. And it’s not surprising that people are noticing – you are younger than me.’

‘A couple of years is nothing at our age,’ you murmured, bending your knee and moving your leg slightly up his to get cozy.

‘Well, you know what people say… Small kids make parents younger. Wanna have another one?’ He nudged you gently and laughed at the dirty look you gave him.

‘Yeobo- please don’t make jokes like this. I’d rather look for other elixirs of youth than go through that entire ordeal again.’

You knew that he was kidding, but the thought made you shiver.

‘I know, honey, I know. Like I said, you’re not in need of any elixirs.’

At this you relaxed, melting into his shoulder, and guiding his arm to wrap around you, warming your exposed shoulders.

‘Well, Mr Byun, same to you. Still as charming as two decades ago.’

‘Hey, I’d like to think that I’m more charming now. The experience and all.’

‘Who helped you gain all that experience though?’ You poked him lightly, and a low chesty laugh escaped his lips.

‘Of course, it was my one and only, my young, and beautiful, and smart and sexy little wife,’ he punctuated each compliment with a chaste kiss to your cheeks, nose, lips, and neck.

You squirmed in his arms.

‘Ah, you make a woman go mad,’ you purred into his lips mockingly.

He snickered softly, ready to lean in, but then stopped abruptly.

‘Wait a second- What about-’

‘Baekhyun…’ You murmured as he fussed on the bed.

‘I should probably go in there, and-’

‘And what? Embarrass your daughter?’ You held him down. ‘She’s sixteen, honey, it’s just the hormones. We’ve both been there. Let her be.’ You nuzzled his neck, pressing your lips to his sensitive skin lazily.

His mind was growing cloudy again since your hand was now caressing his inner thigh foxily. He’d probably realized what you were doing by now, but you were right, so he allowed you to sway him into giving the idea of an immediate intervention up.

‘Besides, I’m sure you wouldn’t be nearly as appalled if that was our eldest,’ you scoffed and added in an exaggerated tone. ‘Never took you for a sexist.’

‘But- he’s eighteen, and she- she’s my little girl…’ He mumbled in a small voice, hazed further by your not-so-subtle seduction. ‘I can’t let her- watch that-’

‘Don’t worry, yeobo,’ you whispered soothingly in his ear, slipping your hand into his loose pants. ‘I’ll talk to her tomorrow. Without you. No need to traumatize the poor girl, that’s how daddy issues develop.’

‘You should know,’ he bit back meekly, sighing when you finally wrapped your fingers around his semi-hard length.

‘The sass! It’s almost like you still got it, Mr Byun. Care to impress that young wife of yours?’

‘I sure will, you cunning woman,’ he growled playfully, completely giving in to it and attacking your laughing mouth as he lifted the covers over your head.

A/N: Thank you for reading! As usual, feel free to share your thoughts in the comments/ asks, and if you’re new – check out my Masterlist ^^

#theBBHday #baekhyun smut #baekhyun x reader #baekhyun scenario #exowritersnet #supermwritersnet #baekhyun event #baekhyun fanfic #dad!Baek #puppydad!Baek #icequeenbae fics

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sdr2lovemail · 3 years

Note

I just noticed that you are alive again! So um.. I've been thinking for QUITE a while of a relationship Ultimate Impostor x Ultimate Leader (in the killing game ig?), idk why. If the requests are closed feel free to ignore this. Thank you!

You could say that I am a fan of Imposter's work. Even tho there is not a lot of content about them out there I still love them dearly.

And yes I died for a minute but have risen from the grave to continue my writing career. I hope you enjoy what I have written my friend because I absolutely love it.

⚔Mod Peko⚔

Spoilers for chapter 1

The Ultimate Imposter disguised as Byakuya Togami and the Ultimate Leader butt heads but also kinda wanna kiss each other

Teenagers and a killing game are bound to fall into chaos. Teenagers, a killing game, and no supervision will cause more chaos. That’s why they need a leader. Someone strong and brave to guide them. However two ultimates wanting to be that leader, teenagers, a killing game, and no supervision will cause even more chaos.

Breakfast was a usually calm time. Everyone just wanted to eat and get on with finding a way off this forced school trip. However there were some mornings where everyone seemed to be full of energy. Akane and Nekomaru were engaged in a fierce 1v1 training session. Chairs, tables, and food flying throughout the air from the power of their moves. The restaurant was in total disarray and with your talent of being a leader you must do something to calm the crowd. Standing up you set your arms behind your back and call out to your classmates.

“Everyone! This is-”

“Sit down, common folk. You will all cease this foolish behavior and stop wasting food.”

“Huh?”

At the mention of wasting food Akane quickly stops her fighting. She then pulls up a table and chair from the mess of the restaurant and begins to chow down. You look at where the voice came from and see Twogami sitting at a table with a plate. Just because this guy is loaded he thinks he can be a better leader than you? Oh you will just have a quick word with him to set the record straight. With quick strides you tap him on the shoulder giving him your best stern look. This look helped you strike the feeling of order into people. But Twogami doesn’t look impressed at all?! No you can’t let him see you falter. Standing up straighter than ever you begin to speak.

‘Hey what’s the big idea? I’m the Ultimate leader. I don’t need your help guiding our class.” You told him with a grim expression. Twogami gave you a look over before setting down his fork. He wipes his mouth off with a napkin before standing to face you. His intimidation factor was off the charts. Can money buy such a scary aura?! After adjusting his glasses he begins to speak with a sigh.

“Listen I, Byakuya Twogami, am much better suited to be in charge. You may have your impeccable wits and title but that is nothing compared to being next in the Togami line. Now are we done here? I would like to finish my food”

Not even giving you a chance to respond he goes right back to eating. Even with your ultimate status this guy intimidates you a lot. But you will not be backing down. He thinks he’s so high and mighty you’ll show him high and mighty.

The days feel like they’re getting heavier. Monokuma’s annoying voice rings in your ears. There’s no way you’d believe that memory loss garbage….And even if you did, you had to stay strong for everyone. Twogami’s party did nothing to calm the tense feeling in the air. You decided you were going to check this abandoned building from top to bottom before anyone steps foot inside.

You do not see Nagito when you first step in. Maybe he’s cleaning somewhere else. Teruteru was said to be in the kitchen. Entering the main room of the building you see Twogami rifling through what looks to be a metal case. Hearing the floors creak under your weight he looks over. Upon seeing you he sends a glare.

“And what are you doing here? I don’t remember you having to prepare anything.” There was a doubtful tone to his voice. Twogami was trying to let this party go off without a hitch. And he wasn’t going to let some commoner ruin his plans. Though behind the rich boy costume Imposter did feel kinda bad. They felt like they were trampling all over your pride with their Byakuya act. However this was their ultimate. And as Twogami….No. Just as themself, if that even existed, they will keep their classmates safe. Even if they have to hurt some feelings.

“As a leader it is my duty to keep everyone in order and assure maximum safety. I plan to do a total sweep of the place before the party.” And like he did to you, you did not give him a chance to answer. You quickly turn around and exit out into the hallway missing the look of awe on Twogami’s face. Walking past the fire door you come up to the kitchen. Before you can reach for the door it swings open revealing Nagito. Strange….If Teruteru was already in the kitchen there was no need for Nagito to be in there. The lucky student passed by with a smile yet spoke no words towards you. Also strange. Nagito usually said something when passing. He deemed it rude not to say hello to an ultimate.

Entering the kitchen you see Teruteru at the counter. He doesn’t seem to notice you coming in. The usual smile on his face is replaced with a look of fear and he’s shaking like a leaf. Stepping closer seems to have caught his attention as he jumps. The look of fear is swiftly changed into a smile yet he’s still shaking. Teruteru then grabs a knife and begins chopping at some vegetables. Seems as if he’s trying to make it seem like he was simply taking a break.

“W-Why hello there. Heh, what could I do for you?” He’s shaken up quite a bit. Not a single flirty remark in that sentence and Teruteru sure did like to tease about your strong authority. You stand tall and look down at the chef. He visibly shrinks back. Looking him dead in the eye you start to command him.

“You will tell me what you have discussed with Nagito Komaeda.”

This caused Teruteru to tense up. Setting down the knife he grabs a comb from his pocket and begins to bring it through his hair. Though there isn’t a hair out of place on his pompadour. Appears to be a nervous habit.

“I uh….I have no idea what you mean mon ami~. We were simply discussing plans for the upcoming party.” Teruteru had tried to come off as collected but you knew better. He wasn’t making eye contact and he was constantly fidgeting. Nagito told him something and you were going to find out what.

“Teruteru Hanamura! I command you to tell me what Nagito had told you. Simple party plans would not have such an impact on your demeanor.”

This seemed to have caused a reaction in him. He began to blubber as words poured out of his mouth like a dam cracking under pressure.

“He came in here and told me that he had plans to murder someone at the party with the knife he had hidden under one of the tables in the dining room. He planned to overload the breaker in here with irons in the storage room to cause a blackout so he could grab the knife and kill someone during the party. I-I begun to form my own plan of stopping him….by….killing him?” The last part of his word vomit stuck with Teruteru. He would’ve had someone’s blood on his hands and would send the rest of his class to their own demise. “Oh my god I was going to kill him!” Teruteru then sinks to his knees before you.

Your face softens as you see the mess of a chef on the ground. Nagito was planning a murder? Why would he share this information with Teruteru? Dropping down to his level you set a careful hand on Teruteru’s back. “Listen. I’m going to go grab Twogami and you’re going to tell him what happened. And we’ll come up with a solution.” You normally wouldn’t call for backup, but as this was his party you felt he had the right to know.

You cautiously leave the kitchen and begin to look for the blond. Not able to find him in the building you exit to the hotel grounds. Noticing the while suit and blonde hair you call out to him and ask for him to come back. Leading him to the kitchen where Teruteru still sits slumped on the ground he listens to what you already know.

A look of disgust crosses Twogami’s face before he sets off to the main room. After announcing your departure to Teruteru, you follow him. Nagito is there setting up tables and dusting the furniture. He was about to offer the two of you a cheerful greeting but is cut off by your demand for him to exit the grounds. Not wanting to upset an ultimate that is clearly in higher ranks than he is, Nagito does not question it. He leaves the abandoned building to rest in his cottage to wait for permission to be allowed back in.

Looking under the tables you find the knife that Teruteru had mentioned. Grabbing it proceeds to coat your hand in wet paint. So Nagito had just planted this. But what’s the paint for?

“Set the knife in the duralumin case I brought on the left. I am currently using it to store anything I deem unsafe.”

You let out a scoff before setting the knife in the case. He sure does love bossing people around even in dire situations. Well….I guess that’s your talent so you can’t really speak. After doing a check of the rest of the tables, Twogami walks up to you with something in his hand. It’s a handkerchief with the Togami family crest. Imposter spent many hours perfecting the stitching of the symbol. You give him a confused look about the offering. Seeing the expression he rolls his eyes.

“Close your mouth before flies start to swarm. This is to wipe your hand off. I don’t need paint smears ruining the image of my party.”

“What? I can’t wipe paint on something as expensive as that. That handkerchief probably cost more than my house. I’ll just go wash it in the bathroom.”

Upset by your stubborn nature, Twogami grabs your wrist and begins to wipe the paint off himself. After your hand is clean he drops the cloth into your hand. “I expect that to be washed before it’s returned to me. Now I have some important matters to discuss.”

Stuffing the handkerchief into your pocket you give Twogami your full attention.

“I have decided that after this little incident we need to up the security. I would ask Nekomaru but I wish to keep this between us. Letting the public know that two people were planning a murder would cause chaos. When it’s time for the party you will help me conduct body searches. I’d like for you to keep an eye on the party with me to make sure no suspicious activity is at play.”

While normally you would make a fuss about him bossing you around with people’s lives at stake it was simply not the time for that. Nodding once he finishes speaking, you and Twogami complete one last look of the place before the party starts.

It’s time for the party and the two of you are set up outside of the abandoned building. After checking everyone and confiscating anything deemed dangerous, the party is in full swing. Everything is going smoothly. 11:30 was nearing and at the corner of your eye you see Nagito inch closer to the table. Knowing you shut the irons off you pay this no mind. There’s no way he’d try to pull anything when everyone can see him. A quick look of confusion crosses his face as the lights are still on. The confused expression is swapped for one of despair. There’s a creepy smile on his face and his eyes are clouded. Even if the blackout did not occur Nagito can still pull through with his plan.

He suddenly flips the table cloth over and goes to reach for his knife. Everyone at the party has eyes on him. Before he can fully register that his knife is in fact missing Nagito is pushed to the ground. His arms are pressed against his back and his face is squished into the floor. Multiple confused cries echo throughout the dining hall. Nagito recognized this tactic. After hours upon hours of researching the ultimates he’s sharing a class with he could easily tell that this was your work.

Twogami with Nekomaru in tow walks over to you and the detained lucky student. An agitated expression is on the heir’s face. He looks down at Nagito.

“You dare to think that I would let your plan continue? [Name] and I knew about your scheme and were quick to put a stop to it. And the fact that you would try to pull through with it in broad light is despicable.”

Anger, disgust, and confusion are present in the crowd of your classmates. Trying to make sense of it all Akane speaks up.

“I’m so friggin’ confused. What plan did Nagito have? Need me to beat him up for ya?”

You were quick to diminish the violent thought. “No, that will not be necessary as he has already been disarmed.”

“Nagito had planned out a murder.”

Twogami’s words caused a commotion in the dining hall. After hearing the noise from the kitchen, Teruteru cautiously enters the room fearing the worst. Though a feeling of relief washed over him after seeing Nagito on the ground.

Nekomaru lets out a strangled noise. His teeth are clenched and his fists tightened.

“You were going to murder one of your classmates? THAT’S INEXCUSABLE! Please [Name] allow me to detain him somewhere away from everyone. SOMEONE LIKE HIM CANNOT WALK FREEEEE!”

Looking over to Twogami as if silently discussing what to do he sends you a nod. Removing Nagito from your grasp he is quickly put into Nekomaru’s. The coach is quick to remove him from the premises. With a sigh Twogami faces your classmates. Pushing his glasses up he begins to apologise.

“I am sorry you all had to see that. And I am sorry that my exquisite party must draw to a close here. Exit the building and head to your cottage for the night.”

Though shaken, everyone proceeds to leave in groups. No one wants to walk back alone fearing that someone will try something. With just you and Twogami left he turns to face you.

“That was quite impressive. What you did back there was helpful in getting Nagito detained. I believe that we should come to an agreement. Yes we are fine separately but together I feel that we could do an outstanding job at keeping everyone safe.”

Twogami extended a chubby hand out for you to shake. This handshake would seal the two of you into a partnership. One of which would keep your class safe. Looking from his hand to his face then back to his hand you sit there in thought. This could be a wonderful idea. With two people working together that’s like double the safety. With a smile you shake his hand giving it a tight squeeze.

“I think I’d like that Twogami! From here on out the two of us are now Jabberwock Island’s health and safety committee.”

#ultimate imposter x reader #danganronpa x reader #imposter x reader #byakuya twogami x reader #ultimate imposter #byakuya twogami #super danganronpa goodbye despair #danganronpa #danganronpa imagine #sdr2 x reader #sdr2 #danganronpa fanfiction #danganronpa imagines #x reader #insert an original name here #Jabberwock Island Health and Safety Committee

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hotpinkhoshi · 4 years

Text

devour (m)

pairing: human!baekhyun x vampire!reader (f) genre: smut, paranormal warnings: mentions of blood, pain, monsters etc, explicit sex involving some slight dom/sub themes but not really. a lot of position switching, oral (m receiving), cursing word count: 6.6k summary: you’re thirsty. so damn thirsty. and baekhyun is the only one that can give you what you want. it’s the last time, really the last time, you tell yourself. a/n: hello my lovely amazing readers! thank you so much for being so patient with me these last several months, i know i haven’t been very consistent with my posting BUT i promise i’m trying. i started this piece about 3 weeks ago and my only goal was to finish it by the end of the month. thankfully i just barely finished in time! i hope you enjoy but first, a disclaimer: i haven’t read or watched anything about vampires in many years so i know there may be things that don’t technically make sense. vampire enthusiasts pls do not come for me, i did my best. thanks to: all my followers, @jjinyounf for discussing vampire reproductive systems, & @flowerbeom and @jjpmoans for hyping me up and giving me love and encouragement whenever i need it, which is a lot!

Last time, you told yourself it was the last time.

The last time you let Baekhyun into your apartment at half past three in the morning, so out of your mind starving that you could hardly even see straight. The last time you let him take you, command your body like it was no longer your own.

You should have known you were lying to yourself.

You [3:28am]: are you up?

Baek [3:29am]: yea, why?

You [3:31am]: can you come over?

After your last message, you got no response. Perhaps, you thought, he’d fallen asleep or worse, had no interest in being your blood bag for the night. You would be disappointed, but you wouldn’t blame him.

You rolled over in bed, flopping onto your stomach as you buried your face into your pillow. Maybe you could simply push through and wait until morning, when Kyungsoo would be awake and able to help you.

After you turned a few months ago, totally unexpectedly, it had flipped your world upside down. Kyungsoo found you, shivering and delirious by a dumpster where your fun little one night stand had left you.

Kyungsoo was human, but he was the type of person that people trusted and allowed into their worlds, no matter who they were. As one of the general surgeons of the local hospital, he’d gotten himself into a position of substantial power over both the humans and the vampires of your city. He never used it as a weapon—only as leverage to keep the humans safe.

When he found you, he’d wrapped you in his jacket and carried you to his apartment, but you didn’t remember anything until many days later. Kyungsoo nursed you to health, providing you with a vampire crash course to prepare you for the rest of your life. Of eternity.

Then he’d introduced you to some of his friends at a party after you were more comfortable, although you had yet to feed on a living human. There was a whole community of humans that got off on it, that lived for the pain and pleasure of letting a vampire feed on them.

It was at this party that you met Baekhyun. He had a mischievous glint in his eye when Kyungsoo told him your name and left the two of you alone in the dimly lit, smoky club basement. Something about that look in Baekhyun’s eyes told you he knew you’d be his by the end of the night.

The feeling, the taste, the pure ecstasy of finally consuming fresh blood was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before, even when you were alive. Your senses were heightened as a vampire as it was, but as soon as his blood hit your tongue, it was like your world exploded into a million colors.

But even though you’d been the monster drinking his blood, Baekhyun remained in control. He laid you out on his bed and pinned your wrists to the mattress with one hand, his other wrist pressed into your mouth as he forced you to feed.

You whimpered and cried out when it was too much, when the overstimulation of his blood and the way he was rocking into you at a brutally rhythmic pace had you seeing stars. He never relented; only fucked you harder as you writhed under him.

After that night, you never wanted anyone else. Baekhyun was the only man you wanted to feed from. With him, you didn’t feel like a monster. You didn’t feel like a thing, like a horror story to tell in the dark.

He made you feel human again.

Tonight, the thirst was too much to handle. It was clouding your mind and keeping you awake as you twisted and turned under the covers. You couldn’t tell if you were craving his blood or craving him, but you were too weak to care.

You hated the thirst. It was like dehydration, tenfold. Your head hurt, your lips were dry no matter how many times you wet them, and all you could think about was warm blood sliding down your throat. It was maddening.

The telltale sound of your apartment’s buzzer had you sitting up in bed, so quickly that it made your head spin, the noise signaling that you had a visitor down at the main entrance to your building.

You scurried off the bed and hurried to the door, nearly running into it as you slid on the hardwood in your socks to let him in. You told yourself the eagerness to see him was only because you were thirsty, certainly nothing more.

As soon as you opened the door, you felt embarrassingly underdressed.

Baekhyun had dyed his hair since you’d last seen him. It was now a silver blonde, perfectly messy and framing his stupidly beautiful features. He’d been out tonight, you realized. The glitter on his cheekbones gave it away.

His hands were stuffed comfortably in the pockets of his leather jacket with a faded graphic tee underneath, and expertly tailored black jeans practically painted onto his lower half.

You tugged the hem of your T-shirt down, even though he’d already had you in positions that you hadn’t even thought were physically possible—vampire or not. For some reason, you still felt bare in front of him in your pajama shorts and oversized tee.

“Hmm,” Baekhyun hummed as he stepped inside, letting the heavy door close behind him. He smelled like smoke and rum. “Look at you. Is someone thirsty?”

You blinked, grateful that you were incapable of blushing. As ravenous and desperate for blood as you were, the way he looked you up and down made you feel small and shy.

“Can I?” you asked, reaching for his wrist, half tucked into the pocket of his jacket.

“Uh-uh.” He stepped back just before your fingers brushed his skin. “You know that’s not how it works, baby. You still need to work for it.”

If you wanted to, you could muster your strength and slam him into the door, dive for his neck and bleed him dry before he even realized what was happening. But you didn’t. You wanted this, you wanted to beg and plead until finally, he rewarded you.

“Baekhyun,” you whispered, then dragged your tongue over the dry, cracking skin of your lips. “I’m so thirsty. I’ll do whatever you want.”

He seemed pleased by this, judging by the way his lips turned into a familiar smirk. “I know you will. Come on, let’s go sit down.”

You followed him to the living room obediently, watching as he made himself comfortable on the couch. He shrugged his jacket off, revealing the expanse of his forearms down to his wrists, covered in bite marks in various stages of healing.

All from you.

If he had chosen to get his fix somewhere else, you wouldn’t have any reason to be envious or hurt. But it filled you with a sense of pride that he didn’t, that you were the only one he allowed to taste him.

You moved to sit next to him, but Baekhyun stopped you. He took your hand, leading you to stand in between his parted legs.

“Knees.”

It took one word for you to drop to the carpet, your bare knees pressing into the old scratchy shag rug you’d had for ages. He kept your fingers in his palm, rubbing his thumb idly over the back of your hand.

“Good girl.” With his other hand, he tucked your hair behind your ear, his wrist brushing against your cheek so that you could hear the pulse beneath his skin.

“Baek…” you began, turning slightly until your nose brushed his skin. “Just a taste. Please.”

Baekhyun lifted your chin with his finger and locked eyes with you. You filled with warmth already, just one look enough to send your mind racing with images of everything you wanted from him. His blood was further down the list than you would have thought.

“Just a taste,” he repeated.

With that, he let go of your hand and turned slightly to reach into the pocket of his discarded jacket. When he pulled out the shiny folded metal, you gulped hungrily.

The pocketknife brandished with a metallic click.

It wasn’t uncommon for humans to carry weapons these days. After all, vampires weren’t the only monsters that roamed the streets after dusk, and not all vampires were quite as friendly with humans as you were.

Your eyes followed Baekhyun’s nimble fingers as he brought the very end of his knife to his middle finger, twisting the point into his fingertip until a spot of blood appeared.

It took every bit of self control that you possessed not to reach out in desperation for his hand and bring it to your mouth. But you knew better—you knew if you broke, Baekhyun would stand up and walk out the door like you were less than nothing to him.

He watched you with interest as he held his finger just out of your reach, eyes dancing with that mischievous stare he had when he teased you. You would despise it if you didn’t know that eventually, he always caved.

Finally, when your mouth had gone dry and you could feel the warm tingle that meant your fangs were about to protrude, Baekhyun brought his index and middle fingers to your mouth.

He slipped them past the parched skin of your lips, your entire world blooming as soon as his middle finger touched the center of your tongue. You moaned, eyes falling shut.

“Look how needy you are,” he remarked after a beat. His voice was strained, though, as if watching your display of bliss was causing him physical pain.

He let you go for a while, maybe half a minute, before he was removing his fingers from your mouth. You couldn’t help but whine, resisting every urge not to grab at his wrist to keep him there.

With the small amount of his blood you’d been able to milk from his finger, you already felt renewed. A surge of energy coursed through you like you’d just been injected with adrenaline.

“What do you say?” Baekhyun asked with a cocked brow.

You swallowed, licking any remnants of his blood from your lips. “Thank you.”

Without a second thought, you reached for Baekhyun’s belt, fingers quickly undoing the metal buckle. Your ears picked up the quickening of his heartbeat from the moment you undid the button of his pants.

It was no surprise that most vampire-human relationships, if not ending in death, ended in sex. Feeding, in your experience, was extremely sensual and instantly created feelings of arousal within both parties. It was almost better than sex, and when the two came together? It was euphoric.

You were pleased to find him half-hard already by the time you got his zipper down, your hand wrapping around the length of him under the fabric of his briefs. Baekhyun inhaled sharply, holding his breath until you had pulled his cock from his underwear.

Only a few seconds passed before you leaned forward, parting your lips to run your tongue along the underside of his member. Your eyes remained open, locked on Baekhyun’s face to gauge his reaction.

He loved it, of course.

With a groan, he tipped his head back, exposing his throat and sending a shockwave to your core. You wanted his throat, his neck, all of that fresh, warm blood pumping beneath his skin. But you wanted to taste it while he was inside of you. It would be worth the wait.

Your eyes fell shut as you took his length into your mouth, deeper and deeper with each stroke until he hit the back of your throat. Unlike men you’d been with when you were human, Baekhyun made no effort to remain quiet. He was loud, and you loved it.

If you had your way, all of your days would be filled with Baekhyun’s voice. His moans, his rough whispers in your ear, his laugh, his hums as he completed mundane tasks like wiping down the counters or tying his shoes. Deep down, you wanted it all.

“Good girl, that’s my girl,” he whispered, reaching forward to lace his fingers in your hair. He curled his hand into a tight fist, a deliciously sharp pain spreading across your scalp.

You whimpered, lips wrapped tight and wet around him. He guided you back and forth for a while with his hand in your hair, muttering soft praises all the while. By the way his hips were twitching towards your face, you knew he was getting lost in the ministrations of your mouth.

Baekhyun soon dropped his hand from your hair, signaling you to pull away, just in time for him to stand up and pull you to your feet.

A squeak of surprise fell from your lips as he lifted you, hooking your legs around his waist in a simple, swift movement.

“Bed,” he said simply.

Baekhyun carried you through your apartment as if it was his own, lips kissing and nipping at your neck as he dodged every obstacle between the two of you and the bedroom. He stopped once, in the hallway, to lean you into wall and roll his hips into your center.

His name came out as a sigh.

Then, finally, he dropped you onto the center of your bed. It was messy from your previous tossing around in the sheets from your thirst, but neither of you cared. Baekhyun reached for the comforter, knotted and piled together under your lower back, and easily tossed it off the bed to leave nothing but the sheets under you.

He stood at the foot of the bed, chest heaving up and down, and ran his fingers through his hair. The look in his eyes had you squirming, ready for him to devour you in every way possible.

“Are you still thirsty, baby?”

Your heart clenched at the pet name, even though he always called you that, loving the way it sounded on his lips. You gulped, nodding as you batted your eyelashes.

“Yes,” you admitted.

“Take off your clothes,” he told you, hands reaching for his jeans, still unbuttoned, to push them down his legs.

It took less than a second for you to obey, clutching the waistband of your shorts and shoving them off of you. You knew he liked when you kept your underwear on, just so he could use it to further torture you by keeping a layer between you.

You slipped your thin T-shirt off, throwing it to the side and laying back into the mattress again. Baekhyun had removed his own shirt, leaving just his briefs from letting you see all of him.

You could marvel at his body for hours—he was slender, but solid. He wasn’t much taller than you, but his shoulders were broad enough to make you feel protected in those rare moments when he held you in his arms.

This time, though, you noticed something new. There was a handful of bruises and scratches marring his body, completely different from the puncture marks that your fangs left when you fed on him. Blinking, you furrowed your eyebrows, fingers reaching out.

“What are-”

“No questions,” Baekhyun cut you off, reaching for your hands before they could reach their destination. His face softened, ever so slightly, when you quickly retreated, curling your hands up near your own chest. “We’re not here to talk, are we, baby?”

Just like that, he made you forget the suspicious marks on his chest, even one slash that looked particularly painful. Almost like he’d been cut by a knife.

Watching the way he licked his lips as his eyes traveled down your body, slowly, so slowly, you were easily steered back to the task at hand. You dropped your hands to the sheets, digging your nails into the fabric as he overwhelmed each of your senses.

Even from here, you could smell his blood. From here, you could hear the steady, strong beat of his heart, taste the alcohol and nicotine of his kiss. Your body was calling out to him and you weren’t sure how much longer you could deny what it needed.

“Baekhyun,” you found yourself whining, hips squirming under his hungry gaze.

His eyes snapped up to your face then, so much desire and pure lust in his stare that you felt a brand new surge of heat travel through your limbs.

“Mm, first…” he pressed one knee down into the mattress, then the other, until he was hovering over you. “We have to see if you’re ready for me, don’t we?”

Baekhyun led a painfully light touch down the middle of your chest with his index and middle fingers, between your bare breasts, and down the valley of your stomach at a pace that had you biting your tongue just to keep from begging him for the nth time. It would only further encourage him to play with you, of which you could only tolerate so much.

You knew his moves by now, knew that he would trail those fingers down to your waist, over the elastic of your panties until he found the evidence of your arousal between your legs. You knew his moves, and he still had you whimpering the moment his fingers brushed your clit through your panties.

Your toes curled into the sheets as you tried desperately not to show how crazy he was making you. He knew already, though, the moment he slid his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties and found wetness between your legs.

“Oh,” Baekhyun said with a smirk, tongue running cheekily along his lower lip. “You’re dripping, Y/N. You’re this wet just from sucking me off?”

Again, you were grateful for your inability to blush.

“Answer me,” he demanded suddenly, eyes turning dark just the way you liked them.

“Yes!” you replied, hips canting up towards Baekhyun’s hand. “Yes, I’m this wet just from sucking you off.”

Even after you closed your eyes, you were sure you could see the cocky smirk that was undoubtedly painted upon his lips. He lived for this, the feeling of absolutely owning you. You, an immortal, bloodthirsty, powerful woman despite how weak he made you.

As his fingers delved lower, just until he could dip them into your entrance, you mewled and turned your cheek towards the pillow. “Please,” you breathed.

Baekhyun’s lips brushed your neck. “Please, what?”

“Want you… want-“ you sighed as his fingers pushed deeper, to his second knuckle. “Want you inside.”

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t surprise you when he finally gave in, but you couldn’t complain. Though he didn’t concede without a few deep pumps of his fingers, enough to have you gasping and close to ripping the sheets apart beneath you.

Baekhyun slipped his fingers from you and stood from the bed, his hands pushing down his briefs without hesitation. He nodded at you once, motioning with his chin to the headboard behind you.

“On your knees, and face the headboard.”

Renewed with your need to feel Baekhyun inside of you, you easily flipped over onto all fours, that warm sensation in your gums warning you that your fangs would extend at any moment. You didn’t fight it, hoping that it wouldn’t be much longer until you would need them.

“Fuck,” Baekhyun exhaled, just before you felt the bed shift with his weight as he moved behind you. “You’re beautiful, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love seeing you like this.”

You’re beautiful.

The words echoed in your mind, though you knew they probably shouldn’t. He rarely complimented you so boldly, especially before he was inside of you, overwhelmed with pleasure and pain. Curling your hands into fists, you shoved your feelings down because you needed to. A survival instinct, really.

Because if you fell for him, if you opened your heart, the odds were against you. You weren’t sure why he chose you, why you were the only one he allowed to feed from him, but you couldn’t let yourself see it as any more than a mutual transaction of pleasure.

Baekhyun snapped you out of your thoughts easily the moment he pressed up against you from behind, his hands molding down your sides until he could place them upon your hips.

You hung your head between your shoulders, reaching your hands out to grip the wooden slats of your headboard. The anticipation was always the best, and worst, part of this.

It almost scared you how well Baekhyun knew your body. He knew when he trailed his fingertips down between your shoulder blades that you’d shiver and bite your lip, using every ounce of willpower that you possessed not to beg him. Even though you were pretty sure that’s what he wanted.

He knew when he leaned forward and kissed your shoulder, that you’d ultimately lose the battle with yourself and your dignity. You were hot, sweaty, and desperate. Desperate enough to give in and sob his name, squeezing your headboard so hard that you felt the wood splinter beneath your hands.

Without another word, his lips still pressed to your skin, you finally felt the tip of his cock tease your entrance. You held your breath, hoping beyond hope that he wouldn’t drag it out any longer.

Your wish was granted as he filled you in one long stroke, both of you releasing satisfied moans at the sensation. This... this was bliss.

“How are you-” Baekhyun ground out through his teeth and squeezed your hips hard enough you’d probably bruise, if you could, “-always this tight? God.”

His lips trailed across from one shoulder blade to the other, giving your body a moment to adjust to the girth of him, before he began to move. Just like every other time, he pulled sighs and moans from you that only his ears had ever had the privilege of hearing.

“Oh, my god,” you breathed, your walls clenching around him each time he filled you, his pace making your head spin.

“How’s it feel, baby?” Baekhyun asked, voice low next to your ear.

It took a few more thrusts for you to be able to catch your breath to answer him, your head spinning from the way he was fucking you. It didn’t matter how many times you had him, he always made you like this. Crazy, hungry, and weak.

“Good, so… so good.”

“That’s right,” Baekhyun answered, one hand drifting from your hip down between your legs to find your clit. “You’re taking me so well. Think you might get to feed a little earlier than normal tonight, baby.”

You clenched around him once more at his words. Recently, Baekhyun had started making you wait longer and longer to taste him. The last time, you’d been teetering right on the edge of your second orgasm when he finally bared his neck to you.

It wasn’t the worst thing in the world--no, that moment when his blood hit your tongue had sent you towards the most electric, trembling climax you’d ever had. But you had to admit your mouth was watering already at the thought of sinking your teeth into his skin sooner rather than later.

“Please,” you begged, pushing your ass back towards him. “Please, Baekhyun.”

Baekhyun rolled his fingers around your clit in circular motions, grunting as he thrusted hard, jolting you forward. You gasped and moaned, throwing your head back in ecstasy.

“You want that, huh? You want me to fuck you while you drink from me?” He matched each stroke of his cock inside of you with the pace of his fingers, drawing tight circles between your legs.

“Yes,” you answered, voice cracking. You didn’t just want it, you needed it. Your fangs were showing now, and you weren’t even sure at what point they’d finally protruded from your gums, a biological response to the thought that you would be needing them soon.

Your world spun, briefly, as Baekhyun grabbed your hips and flipped you from your knees onto your back. It was quick, a move he’d pulled on you so many times you barely even noticed until he was pushing back inside of you.

“Oh, look at you,” he said from above you.

Now that you could see him, you could appreciate his rosy cheeks, the way his hair stuck to his temples, and the subtle way his shoulder muscles contracted each time he moved inside you. Holding himself up with one arm, he trailed his free hand down the side of your face and brushed his thumb over your lip.

“You’re ready to feed, aren’t you, baby? So fucking needy. You think you deserve it?” The pad of his thumb slipped inside of your mouth, daring to trace over the shape of one of your fangs.

All you could do was nod, the ability to actually speak coherent words completely lost on you at the moment.

You waited, as patiently as you could while he was driving you insane, for Baekhyun to make the first move. You never reached for his arm first, never lunged for his neck or his shoulder, simply because you wanted him to have that control.

Baekhyun leaned down, his lips trailing kisses from your chin up to your jaw, until he nipped at your earlobe. “Go ahead, pretty. Take what you want.”

The next time he filled you completely with his cock, you finally sunk your teeth into Baekhyun’s neck, that same spot that you had claimed as your own already. You whimpered as his blood filled your mouth, sliding down your throat.

You reveled in the way he tasted and the sinful way he inhaled sharply at the initial bite before he let out a long, blissful moan. Your body was on fire now, so consumed in Baekhyun and the way he felt buried this deep inside of your heat. It was like you were invincible.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you pulled him into you easily. It was different when you fed from him like this. You had to be careful, control yourself so that you didn’t hurt him too badly, but it tasted so damn good.

Before you could get carried away, you forced yourself to pull back, licking any remnants of his blood from your lips. Even though you were no longer feeding, you felt the effects of his blood rushing through your body already.

It was electric and overwhelming in the best possible way, heightened even more so by the way Baekhyun fit inside of you and stretched you so perfectly. The entire room had brightened around you as if somebody had switched on a light.

When you were finally able to focus on the man above you, you were pleased to find that he looked just as fucked out as you felt. His arms shook, for a moment, maybe from the quick loss of blood or just the sheer pleasure of it all.

Taken by a moment of bravery, you used your legs hooked around his hips to roll your bodies over so that you could settle on top of him and let him rest for a moment. His wound would heal quickly—something to do with the healing properties of your saliva, according to Kyungsoo—but you knew he’d need a beat to regain his strength.

The moment he filled you completely, you took in a shuddering breath and planted your hands on his chest. Baekhyun stared up at you, eyes filled with awe, lips parted as if he wanted to say something but just couldn’t find the words.

“Wanna ride you,” you whispered, licking your lips once again. “I want to make you - make you feel good,” you admitted.

Baekhyun’s hands found your thighs, pale and smooth, and dug his fingertips into your skin. Slowly, those fingertips trailed up to your hips to pull you closer, forcing you into a rocking motion atop of him.

“Go on, then,” he breathed. “Make me feel good.”

It occurred to you then that you’d been in this position with him only once before, and it only lasted a couple of minutes before he flipped you onto your back and took over control. This time, though, you wanted to take it until the end. You wanted him to see just a shred of the power you could have over him.

Maybe you didn’t realize it until now, but you knew Baekhyun’s body just as well as he knew yours.

You knew when you rolled your hips just right, he’d groan and his eyes would flutter closed as he fought not to thrust himself further inside of you. You knew his hands would start to roam, squeezing and groping at the smooth flesh of your hips and stomach.

Not until Baekhyun had you learned to appreciate a man’s hands on you without feeling self conscious or try to cover up. Maybe because Baekhyun owed you nothing, there was no reason for him to lie to you or tell you what you wanted to hear. With his hands and his lips, he painted his honest truth on your body without saying a word.

You started to lose yourself more and more with each roll, each circular grind of your hips on top of him, letting your needy moans fill the room along with his.

“Just like that,” Baekhyun praised, both hands holding firmly onto your waist. “Tell me, who makes you feel this good?”

You pressed your hands more firmly into his stomach and opened your eyes, only a little surprised to find him staring up at you again as if he was trying to drink in every inch of your body.

Just when you were about to answer, Baekhyun bucked his hips up, pushing himself deeper inside of you—deep enough to make you shiver and lose any and all words that could have gone through your mind.

“I-” you started, fighting the urge to close your eyes. With the way he was looking at you, you knew that Baekhyun wanted your eyes on him. “Y-you,” you could only whisper.

“I said,” he said, through his teeth, surprising you as he sat up underneath of you so that your chests were flush together. “Who makes you feel like this?”

“You, you, you,” you cried, feeling the familiar heat building in your belly and spreading down towards your thighs. “Baekhyun, oh, fuck…”

“Mmm,” Baekhyun hummed, pleased, pulling you even closer to him. “Such a good girl. You know exactly who you belong to, don’t you? No one else can ever have you like this.”

Even as far gone as you were, something about his words made you shiver, mind racing with all the ways he could mean those words. You’d accepted that you wanted more from him, more than a late night fuck and feed, but what if he felt the same way?

“No one.”

Baekhyun pressed the words onto your lips. You clawed at his shoulders, not caring if you marked him, if you left scratches to match the mysterious half-healed slashes across his torso. You wanted him to belong to you, too, if only in one way.

The kiss sent you closer to your high as your thoughts got the best of you, imagining what your life might be like if you could belong to each other.

Maybe you could wake up next to him someday, help him with breakfast by frying the bacon while he mixed pancake batter. Or you could fall asleep curled up into his side, hand pressed to his chest, counting his heartbeats.

“Close,” you whispered. “I’m so close.”

“Me too, baby. Me too.” Baekyun pulled back first from the kiss, one hand in your hair and the other helping you keep your pace, gripped possessively around your hip.

When you finally tumbled over the edge, you could only speak incoherent mumbles and whispers of pleasure into the crook of his neck as your body bowed forward into him.

Fireworks exploded behind your vision with your climax, a feeling you should have been used to by now, but you still found yourself practically blacking out every time. It was stronger, more powerful since you became a vampire. Like every cell of your body was exploding and putting itself back together again.

“I got you, pretty, I’m here,” you heard Baekhyun whisper as he thrust into you from below, fucking you through the intense waves of your orgasm.

The feeling returned to your fingertips what felt like an hour later, even though it was probably only a minute or two, and you found yourself able to open your eyes. You blinked a few times to let your eyes refocus, taking in the sight of Baekhyun so close to you, so close to his peak.

“Baekhyun, I can’t-” you gasped, willing your trembling thighs to move so you could resume your movements on top of him. It was no use—you just didn’t have the strength.

Baekhyun moved quickly, easily flipping your positions so that he was above you once more. He remained on his knees, grabbing one of your pillows to shove under your lower back. From this angle, he could wrap your legs around his waist and grind into you at the perfect angle.

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, hands scrambling to clutch the sheets underneath of you. All you could do was watch him, devour him with your eyes the same way you had devoured him with your mouth.

From the moment you met him, you’d thought he was beautiful. It always struck you as unfair that he appeared to be without flaws, as if you had dreamed him up. He just simply couldn’t be real. And if he was real, it was a miracle he wanted anything to do with you.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Baekhyun said through gritted teeth. He was losing control, moving closer and closer to the edge with each deep thrust.

Your fingers squeezed and tugged at the sheets beneath your hands, the only thing you had the physical strength left to do. “Please,” you whined. “I wanna feel you come inside me.”

It didn’t take much longer, only a few more perfect rolls of his hips before he came with a loud, shuddering groan. You felt him spill inside of you, liquid heat that felt like it was never ending. This was your favorite part. It was the closest you could ever feel to him, surrounded in every way.

Once he had come down, Baekhyun fell forward on top of you, catching himself on his forearms. He breathed deep and heavy, face buried between your neck and your shoulder. You found yourself stroking his back, tracing words into his skin that you couldn’t say out loud.

When he finally rolled off of you, he didn’t go far, just flopped onto his side next to you. Your breath caught in your throat when he pulled you closer, one arm around your back and the other grazing your shoulder.

Outside the window, you heard the morning birds begin their chirping. It was easier to focus on their melody than just how close Baekhyun was. Close enough to hear his pulse, quick and strong.

“You okay?” he asked, nose nudging your jaw. “You get enough?”

You swallowed, suddenly remembering the whole reason Baekhyun had come over in the first place. Because you both had an itch that needed to be scratched—nothing more.

“Yeah,” you replied weakly. “I got enough.”

But he didn’t move, just let his lips rest softly against your neck. It had never been like this before. Soft, quiet, sweet.

“Why do you only let me feed from you?” you found yourself asking, hand on his chest gently pushing him back. “Why me?”

Baekhyun’s eyebrows pushed together in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” you sighed, sitting up and pushing your hair out of your face. “All your feeding marks are from me. I’m the only one, right?”

Leaning up onto his elbows, Baekhyun could only shrug as if you’d asked him if he liked sugar in his coffee. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because I like you,” Baekhyun offered. As if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

You blinked. Had you heard him wrong? Did he mean it… like that?

“You like me,” you repeated.

Baekhyun had the nerve to laugh, just a light, airy chuckle. “That’s what I said. Why am I the only one you feed from?”

Gulping, you tore your eyes away from him and shook your head. You wanted to deny it—but you both knew it was true. You’d never told him as much, but you wouldn’t be so desperate for him if you could easily get it somewhere else. Correction: you could have, you just didn’t want to.

“Because I like you.”

When you looked back at Baekhyun, he was grinning, the light catching on the glitter still smeared across his cheeks. He pushed himself to sit up, reaching for your hands. He tugged you closer to him.

“Yeah? You sure you don’t just like my delicious, mouthwatering blood?”

You scoffed and shook your head, feeling a smile tug at your lips. “It’s not that delicious.”

Baekhyun laughed again, and this time you had to join him. It felt like it was too good to be true, him wanting you the way you wanted him. You wanted to pinch yourself, just to make sure you hadn’t blacked out and imagined this whole conversation.

“Since that’s settled,” Baekhyun said, fingers grazing up your arm, your throat, until he was lifting your chin. You saw his affection for you in his eyes, so obvious it made you wonder if you’d been missing it all along.

When his lips touched yours, it was a kiss unlike any other you’d shared with him before. Deep and slow, like you had all the time in the world. You sighed into his mouth, letting his lips quiet every worry you had racing through your brain.

“Stay the night,” you said softly once you parted from him.

Baekhyun smirked, pressing his forehead into yours. “It’s already morning.”

You glanced at the window, noting the soft glow of the sunrise behind your curtains. “Oh. Never-”

“I’m kidding,” he cut you off, stroking his fingertips across your cheek. “Only if you promise to cook breakfast for me when we wake up. You do eat, right?”

“Yes,” you said with a laugh. “I eat. I don’t need to, but I love food too much not to.”

“That’s my girl,” he replied in a low tone, giving you goosebumps.

In order to keep yourself from jumping his bones, you pulled from him and climbed off the bed, searching for the comforter Baekhyun had thrown off the mattress when you’d first laid down. Once you found it, you settled on top of the sheets with him, pulling the blanket over top of your bodies.

Your memories from before you turned were a blur. Some things you could remember, but it was like they’d happened to somebody else. You knew you’d had a series of unsatisfying one night stands, a couple of boyfriends, and a handful of crushes. You remembered the face of the man who turned you, but not his name or how it happened. A blessing, Kyungsoo told you.

And although you couldn’t remember the faces of any of your past lovers, you knew without a doubt in your mind that you would never forget Baekhyun.

You realized as he brought you into his arms that he didn’t just make you feel human, he made you feel like the girl you’d been before.

#byun baekhyun #exo smut #baekhyun smut #exo imagine #baekhyun imagine #baekhyun fic #exo fic #exo fanfic #writing

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avengerscompound · 3 years

Text

Homecoming - A lovelink Fanfic

Homecoming - A lovelink Fanfiction

Character pairing: Jonathan Hayes x F!Reader

Word Count: 1750ish

Warnings: Smut (MF, Oral and vaginal sex)

Synopsis: After waiting for months for Jonathan to return from his posting, you finally get a notification that he’s home. When you reunite it’s fireworks.

A/N: Hello, yes, I have a new minor hyperobsession that I’m dragging people down into with me. I’m not suddenly going to turn into a lovelink account, but I needed to get these thoughts out of my head. Thanks to @musicalninja, @lillianfromaccounting, and @thelookingglassalice for going down this rabbit hole with me and helping me with the images.

THERE ARE IMAGES IN THIS FIC YOU NEED TO SEE FOR THE STORY.

Homecoming

Four months.

Four months, you’d kept the LoveLink app on your phone, not swiping any profiles or chatting with singles in your area, just keeping it - in case. Four months of fearing the worst and hoping for the best. Four months of wondering if you should move on and try to find that same connection again with someone new. Four months of no word and not knowing if that meant he was dead, or he’d forgotten about you, or he was out there, on the front line missing you as much as you missed him. Four months of wondering if you were a complete idiot for falling for a man so damned quickly when you knew he was going to be taken away from you.

And then your phone buzzed.

You didn’t put too much hope in the small chime that let you know you had a LoveLink notification. You didn’t hold out too much hope as you picked up your phone. You’d gotten a few of them over the last couple of months and usually, it was just a reminder that you had matches waiting to speak to you. You didn’t want to match anyone else. It didn’t matter who was out there, they could be a magical centaur from another world and you would swipe right. You were waiting on Jonathan.

You blinked at the screen, not quite sure if you were hallucinating or not. It wouldn’t be the first time that a matchup on LoveLink had ended up with you hallucinating. You quickly opened the app and stared at the screen. The ‘I’ll be waiting’ you’d sent him four months ago that had been taunting you was no longer the most recent message.

You stared at the phone as he dropped back offline again. Your heart was pounding in your chest. He was back. And he remembered you. And he was on his way here.

He was on his way here!

You jumped up and hurriedly started to tidy up. You were still in sweats and you looked like you’d just come back from a 10-mile run. You jumped in the shower and changed into something that sat on the border of sweet and sexy. You were just fixing your hair when your doorbell rang.

You hurried to the door and pulled it open.

Standing before you was the man you’d been dreaming about for four months. The corners of his mouth twitched as you reached up and cradled his jaw. Your thumb caressed his cheek as your fingers traveled over the scar that ran down his brow, spitting his eyebrow in two and narrowly missing his left eye. You had studied the photos he’d sent so many times now, you could draw his face in your sleep. He put his hand on yours and leaned into your palm. Slowly he turned his head and kissed your palm.

His lips moved to the inside of your wrist and he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your pulse was racing, and part of you still wasn’t sure that this was real. Where your skin met his it felt like there was a current passing between you. Like you were a live wire and he was grounding you. He looked down into your eyes and smiled softly. “I can’t believe I’m here with you.”

“I can’t believe you’re back,” you said, leaning in toward him.

He met you halfway, his lips connecting with yours. What was meant to be soft and tender only lasted a moment. You kissed hard and passionately. There was a frantic need that was four months in the making. Neither of you could keep your hands off each other. You slid one into his hair, bunching your fingers in the short blond locks as the other slid up his chest and closed around his dog tags. His hands slid around your hips and up your back. He lifted you off your feet just for a moment - long enough to get you inside and kick the door closed behind him.

He pushed you up against the wall and you wrapped your leg around his waist, drawing him closer to you. He kissed down to your neck, and his hands slid up under your skirt gripping your ass as he ground his hardening cock against you.

“God, Jonathan,” you moaned. “I need you.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he said.

You grinned and grabbed his hands, pulling him back into your bedroom. When you were inside, you began unfastening his shirt. He pulled back and looked down at you, his hands going to your shoulder and slowly pushing the straps of your dress down your arms, the back of her fingers grazing over your skin and sending a warm tingle through you. His gaze was full of lust, but there was love there too. It was strange to have fallen for someone so completely so quickly, but you could see he had, and you knew you had too.

“You are so beautiful,” he breathed.

You looked over his firm, muscular chest up to his clear blue eyes and smirked. “You’re not too bad yourself, hot stuff.”

You let your dress fall to the ground and stepped out of it as you pushed his shirt off. His calloused fingers skimmed over your bare skin, and he kissed you again. You could practically taste his feelings for you in the tender caress of his lips. He unhooked your bra and you unfastened his pants and pushed them down.

The last few steps to your bed were slow, and each of you shed the last of your clothes as you made them. You sat back on the bed and pulled him close, nosing at his cock. He was achingly hard and at the small touch, it jumped and leaked pre-come down the shaft. You licked up the sticky trail and swirled your tongue over the head. He groaned, bunching his hands in your hair and you slowly took him into your mouth, relaxing your throat so you could take him completely.

“Fuck…” he moaned. “I’ve dreamed of that beautiful mouth of yours.”

You pulled back and looked up at him, making him make a needy whining sound. “Is that all you dreamed about?”

“No,” he said as you took him into your mouth again. “I dreamed about all of you. Being able to see your smile, and hear your laugh. To read your teasing texts. I’ve dreamed of taking you out and exploring the world with you. Of your pussy. The taste of it, and how good it feels when my cock is buried deep inside it.”

As he spoke you sucked and bobbed your head up and down. His voice became breathier and cracked as he spoke and when he finished speaking he groaned and tugged on your hair. “God… you gotta stop or we’re not gonna get to the good bit.”

You laughed pulling back and looking up at him. “We can’t have that.”

He kneeled between your legs and pushed them apart. “Your turn,” he said, and dipped his head down. His tongue pushed between your folds, swirling around to taste as much as he could before focusing on your clit. Your toes curled and you gripped his hair as hot currents shot straight up your spine. He sucked your clit into his mouth and flicked his tongue back and forth over it. You groaned and shudders your legs trembling slightly. “God, you’re so good with your mouth.”

A slight blush went to his cheeks, which was strangely adorable considering that his cheeks were so firm planted between your thighs. He kept licking and sucking at the sensitive bud, sending shockwaves through your core. You threw your head back in pure ecstasy and all your muscles seized up at once as you came.

“Wow,” Jonathan breathed. His soft pink lips glistening with your fluids. “That was fast. And hot.”

“It’s been a long build-up,” you said, pulling him up onto you.

He guided you back as he crawled between your legs. You welcomed him between them and as he lined himself up, you pushed up your hips to meet him. He kissed you again. You could taste the tartness of yourself on his lips and you sucked greedily on them. With a quick snap of his hips, he was inside you.

You gasped and moaned loudly, arching your back in the hope it would push even more of him inside you. He groaned into your lips and began to thrust. He started slow and passionate - like he was trying to make this special and meaningful. Like he wanted it to be more than just sex, but a connection too. It didn’t last. It had been a long time for both of you, and neither of you could hold back your passion.

He thrust hard and fast into you as you gripped at his back and writhed under him. The buzz of pleasure built in you to the point that your edges felt fuzzy and you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began. His mouth moved from your lips to your neck and back again adding to the desperate passionate nature of everything. As his hips began to stutter, you slipped your hand between both your bodies and rubbed your clit, and as one, you came. You cried out and arched up under him, your whole body shuddering as your orgasm crashed down on you, and at the same time, he jerked into you and released, his cock pulsing inside your fluttering walls.

“Wow,” he sighed, as he slipped out of you and rolled onto his back.

“You’re telling me,” you said, rolling to look at him. “Don’t think I’ve ever done the simultaneous orgasm before.”

He laughed and blushed. “You are so dirty. I love it.”

You nosed at his cheek. “Stick around, and you can see just how dirty I can get.”

He smiled and looked at you, brushing some of your hair off your face. “Don’t worry, this time I’m not going anywhere.”

#lovelink #lovelink fanfic #jonathan hayes #jonathan hayes fanfic #jonathan hayes x reader #jonathan hayes x f!reader #smut #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #homecoming

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starions · 3 years

Note

Do SING and HAND, please. Both not exactly easy, I know...

( SING ) singing to mine.

Anya would frequently have nightmares as a child. She didn’t know why she was prone to them, but her young elf mind would always wander to night terrors during her meditation. An enormous white wolf, with piercing red eyes and saliva strings falling off its sharp fangs would haunt her nightly. The image would send her into hysterics, but her mother was always there to calm her down with a song.

“Lace your heart with mine

Let your sleeping soul take flight

Take me through the night

Down down down by the river

Down down down by the river”

She’d fall back into her trance to the sound of her mother’s voice, and would for years even into her late childhood. Her mother died a few years after she reached her elven adulthood, and although she hadn’t heard her mother’s voice since then, she still sang the song to herself. A way to self soothe, she supposed; a way to feel less alone when the world felt like it was closing in on her.

It had been a while since she had any sort of nightmare, but with the tadpole swimming in her brain, they seemed to come every time she closed her eyes. Not a wolf, though; a person beckoning her to give in--to relish in the power bestowed to her. Anya realized yet again how much she needed her mother; not only to sing her a song, but to tell her not to indulge in the power granted to her.

The last tadpole dream lit of fire of fear in her, so much so that she didn’t dare to close her eyes and slip into her meditation. She always thought it would be fun to bend the minds of those who made contact with her--but this was all becoming too much. Anya feared that by using the tadpole power too often, she’d become a slave to it.

So, while her companions were dead asleep in their tents away from the fire, Anya began to hum the melody of her mother’s song. Then, gradually, sing it so quietly it could barely be heard over the crackle of the fire.

“That’s a lovely song.”

Anya nearly jumped in her skin at the voice, and whipped her head around to Astarion, who was watching her as he leaned against a tree. His red eyes looked at her curiously, his head tilted slightly. This was the first time Astarion had seen that bitter facade of hers crack since they’d met a week previously.

“It’s not meant for your ears,” Anya said, pushing a lock of hair behind her ears and gazing back at the fire.

“How rude,” Astarion said, hand to his heart. “I don’t give compliments easily, you know.”

“And I didn’t ask for one in the first place,” Anya snapped back. The two mirrored a glare at each other for a moment before Anya broke the gaze. “These nightmares have me on edge.”

Not an apology, but Astarion wasn’t expecting one anyway. Still, he peeled himself off from the tree and sat down next to the sun elf. When she didn’t object, he allowed his shoulders to relax. When they both stared at the fire in silence, Astarion glanced at her from the corner of her eye. She was hugging her knees, fingers toying with the new hole in the hole of her leather pants.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Astarion said suddenly.

“What?” Anya asked, snapping back to reality.

“You can keep singing.”

“Oh,” Anya said simply. Anya hugged herself tighter. She felt vulnerable like this, even though Astarion had no idea about her mother, what the song meant to her. Still, the song would ease the feeling on loneliness and fear in her heart. She’d give up her pride if it meant connecting with her mother for just a moment, just until the song ended.

Anya glanced at Astarion, whose piercing red eyes never left her, and stared again at the fire. Then, her lips parted, and she began to sing.

( HAND ) kissing mine’s hand. - under a cut because the last one got too long T_T

“So, you were a bard... before all this?”

Anya glanced from the blood spotted map of the Sword Coast. She was in the midst of deciding which route to take to avoid the gnolls in the Risen Road before she was rudely interrupted by pale elf from over her shoulder.

Anya frowned slightly before asking, “where did you hear that?”

“I overheard you tell Wyll over a few too many glasses of wine last night,” Astarion said. “Your tongue loosens easily, you know.”

Anya cursed her lightweightness and rolled the map in her hand up, putting it in her pack. “Do you eavesdrop on everyone’s conversations, or is it just mine?”

“Oh my dear,” Astarion said with a laugh. “Everyone's. But I’m more curious about you and your secrets. I can’t invision you as a bard, though. You aren’t very cheery.”

“I wasn’t a bard,” Anya said, motioning for the rest of the party to follow her on a hidden trail. “I sang in inns. There’s a difference.”

“And I suppose you learned your rogue tricks in between sets?” Astarion said playfully.

Anya would hardly call herself a rogue either--she was never taught by a master, she means. In truth, Anya was mainly self taught. After she fled Baldur’s Gate, she had to learn to steal without being seen, lockpick barn doors to find a place to sleep at night, things like that. When she got a job as a singer in an inn in Neverwinter, she was allowed to stay for free in return for the tips she’d make each night. She learned quickly that people were stingy, so she began to pickpocket to make sure she didn’t end up in the streets. And to buy the gold necklaces she saw in the shop windows.

“I could ask the same to you,” Anya said, “how did a vampire slave learn his tricks?”

“Cazador had me do much more than seduce nobles; what is a man to do when he finds his coin purse gone on the stroll home?”

Anya gazed up at him with a smile. “He asks for help? And finds you with open arms?”

“Precisely.”

“Did that work every time? Some of them must forget about it and carry on...” Anya learned a lot as her time as an inn singer. Men liked to talk--about themselves really--and they liked a pretty girl goading them on. She would get someone talking at the inn, ask them questions about themselves with faux interest, and when they were in the midst of their storytelling she’d reach toward the coin purse dangling from the belt and--

Astarion caught her wrist right as her fingers brushed the fabric of the purse. He looked down at her, bringing her hand toward his mouth. “You must be stupid to think you can try that with me,” he purred, pressing a kiss to the palm of her hand. He parted his lips slightly, letting a fang prick her flesh.

Anya yanked her hand away with a scowl, inspecting her hand for blood. She was relieved to see he didn’t break skin. “You talk too much.”

#IM SORRY THIS IS 2 DAYS LATE #i hope u like it nonetheless #astarion #oc: anya #otp: blood and soul #bg3 #the first prompt isn't really her singing TO him.. shes just singing and hes there LOL i hope u dont mind #thank u T_T #not-so-lost-after-all #hannah writes #ask meme

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oblivious-embodied · 3 years

Text

A Miraculous Journey of Self Discovery

Miraculous Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir: Rewritten, Trans AU.

A long time ago, I decided to make my own rewrite of the Miraculous Ladybug show, do it in my own way so that things could progress the way I would like, for characters to grow and develop in personality and strength. Write my own way for the miraculous to be empowered, to be a bigger deal, to mean more than what they mean in the show. And, along the way, I saw @wintertundra-art's Trans Adrien and Marinette AU, and I wanted to see if I could incorporate that into this rewrite. And, with her permission and cooperation, I was able to get the first chapter, Origins: Part One completed! I'm excited to see where this goes from here!

So, as a christmas gift to you all, Enjoy a miraculous rewrite, and trans representation! If you haven't already, go check out @wintertundra-art and her wonderful AU! And, if you have any questions, feel free to send me an ask too.

I’ve decided to rate it as Teen and Up Audiences, and you can read it here on AO3! It currently sits at 12,265 words

Origins: Part One

(Summary: Eons ago, powerful artifacts were forged, infused with power that humans can only dream of, they were made to be anchors to beings of immense power. Centuries ago, two of the more powerful miraculous were lost, the Butterfly of Emotion and the Peacock of Soul. Now, the Butterfly has been awoken, and is in the hands of someone who want's to corrupt the Butterfly's power and use it for their own nefarious wants. The only way to stop this from happening is to bring balance, and only the most powerful Miraculous can do so: The Black Cat of Destruction, and the Ladybug of Creation. )

A man opens up a broach, revealing the smiling image of a blonde haired, green eyed woman. His breath hitches just a bit as he locks eyes with her image. With slightly shaking hands, he closes the broach and he looks to a floating, violet creature with big, purple eyes, and a swirl on its head that is the same shade as its eyes. Little butterfly wings extend from its back.

“Nooroo,” his tone is sharp, cold, calculating. Terrifying. “Tell me where to find the other Miraculous.”

“I-I do not know...” the being named Nooroo answers, bowing its head slightly.

The man narrows his eyes.

Several thousand years ago, possibly eons ago, powerful pieces of magical jewelry were forged, each serving as an anchor to beings of extreme power. Beings that are the embodiment of concepts that the minds of simple humans can’t even begin to comprehend, concepts like The Four Elements, The Mind, The Heart, The Soul, The Body, Energy, and even of Destruction and Creation itself.

These jewels were named ‘Miraculous’. They can’t be destroyed; whether that is due to the material they are made from, or the bonds they have with the beings, known as kwami, no one knows.

These Miraculous were created for the sole purpose of aiding the human race. And with their use, myths and legends of large, humanoid creatures, capable of unfathomable feats of strength and power arose.

And according to legend, whoever holds both of the two most powerful Miraculous, the anchors to the beings of Destruction and Creation, Death and Life, will be as powerful as a god.

And with that power, the ability to do whatever they want.

And he must have these Miraculous. He must have the power to become God.

His life, his happiness, all he’s worked for, all he’s done, the fate of his family, it all depends on him getting those Miraculous.

“Very well.” He says finally, but he turns his cold gaze to the poor being. “Tell me, Nooroo, what are the properties of your Miraculous.”

The being named Nooroo looks up at this man, its eyes weary. “That is the Miraculous of the Butterfly. It derives its power from the heart; it will allow you to sense the emotions of anyone around you in a certain radius, and through this you will be able to give others powers and abilities. These people will then become your devoted followers, your champions.” Nooroo straightens back up, puffing out its little chest.

A sickening smile creeps its way across the man’s face. “You are saying, Nooroo, that I can give supernatural powers to the ordinary; and they will, in turn, do anything I tell them to do.” It isn’t a question. It’s a statement. His mind is already circulating with different situations. At this, Nooroo deflates a bit, drooping.

“W-well, no, not really. You can give powers to someone you deem fit, but you can’t really control them. They’ll just be able to communicate with you, and vice versa, and you will be able to help them along the way.”

The smile does not leave the man’s face, “You said your powers are derived from the heart, yes?” Nooroo nods, it’s eyes widening. “I may not be able to control them directly... but I can to some degree.”

At this, Nooroo’s eyes fly open, his mouth dropping open. “Th-that’s-that’s not what the butterfly is intended-“

“I will do what I want!” The man cuts in, his tone forceful, he emphasizes his words with a stomp to the ground. “I am your master. You will do what I say, and you will not disobey me.” Nooroo’s eyes blow wide again, and it opens its mouth to say something, but nothing comes out of its mouth. It is unable to say anything. In it’s eyes, terror is clear. Dejectedly, Nooroo bows it’s head and body. “Yes, Master.”

This brings the man even more sickening joy.

“Nooroo, we will find those Miraculous.” Then man takes a step forward and lifts Nooroo’s chin up. “And we will do it by any means necessary.”

He takes a step back and fastens the broach to his shirt.

“Nooroo, dark wings, rise.”

Nooroo is sucked into the broach and violet light rushes up the man’s body, transforming his clothes. When the light dies down, the man is wearing black, skin tight, laceless dress shoes. Purple, almost skintight pants. He’s wearing a purple suit jacket and black latex-like gloves. The collar folds up at the front like a paper airplane, the broach sitting in the middle, two black, shimmering, almost rubber like lapels that start just below the paper airplane collar, form around it and go up to protrude from off the shoulders about 25 centimeters. His neck and face, save for the area around his mouth, is covered by a silver material. His eyes are violet.

“From now on...” he looks at the big metal, circular window cover, his violet eyes glistening with malice. “I will be known as Hawkmoth!”

--------

Sleeping in the brass horn of the fake record player that houses the miracle box is a small green creature, with a head much larger than the rest of his body, who looks like a miniature turtle. His body is a light-ish green, with patches of darker green. His head has some subtle scales, but is mostly smooth. Its abdomen, and the back of his arms and legs are covered in dark green scales. A turtle shell rests on his back.

Something startles Wayzz from his peaceful sleep in the fake record player’s bell, his eyes shooting open and revealing that they are completely yellow with dark green pupils. Something pulsates through the air, a powerful, corruptive wave of energy with a hint of something else behind it.

It’s... an old, familiar energy. It pulsates through the air again before dissipating slightly, then pulsating again. Like a heartbeat.

One that doesn’t bode well.

This energy... it’s from Nooroo... but... it’s tainted. It might just be from time apart, that could be why his energy feels... wrong.

Malicious. Cold.

Unwelcome...

But... it could also be something else... something far more terrible than someone accidentally picking up and activating It’s Miraculous.

It’s an energy that accompanies An unwelcome wielder. It’s Nooroo’s distress call.

Wayzz bursts from the fake record player’s bell and into Master Fu’s side, jolting him, stilling his fingers on his patient’s back.

The little old man, wearing a red Hawaiian t-shirt, grey slacks and brown sandals, turns to the little green kwami.

“What is it?” He whispers, his fingers returning to work at the young man’s back.

“Master! I felt an odd energy.”

Master Fu pauses in his work again, furrowing his brows in thought. After another second’s deliberation, he tells Wayzz to hide, then quickly ushers his patient out the door, promising to see him next week.

With the door closed, he turns back to his kwami. “What kind of energy?” His tone is solemn and wary.

“Master, it was Noroo’s. It was Nooroo’s distress call. It’s in trouble!”

The old master’s eyes widen in shock, his mouth hanging open for a second before he sets it into a hard line. “Very well then, Wayzz. We must find him at once!”

Wayzz winces for a split second, human’s have never understood how one can be referred to by pronouns other than he/him, or she/her, and the Master doesn’t seem to catch on to Wayzz calling Nooroo by It’s preferred pronouns. But Wayzz refuses to not use It’s preferred pronouns. He would never do that to his friend.

The old master stands up straight, holding up his right wrist, his other hand bracing it. “Time to transform... Wayzz-“

‘Crack!’

“Augh, oh...” Master Fu groans as he falls to the ground, muted groans escaping his throat.

“Master, please be reasonable! You are-“

“Still young!” Fu cuts in, “ I’m only 186!...” he grunts as he stands back up. “but I can no longer do this alone... we will need help.”

He walks over to the fake record player, and Wayzz looks away as Master Fu puts in the code to open up the record player.

Within seconds, the middle slides open, and a black box with red, ornate, ancient Chinese characters on it is lifted from the cavity in the record player.

Before he opens the box, he looks to Wayzz; the kwami has been with him for most of his life... they’ve been through a lot together. So, Wayzz is certain that they surely think the same thing.

Allowing those Miraculous to be out in the open, even if it is just to recover Nooroo from its captor, it’s incredibly risky. But... Wayzz has a certain feeling about this, it may be a risky move, but it feels like the right one. If they are to recover Nooroo, and if It’s had Its powers abused by a corrupted heart, they will need to cleanse and balance it’s Miraculous; and only those of Creation and Destruction can do so. As Fu takes out those two Miraculous, Wayzz nods his agreement. Hopefully... hopefully this doesn’t go wrong.

-----------

For the next few days, Fu looks for two people who fit the parameters for these two Miraculous. They need to be kind, and selfless... those two traits aren’t too hard to find. But for the Miraculous of Creation, he needs to find someone who has the mind to handle the complexity, the heart to consider the options, the soul to value everyone, the body to meet the physical requirements and the energy to withstand it all.

They need to be of the right age too, for if they are too young, their mind could snap, their heart could burst, their soul could be irreparably damaged, their body could shrivel… just like his did when he was a boy.

Finding someone who meets all these requirements is grueling, but it’s the only way to make sure they don’t face life long detriments.

Fu finds himself in a bakery, looking over everyone he can see as he simultaneously looks for what pastry to get for himself. The people he finds don’t fit what this Miraculous needs, and he gets no reaction from the box containing the being who embodies Creation itself. He is about to give up on his search for a suitable wielder for Tikki when a feeling of warmth pulsates through his body, emanating from the box Tikki’s Miraculous resides in.

He looks up, and is greeted with the sight of the baker’s daughter, a young girl with black hair, Asian features, and beautiful grey eyes. She talks animatedly with the customers, smiling so brightly and with such warmth in her eyes, she makes it seem like she makes friends with everyone she meets.

But she’s too young, she doesn’t look to be more that 14 years old, he will not put the stress of being the wielder of Creation on a child. His body was crippled when he wore his Miraculous when he was too young, and his Miraculous is substantially less powerful than Creation. He will not the the reason for the death of a child.

He moves on.

But Tikki is insistent, if the way the box burns in his pocket is any indication.

Reluctantly, he turns to his kwami companion, Wayzz, and nods to him, making a mental note to have Wayzz watch this girl. He can only hope that he finds someone better suited for Creation.

When out of the bakery, Wayzz whispers in his ear, “Are you sure giving a Miraculous — especially one of such magnitude — to a child is a good idea?”

Fu pulls out and bites into a pastry, his facial features dark. “I do not know, my friend. I refuse to give a Miraculous to someone so young, especially one that is so powerful. However, Tikki is insisting on this girl. I hope to find someone who is suited for Tikki, and is older, but we must be prepared for the event that we have to give this girl this responsibility.”

Wayzz sighs, “Alright, Master.”

--------------

The next day, Fu makes his way to the bakery — those pastries are to die for! — but he’s in a sour mood. He hasn’t been able to get Tikki to react to any other person, she is insistent on this bakery girl. He’s keeping an eye out for someone else, but he’s starting to believe he has no other choice.

Just as he rounds the corner, the box that houses the Black Cat Miraculous of Destruction sends a chilling wave of energy through Fu’s body, and he stops in his tracks. Plagg has sensed someone he wants to choose. Fu starts looking around, going through all the parameters the wielder of Destruction needs to have: They need to have a mind strong enough to resist temptation, a heart kind enough to give mercy to those around them, a soul to see the good and bad, a body to withstand the effects the Miraculous of Destruction has on wielders, and the ability to rein in Plagg’s energy.

Everyone he looks at is wrong, and they incite no reaction from Plagg, but then he sees a young man with blond hair, green eyes, and fair skin in the park. He’s sitting on a bench, looking crestfallen. To his right, cameras and photographers are setting up around him. There are other children playing at the park, and the young man is staring at them with a longing gaze.

The hope in Fu’s eyes dies down as he realizes that Plagg’s chosen is one that is, once again, too young,

He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want to put them through this, but if Tikki won’t change her mind, Plagg most definitely wont.

Resigned, Fu turns around and starts going to the bakery, making a note to look into this boy. He looks up and finds himself looking at a poster advertisement for Agreste Fashion, and the boy he was just looking at is on it.

It seems finding information on this boy will not be as hard as he thought.

-------------

As he continues to watch the bakery girl, he sees just how kind and selfless she is. She routinely offers help in the bakery as often as she can. She lights up talking to customers about fashion — apparently, she’s quite fond of fashion, especially the Agreste brand, how fascinating — how she lifts full bags of flour with only a few grunts and wobbles here and there. Fu’s found that she created the design for the bakery sign. As well as the menu board. She is truly creative. And, if his hearing does not fail him, she even bakes some of the pastries from time to time.

Tikki grows more and more insistent on choosing this girl, and Fu has resigned himself to the fact that he will be putting them through things he never wished to put anyone through again. If he is going to give her the Miraculous of Creation, he must be there to mentor her. He must be able to guide her through all of this. Hopefully she can handle this and he isn’t sending her to her death.

Now... the young man, the child model... he wasn’t quite sure at first, and he was getting ready to have a long argument with Plagg. He just seemed to be a boy longing for the time to play with others. But, as he continued to pursue knowledge about this boy -- his name being Adrien -- he’s found that he is praised for his kindness, and he’s seen that in video recordings of interviews with the boy. Wayzz has told him that when he has photoshoots at the park, when he sees kids fall down, he twitches almost imperceptibly. As though he wants to go over and pick them up. And when he watches parents with their difficult kids, he seems to want nothing more than to help.

Fu has seen the way he smiles at his bodyguard, at his scheduler, the photographers, the other models, it seems to be completely genuine.

He harbors a heart that wants to do good, that wants to do nothing but help, his soul longs for the freedom to be selfless, but it is unable to. And Plagg has latched onto this boy.

He must be able to guide these two young people. He must not allow them to go through this alone.

Late at night in his apartment, Fu sits before two small pieces of paper on his kitchen table, writing two identical notes to put in the boxes containing the Black Cat Miraculous and the Ladybug Miraculous.

They are to meet him at the base of the Effiel Tower at 22:00, but in order for this to work, he must give them the miraculous at the same time, which means he must execute his challenges before it is too late.

Suddenly, Wayzz flies up to his face and bows before speaking. “Master! I just sensed Nooroo transform Its captor! It was powerful, whoever has Nooroo is powerful.”

Fu stops writing and strokes his goatee. If he remembers correctly, the first day of the French school year is in three, almost two days. This means that he doesn’t have much time to issue his challenges to these kids, and even less time to train them. He must act now. “Thank you, Wayzz, we must act soon, before it is too late!”

Fu finishes writing the notes and places them on top of the boxes containing the Miraculous of Destruction and Creation, before he goes to bed.

The next day, Fu makes his way to the bakery. He doesn’t know how to issue his challenge, but it will come to mind eventually. It is the day before the first day of school, and there will be no lack of heightened emotions, and paired with the power that Nooroo has over emotions, who knows when Nooroo’s captor will strike?

Suddenly, Adrien bursts through the bushes, sprinting his way to the school. He has a pleased smile on his face, and hope in his eyes. He reaches the school, and stops, looking up at it, sighing in admiration.

A car passes by, Adrien whips around, looking at the car, but finds that it is not something he needs to worry about. He relaxes and starts to open the door to the school when three kids burst from the nearby park and speed their way on bikes across the street toward a nearby intersection. He looks at these kids, furrowing his brows.

Then, a rumbling sounds, Adrien whips around to look, and there is a car coming down their way. And, by the looks of things, the car isn’t slowing down, and neither are the kids.

Fu waits in silence as Adrien seems more confused than ever, looking between the car and the kids, taking a few steps from the school toward the intersection. When it is evident that neither the kids nor the car will stop on their own, he takes action, rushing forward and waving his arms.

Two of the kids look at him, then at the car coming down the road, and as though it is their first time seeing it, they skid to a stop. But the kid in the middle, a girl with pink hair keeps going, her head turned toward the two kids who stopped, hair whipping around under her helmet. She seems to glare at them and then at the oncoming car.

Adrien seems to sigh, looking frantically between the rapidly approaching kid and car.

He looks back to the pink haired girl, and sets his jaw. Clearly set on a course of action. He takes a few long steps toward the street just as she comes by and grabs her arm, forcing her to fall from her bike, but the bike continues onward into the street.

Where it promptly gets crushed by the car, while the driver looks up from their phone and honks as they drive away.

As the pink haired girl sits there shocked, Adrien stands there awkwardly. But, after a second, the girl stands up and punches Adrien’s arm before seemingly telling him off. All Adrien does is furrow his brows, confused.

Fu walks away with a small smile.

He has a feeling this might actually work out well.

--------------

An alarm jerks Marinette awake from her dreamless sleep. With a groan, she blindly gropes around her bed to find her phone, but when she finds it, she only manages to push it from her bed down onto the floor.

The alarm doesn’t stop, and Marinette can’t decide if she should be relieved, or annoyed.

With a resigned sigh, she slips from her bed, mourning the lost warmth of her covers, and climbs down her ladder. She picks up her phone and inspects it for cracks.

Somehow, for some reason, it doesn’t have any. Thank the beings that rule the universe, her phone is indestructible! She doesn’t know how many times she’s dropped her phone, but it doesn’t even have a scratch!

Sluggishly, she goes to her closet, trying to decide on what to wear, looking over everything and battling that feeling of unease she feels every time she looks in her closest; but ultimately decides to put it aside, she’ll just eat breakfast in her pajamas.

She doesn’t even want to look at her messy, black hair, her body, the bags that are surely to be under her eyes. She’s always loved her eyes, her Maman is from China and has grey eyes, while her Papa grew up locally in Paris with blue eyes; but her eyes are amazing, they’re grey with a ring of blue around the pupil. She can’t help but think of her parents when she looks into her eyes. She doesn’t have as much Asian features as she would like, but she has her eyes, her black hair, and a slight Asian facial bone structure.

Rubbing sleep from her eyes she starts going downstairs, not really wanting to face the day. Not wanting to fight to feel good.

It’s the first day of school. The first day of Collége. And, for some reason, Marinette has a strong feeling that Chloé Bourgeois is in her class again.

One would think that the spoiled brat that is the daughter of the Mayor would be in private school. But, for some reason unknown to all but the two Bourgeois and the beings that rule the universe, she still attends public school; despite all of her complaining. And the bullying.

She really, really does not want school to start.

With a big yawn, she opens the trap door.

“Marinette! School starts soon! You don’t want to be late for your first day back at school!”

Wincing from the early morning yelling, Marinette suppresses another yawn, calling out a small “Coming...” before climbing down the stairs.

When she reaches the bottom, she finds her Maman smiling at her from the kitchen. She smiles back, already feeling the grasp of sleep start to slip away. “There’s my beautiful girl!”

Despite the warmth that fills her being when around her Maman, Marinette can’t help but feel uneasy with being called beautiful. It’s probably because of Chloe bullying her, she’ll get over it.

She gives her maman a kiss on the cheek, leaning down just a bit. When she was younger, she wondered why she was taller than her maman. But, after an awkward talk with her parents, she’s realized that she just inherited the taller genes from her Papa, but got the skinnier genes from her Maman.

“Good morning!”

“Yeah...” she grumps, “I’ll bet you anything that Chloé is in my class again...” she sighs as she sits down at the kitchen table, where her Maman has already set out a cereal bowl, a milk jug, spoon, her favorite cereal, and a bowl of fruit. Uncapping the milk jug, she pours it into the bowl.

“Four years in a row?! Is that possible?” Her Maman exclaims, putting something in the sink behind her.

“Definitely... Lucky me!” Marinette rolls her eyes, pouring in some chocolate cereal flakes.

“Oh! Don’t say that! It’s the start of a new year, I’m sure everything will be just fine!” Her Maman says resolutely, brushing a hand against her hair. And who can argue with such sound logic? Not Marinette.

Nodding, feeling her spirits rise just a bit, she places the tub of cereal flakes down. But, with just a slight miscalculation of how hard to set it down, a chain reaction of terrible, ill boding events happens.

The vibrations send an orange rolling down a conveniently placed bread stick, right to and over another conveniently placed knife. Which then sends the orange into the milk jug, the knife into a bowl of sugar cubes; sending a few flying with such velocity that as it collides with the cereal tub, it tips it over. And, as her spirits plummet, the orange completes its journey by knocking into and tipping over a yogurt cup. She groans dejectedly, closing her eyes so as to block the situation from sight and in turn, her mind.

For a girl whose parents have always called their “lucky charm”, she sure isn’t all that lucky.

As she cleans up the cereal tub mess, her Maman reaches a hand to her cheek, chuckling. Which, somehow, helps to lift her own spirits.

It’s weird how mothers can do that. “Go get dressed, honey, you’ll look beautiful. I’ve got this.”

An hour later, Marinette is down in the bakery, dressed in her back-to-school-day clothes: tan/pink flats, pink Capris, white shirt with a flower pattern on her left collarbone, grey blazer and her very own, hand sewn, pink clutch. And yet, despite being proud of her work, she can’t find it in her to be proud of how she looks.

Her Papa, humming a tune, presents a box of macarons to his daughter. A warm, gentle smile on his face: “There’s my gorgeous daughter!” There’s that uneasiness again...

“Papa! These are so awesome!” She exclaims, bouncing in place. “Thank you, Papa! My class will love them!” She looks up to him, adoration and love filling her eyes.

“Glad you like them!” He ruffles her hair, chuckling as she smirks a bit under his huge hands, an almost mute “don’t mess up my hair!” coming from her.

“You look beautiful, my darling daughter” Her papa says with small tears in his eyes.

“You’re the best!” she says, giving him a one armed hug, her smile falling as she tries to figure out how to get rid of the uneasy feeling in her gut.

“We,” he pulls her close again with an arm, and angles his other in a ‘muscular, show-off’ manner, “are the best.” Marinette can’t help but giggle.

Giving both her parents goodbye kisses, she rushes out the door, intent on not being late for school on the first day. And, in her haste, almost rushes right into the path of an oncoming car.

Breathing a sigh of relief that she isn’t splattered on the windshield of a car, she slouches a bit, before jolting ramrod straight as she sees an elderly man with a cane in a red hawiian shirt having trouble crossing the road, another car rushing toward the man, not slowing down at all.

Marinette frantically looks back and forth between the two and decides, after a second, to rush out and save this man from meeting the very same fate she had just narrowly avoided moments before.

Just as she pulls him to the sidewalk, her legendary clumsiness takes hold of her once more, and she trips onto the sidewalk, taking the man down with her; the box of macarons spilling. And, with horror, she watches as inconsiderate city people step on them, reducing them to nothing more than crumbs. The man’s “Thank you, miss” goes unheard.

But, his “Oh, what a disaster” does not go unnoticed. Picking up what remains of the box and the macaroons, she tells him: “Don’t worry, I’m no stranger to disasters.” She holds the box to him. “Besides! There’s still a few left.”

She smiles at this man, as he picks a macaron from the box and bites into it. Letting out a pleased “Delicious!”

A bell across the street rings, signaling the start of school. Marinette looks to the school, to this man, back to the school and back to him again. While she’d rather not be late to school... well, she had just pulled this man from the street. The least she can do is walk him partially to where he is headed.

“Go ahead.” The man says, his smile genuine, understanding and proud. ”You’ve saved my life, the least I can do is save you from getting into trouble! Now go!” He waves her off.

She takes a moment of further deliberation before nodding, bowing, and rushing out “have-a-nice-day-sir!” Then she’s off, rushing to school.

----------------

As the young woman runs to the school, Master Fu straightens up, putting his cane behind his back and holding up the box containing the Ladybug Miraculous. The box warms up and spreads warmth all throughout his body, confirming that this young woman is Tikki’s choice to be her wielder.

While he doesn’t want to put this stress on a child, he knows that there is no other solution, no way around this. He just has to be her mentor.

He walks to the bakery, allowing Wayzz to take the box to the girl’s room while he buys pastries for himself and his companion.

-----------------

Just as the custodian is closing the school’s front doors, Marinette slips in, not breaking from her near sprint. Rushing up the stairs, she bursts into the classroom, stumbling to not lose her balance. She’s hunched over, trying to catch her breath.

“Nino,” the teacher calls out. She’s a tall woman with fire red hair, teal eyes, and a white pantsuit. Marinette doesn’t recognize her. The boy in question, Nino, has been in her classes for as long as she can remember. He’s a kind hearted, introverted kid with dark skin. He’s always wearing a red baseball cap and grey and orange headphones.

She looks up and sees that Nino is sitting with his eyes wide behind his glasses from the back of the classroom. “Why don’t you sit in the front this year?” The teacher may have formed it as a question, but it was more of a polite command.

Nino grumbles and stands up, his back and shoulders slouched. As he walks to the front of the classroom, on the side closest to the door, he groans. Before sliding into his position in the front of the classroom, right by the door. He pulls his headphones down and rests his elbows on the desk; his jaw resting on his knuckles with an annoyed look on his face.

Though she’s been in the same class as Nino for years, she doesn’t know much about him, and she’s really regretting that now. Maybe this year will be different?

She takes a moment to deliberate, but ultimately decides to sit on the row behind Nino, in her usual seat. She wants to sit by him but he doesn’t seem to want to talk to anyone.

Shaking her head, still breathing with slight difficulty, she walks to her usual seat, the second row, left side of the classroom, right next to the aisle. Just behind and over Nino’s right shoulder.

Mylène, a timid girl, sits directly across the aisle from where Marinette’s seat is. She’s a shorter girl, with fair skin and long dreadlocks that are blonde at the roots but fade into multiple colors at the ends.

Sitting on the next row up, just to the right of Mylène, is a dark skinned boy with a close cut afro hairstyle brown hair, a green polo and glasses. Max is your go-to kid for anything and everything that has to do with electronics.

Sitting right next to Max is a tan skinned boy, Kim; he’s wearing a red, short sleeved hoodie, and sweat bands on his wrist. His black hair is up in a faux hawk style and he’s lounging back in his chair. He’s the class jock. (He tries to hide it by being a jerk and a goof, but he’s actually a good guy.)

Kim is always next to Max, tells everyone that they’re best friends, and that he needs Max to help with homework, but Marinette knows better. She can see his eyes.

On the back row, sitting behind Max, is a girl named Rose. She’s a quiet girl, with her blonde hair in a pixie cut. She wears all pink and has an incredibly high voice.

Just as Marinette sits down and starts to unpack, a pale hand, with yellow, perfectly manicured nails slams down on the desk before her, startling her. “Marinette,” the almost shill voice starts, “Du-pain-Cheng” it sneers her last name like it's an insult to it personally. (Which, if this is who she think it is, it most likely is an insult to her personally.)

Chloé Bourgeois. The bratty daughter of the mayor. She’s wearing a yellow jacket, white pants, and a large, gold (not actually gold, it’d be too heavy for her skinny, fragile hips to support) plated belt. No wrinkles in sight on her clothes. Her golden locks are pulled into a high hanging ponytail. Blush, eye liner, magenta eyeshadow and pink lipstick on her face. It only serves to make her look that much more bratty.

Her school bully.

Marinette slouches, she knew it would happen. A weary, dejected, “Here we go again...” leaves her lips.

“That’s my seat.” Chloé brings her hand from the desk to her chest.

“But Chloé, this has always been my seat.” Marinette looks up to Chloé, grey-blue meeting dark, cruel blue.

Chloe’s face scrunches up. “Not this year!”

A sudden, but not unfamiliar voice cuts in. “New School, New Year, New seats.” Sabrina, Chloé’s lap dog slides into the desk beside Marinette, her orange/red hair in stark contrast with her teal-green eyes sparkling behind her glasses, and pale skin. She’s wearing a, quite frankly, ugly sweater vest.

“So,” Chloé sneers again, “why don’t you just go and sit beside that new girl over there.” She turns to point at a girl she hadn’t seen walk into the room.

She has darker skin like Nino, with long, curly, red-orange locks. She’s wearing a red-orange flannel short-sleeved shirt. At the mention of “New girl” she turns from her phone and her brown eyes glare behind glasses at Chloé.

“But..” is all Marinette can think of in response. (She’s tired, and already feeling exhausted, she doesn’t want to move or think.)

Chloé turns back to Marinette, her hands on her hips, her face contorted in anger. “Listen, Adrien is arriving today, and since that’s,” she points to the seat beside Nino, “ going to be he— his seat, this is going to be my seat.” Chloé slams her hand down in front of Marinette again, then she turns toward her fully, slamming her other hand on the desk. “Get it?”

Adrien... who is this Adrien? And why is he friends with Chloé?

“Uh, who’s Adrien?” She asks Chloé.

Two simultaneous gasps leave Chloé’s and Sabrina’s mouths. Then they burst out laughing in that ridiculous, annoying laugh, drawing Myléne’s attention.

The laughing stops abruptly and Chloé speaks again. “Can you believe she doesn’t know who Adrien is?” She directs this at Sabrina. Then, to Marinette, Chloé scrunches her face in disgust and anger. “What rock have you been living under?”

“He’s only a famous model!” Sabrina chimes in.

“And I am his best friend.” Chloé begins again.

Marinette raises her eyebrows at this. None of that helps clarify who Adrien is. And, if he’s a famous model, why would any sane teacher let a man who is probably in his early/mid 20’s come to class with 14-15 year olds?! Why is a man who is in his mid 20’s still in middle school?!

“He adores me.” Chloé looks to Marinette, and scoffs when she sees that Marinette has not moved from her seat. “Uh, go on, move!” She emphasizes this with a thumb pointing toward the proposed seats.

And all Marinette can think of is, is this Choe’s new scheme to get attention? Who would believe that a 20 something year old is hanging out with a 14 year old? They’d be all over the news.

Suddenly, the new girl is behind Chloé, her voice strong and brave. A fatal mistake when talking to Chloé Bourgeois. “Back off, Brat.”

Chloé turns to the girl, anger and annoyance taking the wheel. She leans toward the new girl, making sure her tone is mocking and sarcastic. “Ooh, look, Sabrina, we got a little do-gooder in our classroom!” Chloé leans in further. “What’re you going to do, Super Newbie, shoot beams at me with your glasses.”

Marinette cringes, this is why it is best to stay docile around Chloé, if she senses any opposition at all, she’ll only cause a scene.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” The new girl sneers, her voice dark and dangerous. She pushes Chloé to the side and reaches for Marinette’s arm. “C’mon” she says as she grabs Marinette’s arm. Marinette barely has any time to grab her box of macarons and her bag before she’s being dragged from her seat.

In her haste to steady herself, grab her stuff, and the new girl’s quick pace, Marinette misses a step on the way to her new seat and ends up falling; her box of macarons falling to the floor, where several are flung from the box and are crushed on the floor. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” She mumbles as she cleans up and slides into her new seat for the year. Chloé’s and Sabrina’s laughing etching its way into her memory.

“Chill-ax, girl, no biggie!” The new girl says, eyeing Marinette as she’s hunched over her almost empty box of macaroons.

“Alright, has everyone found a seat?” The teacher asks the class as other kids file in, leaning her hands on the desk. The class speaking up behind them drowning out her voice.

Marinette straightens up and looks to the new girl, “But I so wish I could handle Chloé the way you do.” The new girl raises an eyebrow, a corner of her lips quirking up. Not threatening, or suspicious, but curious and slightly confused. She reaches for her phone and unlocks it.

“You mean the way Majestia does it.” The new girl pulls up an image of a woman in a skin tight, blue suit, her shoulders, hands and face uncovered. She wears a fire truck red, sleeveless jacket with a ruffled coat tail, two thick, golden, zigzagging lines run across the bust, stars above the lines. Boots of the same shade reach to about her mid calf, the tops lined with the same type of lines as the jacket. “She says: All that is necessary for the triumph of Evil, is for Good to do nothing.” The new girl says proudly.

She leans past Marinette, wrapping her left arm around her shoulders and pointing to Chloé with her right hand. “And that girl over there, is evil, and we,” she points to herself and Marinette, “are the good people. She has a smirk on her lips. “We can’t let her get away with it!”

“That’s easier said than done...” Marinette hunches her shoulders a bit, her voice dejected. “She likes to make my life miserable.”

“That’s easy to fix, girl, you just need more confidence!” The new girl says, conviction strong in her voice.

Marinette smiles, and takes the last remaining macaron and breaks it in half, extending the other out to the new girl.

“Marinette.” she says.

“Alya,” the new girl says in response, taking the half macaron.

With this, they turn to the front, pleased smiles on their faces.

Maybe... maybe this year isn’t going to be so bad?

--------------------------

“For those of you who don’t yet know me,” the teacher says, drawing all attention her way, “I’m Ms. Bustier.”

As class starts, Chloé leans on her new desk, sadness in her face and eyes. Looking at the empty seat before her. “Ugh, he should have been here by now.” she says under her breath.

She meant to have annoyance in her tone, and she does, but she can’t hide the underlying disappointment.

Where is s— he?

-------------------------

Master Fu watches as Adrien rushes through the street, pressing against the bushes and trees, looking over his shoulder frequently, searching for something or someone.

Fu smiles, it seems like this young man has decided to try to get some freedom. But, if the frantic look in his eyes means anything, it’ll most likely be short lived.

The young man reaches the school grounds, and pauses next to a cologne ad poster that, coincidentally, has him on it. He looks over his shoulder again, and a smile finds his way into his face. He’s beaten the system, it would seem. For the time being.

This is Fu’s chance to issue his Challenge, to see if he has the ability to wield the Miraculous of Destruction. He has the potential, when faced with no other option, but this will test whether he will choose to help others and not himself. To do what he feels is right, and forfeit what he wants.

Just as Adrien reaches the steps, Fu launches his plan, clutching his back and falling to the ground, dropping his cane just out of his reach. Crying out in pain.

This causes the boy pause, and he stands on the steps of the school, frozen in place. Trying to figure out what to do, looking between Fu and the school’s front door.

Not a second later, he rushes to Fu, bringing his cane to his hands and helping him stand.

“Thank you, young man!” He says, patting his arm. Adrien’s eyes cringe and he tenses before his entire face lights up.

Huh, interesting...

“Do you need help getting to where you’re going?” He asks, his green eyes hopeful. No doubt wanting to help out more. If only so he could get further away from whoever he’s running from.

“No, I will be fine, but thank you for your kindness! Now, shoo, go to school!”

Adrien nods, the mention of school making his face light up even more.

He turns and rushes to the steps, and, just before he reaches the door, a silver sedan screeches to a stop, a tall woman clad in a purple suit and red blouse, her black hair fading to red on the left side. “Adrien, please reconsider! You know what your father wants!”

She walks slowly toward Adrien, as a large man steps out from the driver's seat, walking toward him with her. Adrien turns slowly toward them, his feet frozen in place, fear in his eyes. But only for a brief moment.

“But this is what I want!” He says, the fear taking a back seat to hurt and anger. “I’m sick of being stuck at home. I want to be like a normal kid!”

The woman shakes her head. “Adrien, you are not a normal kid, your father can’t afford to have you at public school!”

Adrien scoffs, “We both know he has more than enough money to afford it.”

“That’s not what I mean, Adrien. You know he only does this to keep you safe. He’s doing this for you.”

At this, Adrien’s eyes soften, his posture drooping. “I know... I just... I want to be around others. Please don’t tell Father about this.”

The woman’s eyes soften as she puts a hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “I know, and I’m sorry. But you just can’t. Come, let’s go home.”

As Adrien is led to the sedan, and is driven off back home, the second box pulsates in Fu’s pocket.

This boy has the traits that are required for the use of this Miraculous, but he does not have the right life for it. Fu is unsure whether Adrien can handle it. Plagg seems set on this boy, however. And, if Adrien is going to learn and grow, there is only one other Miraculous that will do just as good a job, and he’s already found a match for Creation.

He’ll just have to watch out for Plagg. With that, Fu swings his cane onto his shoulder and walks away whistling, following the sedan.

-------------------------

“Those of you who have P.E., Mr. D’Argencourt is expecting you at the stadium.” Ms. Bustier calls to the class as the bell rings and everyone packs up.

As the kid named Ivan, A large, fair skinned boy, with short brown hair save for the small tuft of blond in the front, gets up Kim gives him a note.

“The rest of you can head over to the library.”

A moment later, Ivan bursts out with an angry cry of “Kim!” He lurches toward Kim, an impish smirk on the lankier boy’s face. Ivan is cranking his fist back to slam it into Kim’s fragile face.

“Ivan! What are you doing?!” Ms. Bustier exclaims, leaning over her desk in shock. Ivan looks to her in confusion, lowering his fist.

“It’s Kim!” Ivan looks back at Kim, raising his fist again, and, for the first time, Kim is shocked and scared. “I’m so gonna—“

“Ivan! Go to the principal’s office!” Ms. Bustier cuts in, pointing out the door.

At that, Ivan steps away from Kim, growling as he looks back down at the note Kim passed him. With anger rolling off him, Ivan crumples the note in his hand and storms out of the classroom, muttering to himself; leaving Kim to shake in his seat, and Ms. Bustier to wonder if she could have worked the situation out better.

----------------------

The man known as Hawkmoth stands in a large room, a metal, circular window cover sliding open, letting light pour into the room, sending pure white butterflies fluttering about.

“Such powerful emotions. Anger. Frustration. Betrayal. And in a school no less, a perfect catalyst to test my limits.” He reaches for a butterfly, and clasps his hands around it. A second later, dark, purple energy seeps into the butterfly, and when he releases the butterfly, it is black with purple cracking apart the black, a violet mask-like pattern on it’s head and back, its legs a dark purple. “Burn a hole into his heart, little akuma, transform his anger into something more!”

The transformed butterfly, now an akuma, flies through the air, tracking down the boy with such anger and frustration with supernatural speed.

---------------------

Ivan opens the door to the principal’s office, but before he can take a step inside, the principal stops him.

“Excuse me, young man! Hasn’t anyone taught you to knock?” The principle, a large, overweight, white man with a receding hairline and greying hair exclaims. This shocks Ivan, his anger and frustration building. “Go on, go again.” He says, leaning back in his decked out, rolling swivel chair.

With a shake of his head and a growl, Ivan closes the door and turns around, raising a fist to knock.

Before he can put his fist to the wood, something stops him. A sound. The sound of something wet twisting and crawling. And suddenly, in his mind, there is a man floating in a grey space, his voice echoing all around his head. The principal’s “Go on, knock!” is ignored.

The man before Ivan is wearing a dark purple suit, and it shines in a way cloth doesn’t, kind of like rubber. On his chest are two black wing like lapels, which just make whoever this guy is look weird. Covering his head is a grey mask, only his eyes, which are an unsettling violet, and mouth looking normal. He’s leaning on a cane.

“Stoneheart.” the man says Ivan’s confusion at the name going unacknowledged. “I am Hawkmoth, I am giving you the strength and unstoppable power to seek revenge on those who have wronged you. To prove to them that you do have what it takes. All I need you to do is cause mayhem. Destroy all that you can.”

The power to get back at Kim? To prove that he does have what it takes?

And all he needs to do is cause mayhem?

Who can deny such a thing?

“Okay, I’ll do it.” Ivan says, a dark look on his face.

The man smirks.

Black and purple bubbles ripple over Ivan’s body, morphing his skin and bones.

When the bubbles disperse, Ivan is no more. Only Stoneheart remains. Standing at 2 meters tall, with cracked stone for skin and yellow eyes. He’s built like an athlete, and literally chiseled. Wrapped around his right hand is a purple fabric, like that a boxer would wear under their boxing glove. On his chest, the stone is jagged and protruding, right where his heart would be, like his heart had exploded. The cracks in the stone glow a faint yellow.

“Well?” The principal asks, waiting for a response.

Suddenly, the door is flung from its hinges, the principal only has enough time to move enough so that the door doesn’t slam into his head, but it still collides with his shoulder, sending him to the ground.

With an almighty roar, Stoneheart launches through the window, leaving an echo of “KIM!” behind as the entire wall crumbles to the street below.

-----------------------

In the library, a thunderous roar rattles the walls, then the whole building shakes, causing students to tumble to the ground.

After a few seconds, Alya, Marinette’s new friend, grabs her from the ground and drags her to the TVs in the library, which are showing the security footage.

A large, probably 2 meters tall, stone golem is walking down the street, the cracks in it’s stone skin glowing bright yellow. It roars in a voice so raspy and stiff, she wonders if it has vocal chords, and if so, how they’re working.

“Wh-what’s going on? I thought it was an earthquake!” a random kid exclaims.

Alya turns to Marinette, her hands on her cheeks. “It’s a real life super villain!” Suddenly, Alya’s eyes glint and she pulls out her phone. “Battery, 80%, check! GPS, check! I am so outta here!” Then she’s off, leaving Marinette to marvel at her.

“Wait! Hey, where’re you going?”

Alya pauses only briefly before turning around and hopping backwards “Where there’s a super villain, there is always a superhero!” Then she’s through the doors.

This is such a weird day...

Marinette looks back to the tv and jumps as the rock monster collides a car, the car crumbling and shattering. The yellow in the cracks of it’s skin glows brighter and- and she could have sworn it grew! It picks up what remains of the car with ease, and throws it at the school camera, and it goes to static. The building shakes again as crumbling brick and groaning metal reverberates through the school.

---------------------

Fu stops just outside the gates of a mansion. His eyes glinting with wonder and awe.

This should provide good living conditions for a being with such a high cost diet.

He hums in delight, letting Wayzz take the pulsating box up into the mansion.

-------------------

Adrienne *hates* homeschooling. She’s alone, save for Nathalie, and has to stay in one place for at least 7 hours, sometimes more, depending on the lesson. And, most of the time, she’s in the dining hall, the cold, undecorated dining hall. She’s stuck hearing her father, Nathalie, the mansion staff, call her ”Adrien”. Call her a boy. She can’t talk to anyone, can’t have a break. It’s useless.

“Who was the 1st president of the 5th French republic?” Nathalie walks up and down the length of the dining table. A tablet and pen in hand.

And all Adrienne can do is lean against her hand, not even able to summon more than a bored, monotone voice. “Everyone thinks it was De Gaulle but it was actually René Coty before the first elections.”

“Excellent, Adrien!” Nathalie exclaims. Turning around, a… pleased look on her face? ‘When did that happen?!’ Adrienne can’t help but think in shock. She opens her mouth to say something but a cold voice cuts through the room.

“Give me a minute would you, Nathalie?” Adrienne immediately tenses. It’s an involuntary reaction she has no control over. Not anymore.

Her Father turns to look at Adrienne, his eyes cold, disappointed, disproving. Angry. But his face remains stoic. “You are not going to school. I have already told you.”

Adrienne’s heart sinks. She looks to Nathalie, her eyes burning. She betrayed her. She- she does know what happens when she disobeys her Father, right?

Nathalie only lowers her head in shame.

Adrienne looks back to her father. “But, Father-“

“Everything you need is right here, where I can keep an eye on you.” He cuts in, tone dark and dangerous. “I will not have you outside in that dangerous world.”

“It’s not dangerous!” Adrienne tries, standing up from her seat, hands on the table. “I’m always stuck here by myself! Why can’t I go out and make friends just like everybody else?” She asks, pointing out the grand window to her left.

“Because you are not everybody else! You are My son” Adrienne flinches, her body flinching as her gut falls. She hates it when he sounds like that, it makes her feel so small. She has to bite her tongue to keep herself from shaking at her father’s deep, angry voice. He’s using the tone that suggests that he will not allow for any more words to be said.

Adrienne stands up straight, bowing her head, holding back tears that threaten to form.

Always her... it’s always Adrienne who makes things difficult. Who makes Father angry. All Adrienne does is antagonize him.

With that, Gabriel leaves, and Nathalie steps forward. “We can leave it there if you wan-“

Before she even finishes, Adrienne takes off running, hiding her— his face. Hiding his reddening eyes.

As he runs to his room, he catches a brief glimpse of a painting of him, his father and his mother.

But he can’t look at it for so long. It brings back too many bad memories.

Once in his room, he lays down on his bed, Letting his pillow soak in all the tears leaking from his— her eyes. From her eyes.

Why is Father like this? The thought bounces around in Adrienne’s head, it makes her dizzy. Why am I like this, if I’m really- if I’m really a girl, I wouldn’t revert to using those pronouns, to using “Adrien” when I’m stressed, would I? I wouldn’t do that when I anger Father, would I? How the hell am I a girl-

He doesn’t understand, Adrienne’s mother’s voice cuts through her spiraling thoughts. He probably never will. Your father is a stubborn man, and closed off in many ways. Just remember who you are, and that I’m here for you, my beautiful daughter.

This only makes Adrienne sadder. She isn’t here anymore. How can Adrienne keep going if she isn’t here?

Suddenly, something shakes the mansion, sounding like a stampede.

Curiosity takes over, and Adrienne takes off to go find out what’s happening.

She opens the front doors of the mansion, and a large (probably 4 meters tall) rock person is stomping its way toward a police blockade.

When the monster is within 10 meters, the police officer standing on top of a police car yells: “F-ire!” His voice cracks with fear and all the surrounding police officers fire off their guns.

The rock monster holds up it’s arms, but instead of the bullets doing any harm, they make the cracks in between the monster’s skin glow brighter, and it grows to be 2 meters taller! The police officer that was on the car scrambles down and tries to get away, but the monster grabs the car the officer was previously standing on with one hand, shouts out an unintelligible word, then throws the car with ease at the police officer; who only just barely manages to get out of the way.

Whatever this thing is, they sure are very, very angry.

Adrienne sprints back to her room, and vaults over her sofa, turning on the TV to the news.

“I’m asking all Parisians to stay inside until the situation’s under control.” Mayor Bourgeois says into the microphone, and Adrienne lets out a snort. Having everyone stay inside is the right call, don’t want anyone getting in the way... but, the man would be more than happy if he were the only one that stayed inside. And with the way that the situation is being handled, it isn’t going to be solved any time soon.

Then it switches to the TVi news station, where Nadja Chamack reports. “As incredible as it seems, it has been confirmed that Paris is, indeed, being attacked by a monster. The police have been struggling to get the situation under control.” Up in the right corner, a camera still reports what the monster is doing. Which, by the looks of it, is picking up cars and throwing them at buildings, trees, and other cars, destroying buildings and otherwise just causing mayhem, carnage and... and death.

It switches to another news camera, and it shows the police officer that was on the car in front of the gates, he’s getting his arm bandaged by a firefighter, speaking to an interviewer. “Be confident! The strong arm of-“ he cuts himself off as a painful crack is heard from the officer’s broken arm, his face contorting in pain. The firefighter then eases the arm down, and admonishes him for using his broken arm. “I meant to use the other arm...” the officer mumbles.

Blinking and shaking her head, Adrienne looks away, trying not to be too ashamed of Paris’s police force. From the looks of things, this monster is absorbing kinetic energy and using it to grow stronger.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, something catches her attention.

It’s a small box, with Chinese characters she doesn’t recognize on it.

She diverts her full attention to this box, a confused: “What’s this doing here?” Leaving her lips.

She picks it up, weighing it in her hand, moving it around and shaking it. It makes no noise. Shrugging, she opens it and finds a folded piece of paper. When she picks up the paper, she catches sight of a black ring, the corners of the face have silver raised points.

Suddenly, a bright green light glints off the ring, and a ball of green light bursts from it, temporarily blinding her, making her drop the paper, and box.

When her vision returns, there is a small, black being laying down in the air. It has a body covered with smooth, black fur, with a slight green sheen to it. It has a puff of fur on both cheeks, with two long, black whiskers poking out of each puff. There are similar tufts of hair on the bendy points of its limbs and back where the limbs connect to it. It has an aura that surrounds it that makes everything seem darker around it. Light seems to bend around it, like a black hole. It has two long, thin, puffy tails. It has two little ears that are currently drooped lazily, and little wisps of hair poke out from the inside. It has a tiny nose and snout. It... looks like a small deformed cat. And is absolutely adorable!

Suddenly, it uprights itself, stretching its arms and legs, little claws extending from it’s limbs, and releases a huge yawn. Upon closer inspection, each limb ends with a little paw. Its mouth reveals tiny, tiny fangs and an emerald green hue on the inside of its mouth. It’s ears perk up. Once it’s done with the yawn, the ears drop down again, and it opens its eyes to reveal two neon green eyes with black, slitted pupils.

“No way!” Adrienne exclaims. “This is so cool! You’re like the genie in the lamp!” She reaches a finger up to rub the little cat-genie’s forehead.

The little cat-genie launches back. It’s eyes going wide, with…. fear? But the cat-genie quickly schools its adorable little face into calm, uninterested, unimpressed neutrality.

“I met him once, so he grants wishes, big deal, I can do so much better and I'm personable!” The cat-genie crosses its nubs over its chest, claws extending slightly, spreading its leg nubs, like it’s pouting. Clearly trying to look intimidating, but Adrienne can see that it’s trying to gauge her reactions.

Huh, so the cat-genie speaks... it... it’s awfully squeaky and nasal.

It looks up to Adrienne, its eyes piercing into her soul. “Plagg, nice to meet ya.”

With the one sided greetings out of the way, The cat-genie known as Plagg zooms into a swirl before zipping off to explore the room, startling Adrienne some.

It lands on the foosball table, “Ooo, swanky!” Then it chomps down on a figure’s head, ignoring Adrienne’s “Don’t touch that!” by saying “Nope, not eatable.”

Just as Adrienne is about to grab Plagg, it takes off again, Adrienne’s ”Hey! Get back here!” going unnoticed as it locks eyes on an arcade’s joystick. “It’s so shiny!” Plagg lands on the joystick, uttering a curious “Can you eat this?” Before clamping its mouth down on the joystick ball.

Plagg turns away from it in disgust as it finds that it cannot, in fact, eat the joystick. “No, you can’t.” It says slightly dejectedly, then locks into something else and zooms away from Adrienne’s hand, leaving behind an excited “Ooh, what about this?”

----------------------------------

Marinette hates back to school days. She makes sure to tell her computer screen just that as she watches the news.

At the moment, Sabrina’s father is talking to a news reporter, having his arm wrapped up by a firefighter. “Be confident! The strong arm of-“ he cuts himself off as a painful crack is heard from Officer Roger’s arm, his face contorting in pain. The firefighter then eases the arm down, and admonishes him for using his broken arm. “I meant to use the other arm...” he mumbles.

Marinette shakes her head. Officer Roger can be a... a special type of person sometimes.

She glances down to her mouse to click away from the news station, but finds a black box with Chinese characters she doesn’t recognize.

Picking it up, she opens it, and finds a folded up paper. When she removes it, she catches a glance of two red earrings with black spots on each stud before a bright red/pink light glints off of them and she is temporarily blinded.

When it fades, Marinette’s jaw drops. So does the box and paper.

Floating before her, with its head bowed, is a giant scarlet/pink, ladybug-like bug, with a head much larger than the rest of its body. It has two antennae coming from its forehead and droop toward its back. It has a large black dot on its forehead. On its back is a scarlet ladybug shell, with five small black spots. From this shell are some pink, translucent wings that aren’t moving. The light around it seems to be…. brighter. Its limbs are little, sectioned, black nubs.

Suddenly its head shoots up, the light glinting off it’s large white eyes that have rings of blue in the center.

“Haaweeelllp!” The word leaves her mouth in a shriek as she jumps back, tipping over her chair, getting as far away from this- this- this giant bug! “It’s a giant bug!...”

The bug, no not a bug, a mouse… “A mouse!”

No, a-a bug-mouse, “Bug-mouse!”

it slowly floats its way toward her.

It continues to get closer.

“A- an alien!” She almost shrieks.

“Everything’s okay! Don’t be scared!” Its voice is high pitched, super high pitched, and slightly squeaky.

Marinette’s terrified, she does the only sensible thing. She grabs something behind her and chucks it at the bug-mouse-alien, eyes going wide, and it dodges her projectile. “Bug-mouse can talk! Bug-mouse talks!” She continues to throw things at the bug-mouse-alien, her terror only growing as it continues to dodge all of her projectiles.

“Listen, Marinette...” the bug-mouse-alien continues to speak. “I know everything is strange...”

As it talks and gets closer, Marinette can’t help but release terrified squeaks and whimpers as she gropes around for something to trap the bug-mouse thing under.

Suddenly, her fingers find a cup, and delight shoots through her as she lunges at the bug-mouse, slamming the glass cup down around the little —giant?— thing. She absently wonders why the glass didn’t shatter.

It looks up at Marinette, its expression and eyes calm. “Okay, If this makes you feel safer.”

It has no qualms about being stuck?! What can this thing do that makes it so that it isn’t scared of being trapped under something?!

Marinette keeps the glass firmly on the ground. “What are you? How do you know my name?” She asks.

“I’m a kwami,” the bug-mouse puts a nub on its chest. “And my name is Tikki!” it perks up as it says it’s name. “Now, just let me explain.” Its voice is slightly muffled by the glass. It makes the bug -Tikki- sound even weirder.

“MAMAN, PAPA!” Marinette shouts, inching her way to her trap door.

“No, no, no!” Tikki tries to warn her, pressing against the glass, but Marinette still ignores it. She puts a hand on the trap door and Tikki calls out again. “No!” It tries again, pushing against the glass, but Marinette keeps ignoring it.

“MAMA-“

“Shhh, No!” Tikki cuts her off, phasing through the glass and floating in front of her face. “I’m your friend, Marinette, you can trust me.”

Marinette narrows her gaze,

“Marinette?” comes the worried voice of her Maman, and Tikki and Marinette stare at eachother in tense silence.

“...It’s nothing, Maman, sorry”

Marinette turns to Tikki, the talking bug-mouse-alien-- ahem, Kwami. “Explain.”

----------------------

In such a big room, filled with so much stuff, the kid doesn’t even have any food to eat! Plagg’s tried so many things. Still, nothing edible!

He could just use atrophy and siphon off some energy, but that requires effort, and he did not wake up from 250 years of being dormant only to have to do things as soon as he is activated!

Plagg is zipping around this human child’s room and finds a semi-promising rectangle. Hopefully this works!

He bites down, only for his fangs to meet hard, foul tasting material. Ugh, he should just Cataclysm this whole room...

He drops the remote, and raises a paw, but the human-child drops from the ceiling and wraps her feeble, insufficient, human fingers around his body, which does not make him release an embarrassing yelp. Nope, not at all. It’s funny, how the human thinks she can keep him in place with just her fingers wrapped around his body, which is made from the very essence of chaos, destruction, bad luck and most importantly, if he does say so himself, death!

...Eh, he’ll let the child have her victory.

“Listen, I still don’t know what you’re doing here.” The child says, her tone stern.

Ha! As if a human can intimidate him!

This is really getting old, he just wants sustenance! Even mushrooms will do! Birds and fish are better, but they taste weird. Cheese is preferable, and Camembert is exquisite.

“Look, I’m a kwami. Kwamis grant powers.” Plagg narrows his eyes at this, this uninformed child. “Basic gist of mine is Destruction. Got it?”

“Nuh-Uh.” The child shakes her head, her blonde locks swaying. The locks of hair that grab the light just right... that are probably super soft locks... Locks that would make for an amazing be—

Plagg shakes his head. No time to get distracted. He needs food.

“Good.”, He looks around before looking into the child’s eyes and not the attention grabbing hair that looks like such a great spot to sleep in. “Got anything to eat, I’m starving!”

The child narrows her eyes, staring at him. Plagg stares back, keeping his expression neutral.

“Father’s pranking me, right?” The child stands up, leaning her massive, disgustingly proportionate, head over him. Plagg looks away, he does not want to see up that nose, no matter how clean it is. It’s gross.

“Wait... that’s not possible, Father doesn’t have a sense of humor.”

Plagg pulls himself from the human’s surprisingly tight grasp, spreading his limbs out wide. No matter what he thinks of this rule, the last time he didn’t obey it, Tikki ignored him for 500 years and his wielder caused Vesuvius, all because Tikki’s wielder, by extension, also ignored him. “Your dad must never know I exist. Or anyone for that matter.”

Adrienne tilts her head. Furrowing her eyebrows. “Plagg, I’m pretty sure Father already knows other humans exist...”

Plagg raises his eyebrows. This kid might actually be fun to be around. “I meant no one else can know that I exist.”

“Oh, yeah, that makes more sense.”

“Anyway,” Plagg zips into the kids face. “Where. Is. The. Food?” The kid looks at him with the weirdest expression.

“I only get to eat at breakfast, lunch and dinner. No snacks.”

Plagg narrows his eyes. “That’s no way to live!”

“Well It’s how I live.”

Plagg drops his tone a bit. “It’s not a way that anyone should ever have to live.”

The kid’s eyes go wide

Plagg stares into her eyes, cocking his head. “Well, time to get this out of the way.” Plagg suddenly zips from in front of Adrienne, and into her bathroom. “I’m a kwami, and I can grant you the ability to destroy anything you touch!”

Plagg stops before a roll of paper, hanging above a , quite frankly disappointing, porcelain throne. He grabs and *nearly* lets out a delighted gasp. Such an amazing invention! He drops it to the ground before landing on it and it starts to unravel. FUN!

“All you need to do is put on the ring! To be able to do anything, you call out “Claws Out” and to activate your power, call out Cataclysm, you’ll be able to destroy anything you touch!” He explains as he runs around the room on this roll of super soft paper. (Well, actually the powers that he can grant are much more than a mere Catalclysm, but the kid isn’t ready for that yet. Plus, Tikki’d kill him if he were to tell her that.)

“I can do that?”

“Psssshhh, no, I can do that, I just allow you to be able to do that.”

“What do I say again?”

“Claws Out.”

“Claws out?”

The ring sucks Plagg in and he’s getting ready to meld with the kid. Create what she wants subconsciously. In a flash, he’s inside her mind and he’s ready to shape her body to the way it’s supposed to be, but stops. It would make her happy, but she isn‘t ready for anyone else to know yet, she’d have a break down. And, probably worse. So, he lets her mind create her suit in accordance to what she wants right now.

-----------------------

Looking in her mirror, Marinette puts on the earrings. “So, you’re saying, you can give me the power to…. create anything—“

“At random, you won't be able to choose it!”

“—and restore damage—“

“Only if you cast Lucky Charm! And it only restores damage dealt to people caused by a specific event that has happened recently.”

“Okay, so, you can transform me into a ladybug styled superhero, with increased physical and mental capabilities-“

“Mental only in the fact that you’ll be able to take in more information and take it in faster, other than that, it’s all you!”

“And I can create a random object by calling out Lucky Charm and restore damage dealt to living things caused by a specific event by calling out Miraculous Ladybug?”

“Yep!”

“And I can become this Ladybug by….”

“Calling out ‘Spots On” Tikki looks into Marinette’s eyes, he doesn’t know it yet, he hasn’t realized it yet.

Hopefully he will. She really doesn’t want Marinette to go through more of his life in unknown misery. Luckily, when the time comes, she can help!

“Spots On?”

“Wait I forgot—“

Melding with his mind, Tikki ignores the urge to shape Marinette’s body the way she knows he feels subconsciously like he should. He doesn’t know yet, and she doesn’t want to put that stress on him. But Sugar cookies she forgot to tell him about the ability to purify things! And that the way to take down this thing is to destroy the corrupted object, or that there is a corrupted object. Well, he’s her wielder, he’ll figure it out.

Technically Tikky can give her wielders so much more power, but this is the first time being her wielder, so she’ll have to ease Marinette into this.

[This is the image I used to base Nooroo’s, Tikki’s and Plagg’s designs on, I have also used it to alter Trixx’s, Wayzz’s, Pollen’s and Duusuu’s designs.]

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fan ficton #miraculous ladybug fic #trans girl! Adrienne #trans girl adrien #trans boy! marinette #trans boy! marin #trans au #wintertundra-art's trans au #miraculous ladybug rewrite #origins rewrite #rewrite au #some character descriptions have changed #powers reworked #my writing #part one of 3 #possibly 4 #nonbinary nooroo #it/its nooroo

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nam-nam-joon · 4 years

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Pairing: lucas/wong yukhei x reader

Genre: meet cute; rich kids AU

Wordcount: 10.6k

Warnings: lots of swearing; yukhei punches someone

Summary: one word is all it takes, and the opaque glass dome surrounding him cracks, and then there's you peeking in through the opening.

notes: i started this in february '19, when i was in san fran, and very much walking through the fashion district and marvelling at the sketches in the boutique windows of dior, and watching the actual rich people around there. and i've loved @stormae 's rich kid AUs for so long, i wanted to try and write my own :)

The first time he sees you, he doesn’t know it’s you yet.

And he also doesn’t see you, not really.

That is, his mind registers a person crouching off to the side as he steps up to the crossing, one hand in his pant’s pocket, the fingers of the others lazily curled around the thin velvet strings of a small bag, carrying a bottle of the expensive scent his mother always leaves a hint of wherever she goes.

That she forgot at home before this trip, and sent him to fetch for her, because of course they didn’t take Doyoung with them for this weekend trip to the fundraiser in the city by the bay.

And in lieu of their usual boy-for-everything, the next best thing is of course their own son.

He doesn’t mind.

It gives him an excuse to saunter around the streets of the high society neighbourhood their hotel is located in, somewhere among the sparkling city lights of downtown.

A breath escapes him.

It is a city like any other. The only difference with this one are the light buildings and summer etched into every corner and crevice, even though the temperatures aren’t quite there at this time of the year.

Running his mother's errand gives him an excuse to breathe in the air that smells of big city, of a million different foods, like gasoline and a bit of freedom, too.

When he walks the streets like this he can be nobody. Just another face in the crowd - a very expensively dressed crowd, but nonetheless. Here he doesn’t have a name, doesn’t have watchful eyes on him scrutinizing his every move, like his father likes to do. Noone there to clutch at his arm and whisper harsh words to him, in a tongue foreign to most of those surrounding them, behind the back of those who take selfies with their new purchases safely tucked into bags that boast the name of brands. His mother’s words are unforgiving about anyone falling outside her perception of no less than perfection, of people like his father and his colleagues, and ultimately, him and his friends.

Because, really, they’re the next generation of perfect people, carefully raised and curated by the last generation of perfect people.

But then there’s movement from the end of his field of vision and you step into it from the right, hand brushing back a few stray hairs that escaped into places they're not meant to be in and the first thing he sees is the way the headlights of passing cars momentarily create a glowing circle around your head, the way the traffic lights tint your face into a multitude of colours, and his eyes, usually so fleeting and only ever interested in the horizon, can’t let go.

They slip down your body with a practiced ease that has been second nature longer than he can think.

He doesn’t know anything about you other than you look absolutely ethereal bathed in the unassuming shine of artificial light.

But then his gaze runs down the length of your body and he comes up empty handed. Not one piece of clothing that you’re wearing bears the label of a designer he’s familiar with.

The washed out pants are rolled up over the worn out converse, there’s the hint of a flannel peeking out beneath your open jacket that seems just light enough to not cause sweat on this early spring's evening. The model of your phone is that from four years ago, but that’s all he can recognize.

Although it tells him enough.

And yet…

Another vespa zips by and in its headlight something at your belly blinks up. A small flutter spreads through his stomach as he takes in the knobs and levers, the metal and beaten black plastic. The long lens with its round cover and your left hand protectively curled around the whole creation, cradling it so close that he can’t think other than to immediately assume it’s just a part of you.

“Hey.” He says, before his brain can stop his mouth. It comes out low and even, a smirk playing around his lips.

The light switches to green, after what feels like an eternity, and you begin to walk before turning your head in his direction.

But instead of the million little things he is so used to hearing in return to one of his “Hey”'s - you don’t say anything. You just look at him and smile, you look into his eyes and smile. And then your gaze leaves him, without a second look, without scanning him. Without seeing him.

It has the smirk threat to slip for a second.

“So, uh, I noticed your camera. You really like photography, huh? Is it a hobby of yours?”

You stop at the next corner and turn into the direction of the setting sun flooding the street that gently slopes down in front of you, lift the camera and keep quiet for a moment. His gaze is fixed on the way your fingers turn a ring close to where the lens meets the rest of the camera, making adjustments, before your body seems to freeze for the fraction of a second that it takes until the camera clicks and you lower it.

Your eyes meet his again and he notes how your right hand automatically turns a little lever, a ticking noise emitting from the case in your hands for the duration of the movement.

“Yeah, you could say that. But I mostly just like to take pics of pretty things, or things I like. It’s not really- Not like I earn money with it or so.”

He nods. “Been here before? In the city, I mean." Then he adds. "I’m Lucas, by the way.”

He waits, one step ahead of you, until you put the cover back over the lens and slowly catch up to him.

“_______. And nah, First time for me. You?”

“Me neither. You like it?”

“It’s alright.” The grin on your face screams that your passive tone is a lie, and his lips curl into a grin until you crack and join in. “Yeah, I love it. Been here for a week now and am still finding new favourite spots every day. What about you? Here for a vacation?”

If only, he thinks, as his eyes catch on the dark clouds opposing the radiant sunset.

“Family trip.” He says instead.

“Oh, awesome! I’d love to have my fam here now- it would be so nice to go sightseeing with them. Where have you been already?”

His eyes trail back to yours, slightly irritated at the energy you just revealed, and the passion behind your words when speaking of the people that created you.

“Just arrived today.” He says, and it’s only half a lie. But he doesn’t know how to explain that his parents aren’t the type to go sightseeing with their offspring; that the idea of his mother in her Manolo’s strutting over the local tourist hot spot bridge is… bizarre.

“Oh, okay.” You say, and he can sense the slight dent his answer gave your enthusiasm. “Well… where do you wanna go? What stuff are you here for to see?”

You add, after he keeps quiet for a moment while trying to come up with a smooth save.

“The… bridge.” He says, as it is the first thing falling into his head. A knowing smile has your eyes glinting, like you are somehow able to see through him.

It has an uncomfortable feeling spread inside him - the pretense he always dresses in to keep his parents - his friends, everyone around him - happy so much more important than some pretty person his mind couldn’t let go of after laying eyes on.

The subdued panic wells up in his chest. He briefly considers walking off, especially now that your head is tilted down and his feet are in your direct line of sight.

The black sock sneakers carry the little printed letters that spell ‘Balenciaga’ along the outer sides, their low rise only allowing a thin slip of skin to show around his ankles before the elastic band of his pants covers the rest of the leg that the sun touched with a tan again, now that he’s away from the snow of winter.

He almost holds his breath.

All of his friends are like him.

Young, good looking.

Wealthy.

You’re no less good-looking and yet as different to him as night is to day.

Your eyeliner is a bit messy towards the outer corners of your eyes, like you had wiped at it, forgetting it was there. There’s frizz making short hairs stand up over the rest of where it is kept together. He can see it’s been a while since you last plucked your eyebrows, but all of it contributes to an image that is so much more human than what he’s used to.

You’re not proper, with skin smooth as if airbrushed like the girls his mother wants him to converse with at events, you have your camera to snap keepsakes of your travels, alone, in a city that is not your own.

You’re walking these streets without fear, and without caring that almost everyone else here is dressed in clothes that, a single item alone, probably costs more than all of yours combined.

There is something fierce inside you that he catches a glint of as a Tesla purrs by and your eyes flash over the car; the way your eyebrows quip upwards for a moment and your lips purse, and suddenly he feels awfully aware of what he’s wearing.

Of how confident you look, how comfortable, without a single brand name lining your side.

Your eyes meet his again, and this time, they stay longer. Flit around and take in all his features before you open your mouth and the spark of mischief beautifully adorns your expression.

“I know the perfect place to see the bridge. Wanna come?”

“Wh- Now?” His eyes fly to the smart watch on his wrist, the time ticking away, and the notification that his mother send him a message, asking about her perfume.

“Yeah. Now. Unless you got somewhere else to be?”

He has. He really has.

“Uh… can I meet you sometime later? Like… eleven, maybe?”

Is that disappointment on your face?

“Ah, I see. Sorry for going in like that, I thought… Nevermind. Hey, look, if you need to go, I won’t keep you.”

This expression he knows, although it’s strange to see on your soft, warm face that holds no trace of the practiced smiles and pleased looks that cover the features of him and his friends. You’re pulling back, distancing yourself.

He swallows down the panic that rises in the pit of his stomach against all the rules and mental restrictions he built over the course of miserable years of splendor and grandeur; the very same walls you crept around and instantly closer to his soul than anyone since his childhood nanny.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I really do want to go with you. It’s just- My parents- I have to bring this to them, and they’ll expect-”

He notices, notices the way your eyes catch on the little bag he holds up, and it’s a pinprick into his chest as he remembers the triple digits he paid for with his travel credit card.

But then your eyes touch his again, and they’re not hard, not unforgiving, not condescending. Just curious.

He gapes at you as you look up at him without a single wrinkle of displeasure on your face.

And in that moment he makes a decision.

“You know what, fuck my parents.” He steps around you and lifts a hand, a cab setting its blinker almost immediately to respond to his call. “I’ll bring this to them and then we can go to see the bridge.”

He pauses with the door held open, wondering why you’re still standing on the sidewalk, camera in hand.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“I don’t really have money for taxis.”

He furrows his brows and puts one arm over the door. “It’s alright, I’ll pay. Don’t worry about it.”

When you slip into the seat next to him he tells the driver the address of his parent’s hotel and the car leaves the curb.

“Four Seasons, huh.” You say flatly.

“Yeah. My mother won’t stay at any other.”

It comes out matter of fact, and he has to look over to see the shadow of a grin around your lips before he realizes your sarcasm is such a subtle tease he didn’t pick up on it at first.

“Are you sure they won’t kick me out?”

He brushes past the portier opening the glass door for you, but as he turns around to look back at you he catches you mouthing a thank-you at the young man in the neatly pressed uniform.

“Of course they wouldn’t. Just- just wait here, okay? I’ll be back in a sec.”

You grin and shake your head.

“Hey Lucas!” You call out then, as he waits in front of the elevator. “Wear something plain, okay?”

“Where do you think you’re going.” Comes the voice from his father, stern and with the disapproval so expertly woven into it that he has long since stopped hearing it.

“Out.” He says flatly, picking up his leather jacket he left draped over one of the chairs on his mother’s side of the bed on his way out, back down to you after switching pants and shoes. The flask with perfume is safely clutched in his mother’s hand. It clinks against the marble vanity as she sets it down.

“Lucas! We have an event scheduled, you cannot be-”

“That’s not my name!” He interrupts the higher voice of his mother, his own voice suddenly spiking.

It’s the name _______ knows you by, an evil little voice whispers in his head that he shoves down.

“That’s not my name.” He repeats into the heavy silence after his outburst, more controlled. “Don’t pretend you care about me being there with you, I would just get in your way, as usual. Have fun getting drunk.”

The heavy oak door cuts off his parent’s voices, the nagging one of his mother and the scolding one of his father.

When he rips the clean, neat button down off of him it almost feels like he's shedding a layer that reeks of his parents. He dumps it in one of the artfully concealed trash bins and tugs the white tee shirt he's wearing underneath out of his pants.

He knows he’ll pay for this little act of rebellion, this act of defiance, but when he leans his head against the cool tiles in the elevator, he doesn’t find it in himself to care.

You greet him with crossed legs sitting on one of the decorative, uncomfortable couches in the lobby, the latest Vogue open on your lap.

“Finally. The receptionist was creeping their hand closer to the phone to call the cops on me by the minute.” You grumble, and it’s really not your fault, but he tips his head back and laughs.

He catches you as you eye the plain white shirt, the leather jacket over his arm. Your eyebrows rise as you take note of his shoes - the Balenciaga’s are gone, replaced with a pair of Adidas, so new they practically sparkle.

“What.” He ducks his head to meet your gaze, but you refuse to meet his as you exit the hotel.

“Just look at you. I can’t take you anywhere like this, people will think we’re super good targets to mug and then leave in a ditch. Here, put this on. And give me your jacket.”

He’s too baffled to refuse to take the flannel you just shrugged out of. It’s still warm when he takes it, and it smells more like the scent he only caught a trace of when you sat next to him. He draws a deep breath and hopes you won't notice.

It’s big, at least for you, but on him, it fits. Out of your backpack you conjure up a smaller, slouchier bag, littered with patches that carry unknown town’s names. A water bottle and a polaroid camera find their new home in it, before you stuff your own jacket into the bigger bag and hand it to him. He takes it, again, slinging his arms through the hoops and adjusting them so they fit him.

“C’mon, bend down a little, won’t ya? I’m not a giant like you.”

He complies against his better judgement, cautious eyes under worrying eyebrows keeping track of your facial features, watching out for any trace of malice that might appear as you come close.

It's all he can do to not flinch too heavily when you lift your arm.

Your hand ruffling through his hair, messing up the slicked-back look, catches him off-guard and he’s left to stare at your face in wonder after you lean back, satisfaction radiating from you.

“There, better. Now you’re just a backpacker like me, with fresh splurged-on shoes. Let’s go.”

He offers to take another cab, to wherever you want to go, but you simply shake your head.

“Half the fun is getting there.” You tell him and his burning calves as you climb what is possibly the steepest street he’s ever encountered.

He admires the way you push forward, always half a step in front of him. At the top you look back to where he’s briefly catching his breath, beckoning him forward with a smile.

His jacket looks good on you, he notices. The sleeves are so long that you can make paws out of them, and in the fresh, almost cold evening air, you do, which he thinks is adorable. In a good way.

It takes longer than he thought, from the bustling core of the fashion district across town. You lead him through the criss-crossing streets, point at stuff, and show him things he’d never notice otherwise.

It’s long since pitch black dark before he’s following you through a patch of trees, down a slight slope.

“You sure this is the way? I-”

“Yeah! It’s just one more corner, bridge should be there then, don’t you fret! I’d never lead you astray.”

Doubt sparks sharply in his thoughts, but he fights it down.

He doesn’t know you, not really, he reminds himself; even after a cab ride and a trek across the city spent talking, but it’s this or the fundraiser.

His breath stinging his sides or his mother's manicured fingers pinching him to keep him from slouching.

The refreshing air, heavy with moisture and the smell of trees, or the stuffy warmth that has him light headed without any alcohol - that is saturated with perfumes so thickly he could cut it into pieces.

He steps in a puddle and his adidas aren’t so white anymore, he’s pretty sure he walked himself a blister somewhere and the cold is beginning to seep in, after the hills of the city are behind you

“Lucas! You coming?”

The name is another setback, another pinprick, but he jogs up to where your voice comes from.

The sky behind the trees is oddly red, as if a great light is illuminating the clouds.

He’s only reached you when you already turn, and he wants to call out for you to stop, wait up, and then…

And then he sees the bridge.

The two towers rise high into the night’s sky, six streams of cars flow between them, one side white, one red lights.

It connects the curving street to the dark mountains across the water, where the trail of light vanishes between the sloping tops.

“It’s good, eh?” You smile up at him, suddenly back by his side. He nods and swallows, unable to look away.

The sight shouldn’t be special, he’s seen bridges like these lit up all over the world, so why is this one so breathtaking?

He hears the snap of the shutter, the clicking of the film being turned, once, twice.

He turns his head just in time to hear it click a third time, and he needs a moment before he realizes the last picture definitely has him in it.

“Hey! Did you take a picture of me?”

“So what if I did?” Your grin is shit-eating wide, and he feels himself give in.

“-That’s not allowed.” He says for a lack of anything better when it looks like you’re still waiting for an answer.

You laugh and turn to the front, admiring the sight again.

The countless headlights sparkle in your eyes, the red glow shining on your face.

He gets the urge to snap a picture as well, and in that moment understands you a little bit.

This close, shoulder to shoulder, the details of your face stand out differently.

He should say something, break the silence that’s stretching uncomfortably between you, but there’s nothing coming to his mind.

You turn your head and meet his eyes, and deep down he dreads the comments that will come, about him staring, about him not conversing, about him being rude.

But all you do is smile up at him like he’s the nicest thing you've seen all day, and inch a bit closer.

“It’s cold, no?” He breathes in, breaking eye-contact in favour of the dark water and the park spreading out around you.

“You want your jacket back?” You’re already lowering your backpack’s strings before his hand catches yours, pauses your movement.

“No, no it’s fine.”

“You sure? I can handle it, I’ve got my own jacket. You don’t have to be all tough, don’t wanna get you sick.”

“Trust me, I’m good.” His hand lowers, and he smiles.

“No it’s not!” You speak up, catching his palm in your own. “You’re all clammy! Here, take your jacket back and give me mine, c’mon.”

No matter how much he protests, you don’t take no for an answer, and fifteen minutes later he’s begrudgingly trotting along the beach on the other side of the street, back towards the city, wearing his own jacket.

Your connected hands gently swing between you.

Now and then you sigh, and then take a breath as if wanting to say something, but then you don’t and he’s left to wonder.

The moon breaks through the clouds now and then, bathing the wide walkway in silver-grey light, and then shrouds itself again.

“What’s on your mind?” He brings out, after another sigh of yours.

Your eyes meet his, your face open even though you’re biting on your lip and struggle with words.

But he meant what he said, doesn’t look away, even stops and tugs you to follow his example.

“I’m just,” You begin, looking off into the distance. “Every vacation comes to an end. Guess I’m both relieved and sad about it at once.”

“When do you go back?” He can’t believe he hasn’t asked until now.

“Next week.”

“That’s still some time.”

“I know. It’s what I keep telling myself, but… Time flies. One moment you’re arriving in a new city and the next you find yourself leaving. Life is so fast sometimes and it’d be nice to... Live slow. You know?”

Oh, he knows.

He’s never known anything slow.

The cars he and his friends drive are fast, whenever one of those friends takes an interest in a girl or a boy or anyone, really, they’re fast to proclaim their love and date and then fast to break up. The planes that are bringing him from city to city are fast, the way he only has to tap his plastic on the card reader and it rings up his purchase, fast.

But you’re slow.

You walk, everywhere, you tell him, and he listens. You talk slow, too, there’s a lot of breaks between your sentences, he learns, and occasionally you’ll pick up a topic to talk about that he thought you’d finished already and moved on from, just to add another perspective he hadn’t considered.

The ocean is slow, too, with the waves rolling on the sandy beach and barely grazing the stone steps you sat down on to watch the water.

“Can I lean into your side for a while? I’m not feeling so well.” You say quietly, barely above the wind and the waves.

He turns his head, takes in how your eyes are a bit distant, staring out over the rippling surface.

Instead of answering he puts his arm around your shoulders, shuffles closer until the length of his thigh touches yours and he can tug you into the side of his body.

Both your arms snake around his waist, under his jacket, and because it is right there and not doing it seems weird, he leans his cheek on the top of your head.

This is fast, too, he muses, cuddling the same day you met; but his sore feet and the hours of walking around and talking make it seem like he's known you for longer.

He can’t remember any of his friends ever having talked so much with him.

The bar in the basement of the hostel is loud, filled to the brim with people, there’s music pumping between the walls and he doesn’t know anyone but you.

You vanish to put away your bags and even though this is a place he should feel more comfortable in, he doesn’t.

Maybe it’s because it’s not so dark that he can still see everyone, and everyone can still see him, and everyone is dressed much like you, if not a little more shabby and run-down.

He’s stood by the bar, waiting for two small colas, because they don’t sell the champagne he usually goes for.

“That’ll be nine bucks mate.”

He waits for the clerk to put the card reader out for him, and when the guy doesn’t, he feels the annoyance bubbling up.

“Card?” He says, irritated.

“Sorry buddy, cash only.”

“What?!”

“‘scuse me says so up front.” The guy shrugs, hands inching closer to take the cheap plastic cups away.

“I got it!”

He turns and you’re back, with hair fresh up and shockingly clothed with just a single t-shirt. Gone are the layers and layers from before, and it's like you're a different person.

You put a note with a ten on it down on the counter, politely say thank you upon receiving your change and then turn, handing one cup to him.

He feels strange, still riled up because of the embarrassment and because you were the one to save him, and because you seem to not find fault in that, just smile and take a sip.

“I’m Yukhei.” He blurts out.

Your eyebrows twitch closer together. “I’m ________.” You repeat.

“No, I mean… That’s my name.” He shifts, uncomfortable.

“And Lucas?”

“That’s… That’s my western name. The one my parent’s call me by. But… Yukhei is my real name.” He takes a sip as well, almost cringing at the sugary taste.

“Do you prefer Lucas or Yukhei?” You take another sip, and your eyes are so soft again.

“-Yukhei.” He answers, looking into them.

“Come on guys, make some room for Yukhei and me alright?”

He preens, unseen by anyone but himself, under the way you call his name, and he takes another sip, almost used to the taste by now.

Under a lot of shuffling and grumbling the present people free up a tiny space on the bench and you motion for him to sit down.

As soon as his butt hits the worn out wood, he finds you in his lap, using him as a seat for yourself.

The hand not busy holding his drink comes up to your hip by instinct, he looks up at you out of wide eyes, lips twitching but finding no words for the bold move.

He's had people grinding down on him in clubs everywhere, this shouldn't feel different. It does. This is so much more intimate.

“Everything alright? If I get too heavy I can get off?” You turn and are a lot closer to him than he thought, noses almost touching.

“Huh? Uh, no, I’m good, don’t- Don’t worry. Is this okay for you?”

You nod, half listening to a conversation happening at the table again.

Over the course of the next hour you go and refill your own and his cups, with fanta this time, which he likes a bit better. Every time you come back to him he looks up at you and expects you to demand a seat for your own now, but every time you shuffle back into his lap. The hand on your hip slowly extends each time until you take his fingers and drag them over until his arm is lying around your belly.

His chin is on your shoulder whenever you’re there, but he mostly listens and doesn’t contribute to the chats much.

To his surprise his trips to Tokyo, Monaco or Dubai sound a lot less glamorous, exciting and adventurous compared to what some of the people here, not even much older, can talk about.

One backpacked his whole way down the Rocky Mountains, across a whole continent; another hasn’t been home in two years and is looking to get another visa somewhere else already.

One has just arrived from their plane coming in from the other coast, and another travelled all of the north and is now looking for something a little more southern.

He learns that you’ve been to quite a few places yourself, listen intently as you recall memorable moments and rant about impossible people you’ve come across.

He squeezes once after a loud round of laughter has mostly died down, and even though you’re currently talking to a girl diagonally across from you, your own hand comes up to cover his and squeeze back, and he doesn’t think twice about it but knows you heard him, told him to hang in there.

Once you’ve both said your words you turn to him, curiosity on your face. The way you’re sat, twisted, is a little unstable and so you put a hand on his shoulder, to keep steady.

“Hm?”

“Where’s the bathroom here?”

“Ha? Oh, it’s through that door, on the left side, you just have to follow- Do you want me to show you?”

He feels silly, already mentally beating himself up about not being man’s enough to just go, but already you’ve stood up, linked your hands and are pulling him along.

“You okay? You’ve been so quiet?”

He feels like his ears are half deaf, now, in the silent hallway after the door to the bar shuts.

“Just… tired.” He avoids your question, but not entirely, either.

“Shit, you arrived today, I forgot… Hey if you wanna get out of here just tell me.”

He nods and mirrors your smile before pushing open the door to the washroom.

You’re still there when he comes out again, leaned against the wall, tapping on your phone.

“All done.” He announces, bouncing his hands by his hips, and you smile at the cute voice he puts on.

"Wanna go back inside? Or have enough yet."

He rubs a hand over his neck and looks to the side.

"I think I can stomach another cola. Or fanta. How much do I owe you?"

You shake your head and wave a hand.

"I’ll send you a bill, pretty boy. Come now, don’t think you get a lot of chances at getting out of your ivory tower to mingle among the common folk, eh."

He wants to open his mouth and disagree, and then he doesn't

You squeeze his hand and part with him before you get back to the table, motioning in the direction of the bar and likely referring to the last drink he mentioned, and he nods and goes to sit back down.

You join him soon after, leaning forward a bit to squeeze between the table and his legs, and over your shoulder he catches the leer of one of the guys that’s been eyeing you a little too much all evening.

But you don’t seem to notice and so he clenches his hand into a fist and presses it against the wood.

Soon after, one of the girls from the right side of the table puts her drink down and gestures towards him.

“What about you, where are you from? You staying in the hostel as well?”

He answers, as best as he can, and he’s had a lifetime of dodging and carefully evading clear answers and if the others are aware of him shifting the topic of conversation around and asking for more travel stories of them, they don’t say anything.

You wiggle out if his lap and whisper you’ll use the restroom really quick and that he better not dare to run off, and then your reassuring weight is gone and he’s alone at the table but it feels safer than sitting at one of the round tables of a gala, with crystalline flutes of bubbling liquid and stiff jackets all around.

The door to the hallway closes behind you and the guy from before turns to the person next to him, an ugly grin spread on his face, and says something low on his breath. Following a sudden impulse he gets up to head to the reception of the hostel upstairs and doesn’t really hear the spoken words, and part of him doesn’t want to, and another part strains his ears to pick it up nonetheless.

When he comes back the same girl who’d asked before directs another friendly question at him and his attention momentarily slips.

But not for long.

His eyes find the door when you push it open again, and in the same moment he hears the two guys clearly.

“..._______ such a slut.”

At once the anger is back and his fingers flex.

“What?” He says, and it’s louder than anything else he’s said this evening. The others at the table pause in their chat, and he feels eyes on him. “What did you just say?”

The guy glances around and then leans back, fake confidence mixing with real one.

“I said what I said. Cute ass, too.”

“Apologize!”

The guy pulls a face. “Why should I? She isn’t here and it’s not like she didn't have it coming-”

He’s on his feet before he can blink and then there’s a sharp pain on his knuckles and the guy is curling forward, pressing a hand to his mouth and cursing.

Right afterwards the guy rises to his feet, and to his satisfaction Yukhei notes that he’s a couple inches taller than the asshole, a little broader too, even though the other guy looks like he packs more muscle.

“You wanna fuckin’ go?” The guy hisses, red seeping between his teeth and eyes glinting.

“Apologize and we won’t have to.” He growls, hand still clenched.

"Yukhei!"

He hears you exclaim into the awful silence that suddenly fills the dingy space, but the adrenaline is rushing in his veins, his blood loud in his ears.

"Stop it!"

"Do you know what he called you? How he’s talking about you behind your back?"

The fury about someone reducing you to a glimpse, a fraction of who you really are, just based on your shirt slipping a little too low-

As if he isn’t just as bad.

Giving you a once-over upon first seeing you, running a mental checklist of brands you were sporting, how compatible your styles were.

He knows how shallow him and his friends, but especially his mother and father are. And maybe that's why his anger is boiling over now, roiling in his stomach. Because he knows he's no better, because in just a couple of hours spent with you he's lived so much more than in the months preceding this trip alone.

But there's your hand on his elbow, the warm skin of your palm as your fingers weave between his, and even though the asshole is still dabbing at his busted lip, sneering so ugly, he lets you. Lets you tug him away, out between the people staring from their seats, into the weird hallway and up the flight of stairs.

"You really don't care that guy called you that? For no reason, at all?"

He doesn't mean to sound this accusing, this hurt that you rejected his offer to stand up for you. At the top of the stairs you turn back, fingers twitching in their hold on his hand. He looks down into your face when he comes to a rest next to you, rubs his thumb over the back of your hand once.

"Of course I care." You blink, and he worries his eyebrows because he doesn't understand. "I don't like being labelled like that, by assholes like him. But it happens all the time. And even if I would've spoken up about it, which I would have, by the way, that- speaking up should have been enough. I'm not going to fucking deck a guy just because he can't handle me showing as much skin as I want. Worse things have happened."

"But-"

"I appreciate it, you standing up for me. But you don’t have to, I can handle it alone.”

The words of protest are heavy on his tongue but he swallows them down.

“I think we need some fresh air.”

He hears you mumble.

The clouds that move across the expanse of darkness above are the colour of rust.

He’s quiet again, but for a different reason than before.

Now and then he sneaks glances at you, wondering when it would be a good time to open his mouth again.

You lead him, again, around corners and across streets until he’s lost his way for sure and could only find his way back by taking a cab.

Then again, he was sort of lost as soon as you brought him out of the fashion district already, so this isn’t that much of a change.

“Hey, you hungry?” You ask suddenly, stopping in front of a fast food restaurant. “I’m hungry. Let’s go in.”

He doesn’t object.

The cup of ice cream he got with your enthusiastic approval is nice and cool against his bruised knuckles.

Through half a pack of crispy golden fries already he sees you pause, with your gaze locked on his hand.

“It’s not-”

He starts, after you swallow and he practically hears you complain already.

“It doesn’t hurt, don’t worry. I’m sorry- I- I’m not sorry about hitting the guy. He deserved it. I’m sorry he said that about you.”

You close your mouth and take a sip of the drink. Just one shared cup, without a lid or straw, because you said there is enough plastic in the oceans already.

You look away from him, put the cup down and reach for his hand.

He wants to object and pull it away but you glare at him and he doesn’t want to upset you further and so he lets you examine it.

There’s a soft, barely there touch to his raw knuckles and his eyes are darting back in time to see you put the most careful of kisses first to where the skin is sensitive, and then to the back of his hand.

He feels himself calm down. It’s like his entire being is solely focused in this moment in your touch. For just a moment nothing else matters.

You lean back and sigh, not letting go of his hand.

“What am I gonna do with you, hm.”

He hopes it’s a question you don’t intend him to answer, because there are no words coming to his mind.

He holds the door open for you as you exit the 24 hour restaurant. The air here in the city is a little less crisp than out at the bridge, but it’s still fresher than inside. His legs ache, and the soles of his feet burn, reminding him of the amount of walking he’s done trailing after you today and then there’s the flight from the morning and he’s very suddenly very tired.

So much so he stumbles and bumps your shoulder, even.

“Hey, Yukhei? You okay?”

And you look at him again, with your eyes so soft, and his hand clenches around the bandana you got out from who knows where and wrapped around his knuckles as a makeshift bandage.

“Just tired.” He whispers, head filled with the image of your face lit up by the restaurant’s neon signs beside you two and the glow of the streetlights to the other side.

“Maybe that’s a sign to head to bed then.” You grin at him, but despite your words, there’s no flirtatious meaning behind them, no other intention than innocent honesty.

“Would you like to come back to my hotel?” He blurts out, hand curling around your bandana over his palm, feeling the tightness of it and the small pain as it stretches over his skin.

There’s doubt on your face.

“The four seasons? With your parents? I don’t know…”

“We could get a room at another hotel. Without my parents. Just… us.”

And he doesn’t mean anything else than what he just said either and instead he’s silently hoping, wishing, you won’t leave him. Not yet. Not like this.

You smile.

“Are you paying?”

“Of course.”

The smile widens into a grin.

“You’re cute when you make puppy-eyes. Okay fine, I’ll bite. Where are we going?”

“To catch a cab.” He huffs. “My feet are killing me.”

“New shoes,” You whistle and pat his arm affectionately. “Yeah, I’m praying for your feet man.”

The big black expensive wooden door clicks close behind him almost without sound.

He doesn’t care.

It’s not the Four Seasons, it’s the next best thing, but the room he left his card for at the front desk is bigger than the dingy bar at the hostel alone, and his chest warms at the sight of awe on your face.

“You have got to be kidding me.” He hears, and turns from the panorama window overlooking the city to see you resurfacing from the bathroom.

You’re holding on to the door frame and seem to be caught between anger and wonder.

“There's a bathtub the size of a fucking swimming pool in here. The fuck. And-” You lift a hand and he sees a bottle of lotion or shampoo in your grasp. “This shit costs sixty bucks! What the entire hell.”

He grins, and it’s one he settles into easily, one of the million-dollar-smiles that are his trademark.

“Like what you see?” He lifts an eyebrow.

You shake your head and put the bottle down, gingerly, as if it isn’t made of plastic and would probably survive a good toss across the room.

The mahogany floating cupboards you pull open reveal a set of bath robes and pyjamas so soft you push your face into the first shirt you pull out, turn to him and shake your head again.

“Wanna take a swim in the bath-pool?” He asks, because he feels the exhaustion with every move, settling deeper into his bones.

You nod and follow him as he crosses the room.

The tub is big, he thinks, but not the biggest he’s seen or even been in. He turns the faucet on and even in here the windows reach from ceiling to floor, allowing glimpses of the streets far below.

You shoo him out to get in first.

The foam is so thick he has to search for your face upon coming back in.

He hears you giggling and then a portion of it moves and there’s your smiling face.

“Come in, it’s amazing.”

He’s reaching for the belt around his robe and you cover your eyes like a child. It feels weird, being allowed such privacy, when all the other girls he’s usually around would eat up any and all chances at seeing him.

He sinks into the foam, on the other end of the tub, because you only agreed to this if he kept his distance and there was no ‘accidental’ touching involved.

He can’t seem to bring himself to mind.

Every other girl he would have met somewhere, in a club or else, and they’d have at least rolled in the sheets once by now. But not you. It feels more thrilling than he could have expected.

“What are you thinking about?” Comes your voice and then a tiny mountain of bubbles gets parted and he’s able to see your face again after sinking into the water.

He shrugs, because that is his go-to answer.

“No thoughts, head empty?” There’s a quirk around your smile like he’s supposed to know what it means but he just nods.

“Tired.” He says, and only after it leaves him does he realize how often he’s said it.

“Are you, really?” You ask, and your voice is softer than before. “Putting what you feel into words is difficult.”

“Yeah, it is.” He agrees, and cups a handful of foam between his palms. “I don’t know. I don’t really need to say what I feel, if I shrug or say that I don’t know, it’s enough for people.”

His eyes glaze over.

“And right now? I mean, you’re tired, but what else is in you?”

“Huh?”

You gesticulate but you're a bit out of focus.

“I, for example, I’m tired too, but also happy because I got to show you the bridge, and I’m in awe at being here, in a hotel room bigger than a house, in a tub with a cute boy I met this afternoon. There’s more, but just, you know?”

He puts an effort into blinking and clearing his eyes, and turns your words over in his head.

“I feel… Tired from travelling, and from my parents wanting me to be like them and going to the fundraiser with them and be seen as their perfect son. I’m… Seeing the bridge was nice. No, not nice, it was… Amazing. It shouldn’t be but it was one of the nicest- most amazing things I’ve ever seen. I liked watching the ocean with you, I felt… Like I could pause and take a breath. This is nice, too. Sharing the tub but not… doing anything.”

He shuts his mouth and it’s strange how light his chest feels suddenly.

“Wow.” It slips out.

Across the foam, you smile at him.

You make him get out of the bath first, cover your eyes again and tell him to leave the room so you can come out, too, but then after you come out looking scrubbed clean and fluffy wrapped in your bathrobe, he goes back in to wash the gel out if his hair and the metaphorical dust of travelling off his skin.

You’re watching the skyline when he re-emerges, smelling like the expensive shampoo and lotion the hotel supplies.

The spaghetti top fits you nicely, he thinks as he approaches, and hugs you from behind.

You stiffen in his hold, just for a moment, and then you relax again, cover his hands with yours.

“It’s so pretty.” A yawn breaks the last word and he chuckles, even though he’s just as tired.

“I know.” He says, but his head is leaned against yours and his eyes are closed.

He wakes to white sheets and the soft golden hues of dawn.

For a moment he doesn't recognize who's in bed with him, hair sprawled over the pillow and half buried under the blanket.

Did he get drunk last night?

But when he reaches back in his memory there's no haze, no blurry images, everything is clear and he remembers everything.

It's you, there with him.

He lifts his head.

It's quiet in the spacious room.

Only the sunlight comes in, and it touches everything into a magical glow.

And among that you sleep soundly, curled around your hands fisted in the sheets, and he leans over to the bedside table, fishes his phone up from there and snaps a picture before he can lose the precious sight.

Then he puts the device away, lays back down and continues watching you, even though his eyes droop once more.

It seems like a dream, everything that went down yesterday, but he is once more reminded that it isn't when he reaches out to brush hair away from your face and sees the bruise on his knuckles, standing out against his skin.

His heartbeat is loud in his ears.

His chest is a bit tight, like his heart is too big for it, and he softly exhales in hopes it might soothe the ache.

He dozes off again, wondering if this is what love feels like.

A hand combing his hair rouses him from slumber, the pad of a finger rubbing his cheek.

He blinks his eyes open and squints at your radiant smile, almost as blinding as the sunlight from before.

"Hey," He rasps, and swallows and clears his throat.

"Hey." You answer, smile impossibly brightening. "Slept well?"

"Mhm, yeah? You?"

You laugh and lean your forehead against his shoulder.

"Yeah. This bed is like a tiny cloud. I feel so refreshed."

"That's good." He smiles and yawns and stretches.

Your fingers touch the smooth expanse of his stomach, revealed as the blanket slips away, and he cracks mid stretch and giggles.

"N-No- Mercy, mercy please! Please!"

The giggles turn into a laugh as you push up into a sitting position and he twists and turns and bats half-heartedly at your hands.

"No." He breathes, trapping your wrists in his palms and pushing himself up as well. "Don't. Bad… Bad human."

Your eyes sparkle again and it's the cutest thing he's seen.

"Okay, okay. I yield."

Satisfied, he lowers your hands.

"Wanna order breakfast?"

"What?" Your eyes widen. "Like, up to this room?"

"Yeah?"

"Isn't there like, a buffet downstairs or so?"

"Maybe? I don't know."

He shrugs, and it's the truth. He doesn't feel like he has to pretend he knows everything.

"Let's get washed up and go downstairs. I wanna have a look at all the rich people in their morning attire."

He purses his lips and is about to tell you there's nothing special about that, really, but his thought process gets cut short by your palm on his cheek and your lips pressing a soft smooch to the other.

He's left gaping while you hop off the bed and vanish in the bathroom, and only after the lock clicks into place does he feel his entire face burn, cheeks tingling with the ghost of your touch.

He brings his own hand to the spot your lips were in just moments prior and is absolutely powerless against the big, flustered grin spreading on his face.

He gets up and out of bed, stretching once more and feeling as good in his skin as he hasn't for a while now, and just unlocked his phone to check for messages when the lock clicks across the room and the door opens.

"We didn't order-"

The words die in his throat at the two figures waltzing in, not even bothering to close the door behind them.

"What did you think you were doing, young man?!"

His mother's words drip venom that could have left black burned holes in the plush carpet under her steps.

At once his shell is back, the hardened surface that had peeled back in your presence.

"Taking money out of your account, eating at a… At a fast food restaurant? Are you out of your mind?"

"You know I usually think you should be allowed your freedom but I'm agreeing with your mother here." His father helpfully supplies, hands behind his back from where he wandered over to the window.

"So what if I do with my money what I want? It's not like it matters to you?"

"That's enough. Get dressed, we're going back to our hotel. Gods help us none of the-"

"No." He says, and feels something welling up inside him.

His mother pauses, glaring at him.

"-Nobody saw you out, that would be such an unnecessary-"

"I said no."

His volume increases alongside his anger at being ignored and talked over.

"Lucas, pull yourself together. Why you would book another hotel room when you have one next to ours is useless spending, not to mention-"

A door opens behind him and he turns. His stomach hits the floor between his feet.

He forgot about you, hidden in the bathroom.

You're carefully closing the door behind you but pause when you realize all eyes are on you and the conversation stopped.

"Good morning." You dip your head slightly, eyes flicking from them to him.

"Lucas, what is that."

His mother asks, not turning her eyes away from you, and you're obviously left speechless at such blatant rudeness thrust in your face this early in the day so you keep quiet.

"This is my friend, mother."

His tone is freezing as he crosses the space separating you and takes a hold of your hand. "Not that it concerns you."

"Lucas," His father speaks up, hands outstretched in front of him. "You know we don't mind you socializing, but someone like that…?"

He obviously means the messy bun you put your hair in, the simple - cheap - outfit with the worn flannel around your hips.

Nobody of their standing would be caught dead like this.

He bristles under the comments, his chest filling with a prickling rage, but then you squeeze his hand and he looks down into your wide eyes and the half hidden panic in them.

"I'll go now. Thank you for everything, Yukhei."

You slip away from him and give his parents the widest berth you can manage before picking up your shoes and taking your jacket off its place by the door.

"No, wait-"

He hasn't asked you for your number yet, or Snapchat, or Instagram or anything; it feels like you're slipping through his fingers and he knows if he doesn't get you to stay, somehow, you'll be gone in a heartbeat and he'll never get you back.

Cinderella running as soon as the clock strikes midnight, but unlike her prince, he doesn't even have a shoe that would allow him to find you again.

"Lucas-" His mother warns him, but with a hate-filled look he's out the door, heart hammering away in his chest at the prospect of losing you.

Losing soft, warm, you, with your slow words and your camera and your view of the world that's so different from his.

He manages to wrench a hand between the doors of the elevator just before it closes and he's panting and high strum when the metal slides back and allows him in.

"Yukhei? What-"

He turns and sees his parents come out the door, and hurries to press the 'close doors' button even though neither of them would do as he did and sprint to catch them.

As soon as the cabin moves, he turns to you, hands feeling jittery and out of breath.

"Can I have your number? Or social media, or address or… anything? Anything I can reach you with?"

"Yukhei…" Your eyes are still wide as you look away from his face.

"Please." He swallows and tries to calm his erratic breathing. "Please, you're- You're the fucking best thing that's happened to me in months, months, okay, I don't- I don't want to lose you, I want to, I want for us to have breakfast together and do stupid tourist shit together and I just want more time with you, please…"

The doors open and reveal the first floor, and the presence of an elderly couple shuts him up momentarily.

They get on and upon seeing the button for the ground level lit up already settle against the opposite wall.

He catches your eyes again.

"Please."

He whispers.

"Boys like you aren't good for girls like me, Yukhei." You tell him, cupping one of your hands over his cheek, and with a sadness on your face that installs more fear in him than his parents showing up unannounced.

"What do you mean?" He asks, and wraps his own fingers around your wrist.

The doors open again and reveal the lobby, and everyone gets off.

"I mean…" You sigh and look around, at the brown suitcases with golden letter print, at the names flashing from every purse, shades or shoes. "I mean, boys like you... Don't spend much time or thought on girls like me. We don't mix and match. We're too different. Boys like you… Lose interest in girls like me once they get what they want."

He knows you're right and he hates it.

He wants to say something, anything, but his tongue weighs too heavy and you look like you know your words are true to the bone.

"And, your parents…" You lift your eyebrows and tilt your head, having said enough.

He feels powerless and he hates it, but unlike with his parents he can't act up, he can't step out of line, he can't risk a slap or punch in exchange for a brief moment of exhilarating freedom. Because you are freedom in the shape of a person already, and he is at a loss at what to do.

"Let me prove you wrong."

A plead. He knows your time together is running out and he knows he's grasping at straws but he's desperate.

"I appreciate that."

A beat of hope in his chest.

"But you don't have to, really. You have nothing to prove to me, Yukhei."

"Lucas!"

He freezes at the shout, the voice of his mother reaching out of the elevator.

"It was so nice getting to know you."

"No- No-!"

And you're slipping from his hands, are gone faster than he can gather his thoughts and defreeze his tongue and all that's left of you is one more kiss, quick and fleeting, pressed to his other cheek and then you're skipping to the exit, look back once you reach the door, with a smile on your face.

His mother's hand takes a hold of his elbow like a claw wrapping around prey, the rings on her fingers pressing into his skin, and her voice is talking but he doesn't hear.

He still feels your soft lips on his cheeks, the ghost of your fingers between his, and it's so little contact to what he's used to from the girl's he's usually around, and yet it feels like it meant so, so much more.

He closes his eyes and hangs his head and mentally shuts off to let the words spoken at him roll off his skin without allowing them in.

It's late and the sky is dark and he's locked in his room while his parents are out on the second evening of the event.

The screen of his phone lights up and he turns his head to check, not really interested in whatever is happening. His attention spikes when he reads the Snapchat notification that he's just been added as a friend.

Turning on his side he pulls up the new chat, and there are the little dots that indicate the other person is writing.

-Yukhei what the ruck!!!

-*f

A smile finds the corners of his lips, the first one since the more than harsh awakening this morning.

>found my gift? ;)

-what the fuck! i can't accept this??

>no take backs. get something nice and pretend like it's a souvenir from me

At least that way you could have something to remind you of him. If you want that.

-that's so much koney tho??? are u sure?

-*money ruck

-*FUCK

>don't worry about it. i owed you, you know. consider it paid back, with interest

Your bitmoji drops down and it seems like you're considering what to do next. It feels good, to know you received the envelope he left at the front desk in the spur of the moment, his Snapchat handle scrawled on it alongside a short “Please add me when you get this :)”

Then…

-did u get in trouble? bc of me?

>nah

>my parents caught me doing worse

He pauses and bites on his lip, weighting pro against con of telling you.

-do i want to know??

>hosted a party and couple of my friends had an orgy in my parent's bedroom. they came back early and…

-holy fucking shit what the fuck

He opens the camera and snaps a selfie, pouting and adding a text about being grounded for the remainder of this trip.

He holds his breath in anticipation until the little pink square next to your name fills out and he can click on it.

It's a close-up of your face, from an incredibly unflattering angle, and you're clearly not shredding an ounce of sympathy for him.

No text is added.

He sends another pouting selfie, zoomed in as well and lays on the puppy eyes thick.

The next image is half your face hidden under your blanket, with the word "no" taking up much of the screen.

He swipes into the main menu and then further to the friend page, clicking on your story.

What unfurls before his eyes is a miniature movie, single pictures taken all over the city and pieced together with selfies and you talking to yourself.

At once his heart beats a little faster.

His screen lights up, months later, and still his heart won't beat normal.

That morning a letter arrived for him - a letter, for him, in a battered envelope with an entirely foreign stamp and his name proudly on it.

It's from you.

In it he found copies of the pictures you took of him in front of the bridge, the light and dark touching his face.

And then the tiny polaroid he had asked you to take two times, one for you and one for him, and then hadn't gotten the chance to take it with him.

He'd snapped a selfie of the letter and him and sent it to you before opening it, and now he's blinking to keep the tears from spilling over.

Wong Yukhei does not cry, especially not at something like this. And yet…

But instead of an answer snap to your “omg u got mail!!” he opens the screen to a video call, and hurries to brush his eyes dry and fails when the connection stabilizes and he can see you.

It's a different time of day for you, and your hair has grown and changed, too, but the smile that's on his screen is still the same, radiant one as before.

"You got my letter!"

You exclaim, and even though it's a bit warbled and the rendering is a bit blocky, he feels your excitement.

"I did."

"Was beginning to think it got lost in the mail. Do you like the pictures? I put the polaroid in as well, did you-"

"Yeah," He smiles, and the word comes out rasped. "Yeah I- I got everything. Thank you."

You smile again.

It's so nice to see you again.

The words spill out before he can hold them back.

"So, hey," He brings up, an hour later just before you have to end the call. "I'll be flying out next month, to- Maybe we can-"

The grin on your face impossibly widens.

"You serious? My town? When?"

"Uh-" He has to minimize snapchat to pull up his calendar to tell you the exact date.

"You wanna meet up? Get to know my city?"

Warmth explodes in his chest, showing in a barely contained smile of his own.

"Yeah! Yeah that… I'd love that. More walking for me."

You laugh and then both of you fall quiet, content watching the other for a moment.

"I'm happy." You tell him. "I'm really happy I'll get to hug you properly. This-" You gesticulate towards the phone screen. "-isn't really holding up well."

“I’m looking forward to it, too.”

He drops his head on his pillow and smiles.

notes: i hope you liked it :) comments/reblogs make my day, so if you send an ask or just say a few nice words, i’d love that ^-^

you can also find all my other writing on Ao3 - runningfaucet is my @ there

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jui-imouto-chan · 4 years

Text

Part 7

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@mickybloginb379

••

“Bokuto-san, you can’t keep answering every single summon you notice.”

“But look at him! Even if I don’t like him, he could be tasty!”

“Please refrain from talking about eating people right in front of them. I’m sorry on his behalf.”

Hinata thought back to the time he couldn’t reach a box of cereal and Tsukishima poofed into his house with the most irrate expression possible to hand it to him, muttering about some very graphic ways he could tear Hinata apart and eat him, before very pointedly disappearing in another puff of smoke. “Ah, no... I’m, uh, used to that sort of thing.”

“See, it’s fine! Besides, we wouldn’t REALLY eat him—he’d be too small for a full meal!”

“Bokuto-san, please also refrain from insulting summoners.”

Hinata sniffled, “It’s okay,” his voice cracking on the second word.

Akaashi wordlessly pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, watching concernedly as Hinata wiped his tears. He handed it back demurely.

“So, little guy—” Akaashi’s eye twitched as he heard Hinata’s heart crack at the address, “—what kinda contract are you looking for?”

“I ....don’t really need anything from you guys, actually.”

“There’s gotta be something! You can’t just hand out mana like it’s nothing! It’s gotta mean something!”

Akaashi could tell by the alluring scent of the tears on his handkerchief that, actually, this kid probably could—and does—give mana out like it’s candy, although he knew there was no real negotiation where Bokuto was involved.

“Then.... Let’s be friends! We can talk about random things, and you can give advice when I’m having trouble!”

Bokuto looked taken aback, but he regained his bravado within seconds. He was like a peacock more than an owl, Akaashi thought.

“Of course you’d want to be friends with someone like me! That’s one of the highest privileges! I’d make a contract just to be friends with me! Right, Akaashi?”

The ravenette nodded. “That applies to both of us, I take it?”

Hinata, unlike a lot of people who summoned him, looked directly at him instead of through him. “Of course!”

“Then the contract shall be made.” Akaashi raised both of Hinata’s hands, which both creatures took, raising the wrists to their mouths. Their eyes became yellowed and piercing, and they used sharpened talons nails to make small incisions to the skin.

Bokuto wasn’t as meticulous as Akaashi, not fully cutting through. Instead, he used his teeth to properly open it, retrieving blood. Akaashi’s was neat and mostly painless, and Bokuto’s had the slight sting one might get from a particularly rough pinch.

(Hinata removed the image of Kageyama—who constantly pinched him angrily when he thought Hinata was “saying too much”— from his brain. The demon left him at the park because Hinata kept mimicking him, and the redhead was still salty over his impression being called “shitty”. Thinking about it made his blood boil. Speaking of his blood—)

“Bokuto-san.”

Oh, he was still.... Oh.

“Bokuto-san! Restrain yourself—the contract has been made! Bokuto-san!”

Akaashi pulled Bokuto’s head away. Bokuto’s expression was hazy and satisfied, like he’d gotten drunk off of Hinata’s blood. Hinata felt woozy for a moment, like when he stands up too quickly. Yamaguchi said it was Iron De... Delicacy? Yeah, Iron Delicacy!

Hinata nearly fell back, although Akaashi steadied him. “Thankss,” he slurred.

“No problem. That’s what friends are for, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Hinata gave a sunny smile, and Akaashi felt himself start to smile. Behind him, Bokuto started beaming, brushing off the fact that he got too lost in the sauce and nearly drained his new summoner.

“Hey, hey, hey, look who’s got the spirit!”

Akaashi hefted Hinata into his arms in a bridal carry. “Let’s get you home.”

“No fair!” Bokuto cried, “I want to carry the shrimp!”

“Hinata Shoyo, not Shrimp! M’ not food.”

“Some would argue otherwise. Here, Bokuto-san. Crouch down, and I’ll put Hinata on your back.”

Bokuto complied, as eager as a puppy. Hinata giggled as their hands accidentally brushed his knees. Bokuto, spurred by the redhead’s delight, laughed along with him.

It was in this manner that Hinata was taken home, and Akaashi found himself musing about how similar Bokuto and Hinata were, allowing himself a small, amused smile.

••Part 7 of (?)••

That’s all I had in my drafts so far but this is what had me writing those other two parts so quick :) I needed to get to this one—I love comments and asks 💖

•• Send Asks for more! Feel free to ask about characters and send Headcanons! Or if u wanna just talk Haikyuu/ships, I’m good with that too! :) and for other parts, search the “summoner au” tag on my blog and you’ll find em!••

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#haikyuu #hinata shoyo/everyone #hinata harem #hinaharem #bokuto koutaro #Bokuto kotaro #akaashi keiji #bokuhina #akaahina #akahina #akashi keiji #summoner au #kageyama tobio #haikyuu!#hq #haikyu

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sanderssidesfanfiction · 3 years

Text

Royal Growing Pains - Chapter Thirty Two

Warnings: Homophobia, transphobia, misgendering, sympathetic Deceit

Royal Growing Pains Tag

Logan was waiting for them back at the castle, and Roman groaned as he got out of the car. “Can I at least change before we start dancing until our feet fall off?” he griped.

“No,” Logan said. “You will need to practice dancing in a binder anyway, unless you want to change in between the wedding and the reception.”

“I can’t jump around in my binder, though,” Roman whined.

“Then we won’t teach you any dances that require you to jump around,” Logan said simply. “You and Damien will follow me. We need to catch up on lost time.”

Roman groaned but Damien just wrapped his arm around Roman’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Roman. We can have some fun with dance practice.”

“You’re just glad you don’t have to do any studying this week,” Roman grumbled.

“Damien, that reminds me, I will not be allowing that extension on your paper,” Logan tossed over his shoulder.

“You seriously expect me to turn in a paper on my honeymoon?!” Damien exclaimed, jaw agape.

Logan turned around and shut Damien’s mouth with a click. “You’ll attract flies if you keep your mouth open like that,” he said succinctly. “And you can always turn it in before the day it is due. But I will not be granting you an extension on that paper, seeing as how you’ve had two months to work on its thesis and research.”

“God, I hate you sometimes,” Damien growled.

“Another crack like that and your grade automatically drops ten percent,” Logan simply replied.

“Ten—?!” Damien cut himself off, taking a deep breath. “Right. I’m seriously regretting telling my parents I liked you in terms of private tutoring.”

Logan actually smiled at that and replied, “Thank you. If you wish, I can practice with Roman while you work on your paper for an hour?”

Damien hesitated. Roman nudged him. “Go study. I certainly don’t want you writing an essay on our honeymoon.”

“Fine,” Damien huffed, kissing Roman’s cheek. “But I expect no funny business with Logan while I’m gone. He may be polyamorous, but I have a tendency to be territorial.”

“No kidding?” Roman snarked. “Relax, Damien. I don’t have eyes for him, and if he had eyes for me, he would have helped me escape the first night I was here, and whisked me away from this life, which I am taking a shine to.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Say goodbye for now already.”

Roman laughed and kissed Damien on the cheek back, before following Logan to the ballroom. “You seem a little tense,” Roman noted.

“You obviously haven’t been watching the news, if you’re as relaxed as you are,” Logan noted.

Roman tensed. “Why? What happened?”

“Well, your country may be falling into Civil War if Remus cannot win the Parliament over in a meeting today,” Logan said casually.

“What?!” Roman squawked.

“Well, he wants the throne, your parents are unwilling to give up the throne, and it’s up to Parliament to kick them out. But from what I gather about your brother, he would gather up an army to storm the castle before he let your parents rule another day,” Logan supplied. “It won’t be easy to win over the more...conservative of the Parliament members, either.”

Roman swore under his breath. “I hate that it comes to this,” he sighed. “Why can’t life be easy?”

“Because, Your Highness, being queer automatically sets your settings to ‘Hard Mode’ when you’re born,” Logan said, shaking his head. “One day, that will not be the case. But that day is not today.”

“Tell me about it,” Roman griped. “So, are we doing the waltz or are we doing something else?”

Logan listed a few different slow dances they could try, none of which Roman could easily conjure images of. Every time he proposed a dance, Logan either vetoed it or went through the first eight steps and Roman immediately took it back. When fifteen minutes later, they could not come up with a single dance that Roman felt confident he could do, Logan sighed. “The waltz it is, then.”

They fell into formation and slowly began to move across the dance floor. It felt weird to waltz with someone who wasn’t Damien, but Roman, to his credit, didn’t have to look at his feet once. “So my brother may be interested in getting to know you,” Roman said.

“I have heard,” Logan said. “I have also heard that Patton and Virgil will be dancing at your wedding.”

“I have also heard Virgil may dance with you, in addition to Patton,” Roman said.

“Your brother better be prepared to acquire a harem,” Logan said, nothing changing in his facial expression or inflection as he said the words.

Roman guffawed and nearly fell over as Logan took their next step but Roman didn’t. “Oh, god! That’s certainly a visual!” Roman laughed. “The tabloids would go crazy over the King’s consort, and his consort’s consort, and his consort’s consort’s consort. Consort no longer sounds like a word.”

Logan smirked just a tiny bit and Roman narrowed his eyes. “You said that to make me laugh on purpose.”

“You need to focus on dancing more,” Logan simply replied. “Focus on the steps, or you’ll trip Damien up while talking. And neither of you want a twisted ankle or a broken wrist on your honeymoon.”

“You. Are. Evil,” Roman said, glaring at Logan.

“I do try to imbue chaos into my life that I can watch every once in a while,” Logan said smugly.

Roman sighed and they continued to dance. “You have any interest in my brother? Genuinely?” Roman asked.

“I believe so,” Logan said. “Even if that attraction is merely aesthetic at the moment, I would at the very least appreciate a friendship. I don’t know where his romantic attraction lies...nor do I want you to tell me. I’d rather hear it from him. But I can’t deny the interest I have at the prospect.”

Roman nodded. “Well, Remus could do worse than someone like you,” he said. “You may not be my top pick, but I don’t really...think about my brother in terms of who he should or shouldn’t date.”

“I find that people who actually do that are fairly miserable as they try to micromanage things out of their control,” Logan said simply.

Roman agreed, and they swept around the ballroom again and again until Logan could make Roman laugh and he could still follow the steps. When they took a break at the hour mark, Damien walked in with a pained smile. “Well, Logan, you have a new paper in your inbox,” Damien said. “I would recommend you not read it until I resend it on the plane ride to our honeymoon destination, however.”

“Cutting it down to the wire, as ever,” Logan sighed. “You disappoint me, Damien.”

“You gave me an hour, and I’m spending as much time as I can with Roman. Whenever we have time, I will go through it on the plane,” Damien defended.

“Sure you wouldn’t rather join the ‘Mile High Club’?” Logan asked.

Damien turned red. “Don’t ask that again,” he sputtered. “I am your prince, I expect a modicum of respect from you.”

“Only a modicum?” Logan asked. “You really need to set your standards higher, Your Highness.”

Roman snorted and Damien just sighed, hanging his head. “I’m done,” he muttered. “I am done with today.”

“Not yet you’re not,” Logan said, clapping his hands. “You still need to practice the waltz.”

Damien rolled his eyes but began to dance with Roman. Roman settled into step closer with Damien than he had with Logan, and felt content to let Damien lead the dance, while with Logan, Roman never relaxed quite this much. “How are you feeling, my love?” Damien asked.

“Better,” Roman said, and he honestly meant it. He felt settled, relaxed, good. And he couldn’t remember the last time he felt quite this way.

Damien smiled. “I am glad to hear it,” he said. “Dinner will be quieter tonight, I expect, and I, for one, am looking forward to being able to finish it without worrying about anyone starting to shout.”

“That makes two of us,” Roman said. “I haven’t really enjoyed sparring with my mother every night.”

“Nor I,” Damien said.

They swept around the ballroom once, twice more, and then Roman had to stop because his feet hurt and he was feeling short of breath. He slid to the floor and groaned. “I’m not looking forward to the whole night just being dance after dance after dance.”

“Even if they’re all with me?” Damien asked, putting a hand to his chest even as he grinned. “You wound me, my love.”

Roman shrugged. “I just need to give my feet some rest,” he said. “And Remus will probably insist on slinging me across the dance floor at least once.”

“You...you mean swing you across?” Damien asked, frowning.

“No, I do mean sling. He’ll get me on my stomach and fling me across the floor, destroying all in my path like a curling stone,” Roman laughed.

“I’ll keep him preoccupied, then,” Logan muttered. “We do not need complete and utter pandemonium, or wine spilled on your suit. Remy would have all our heads.”

“Oh, god, that’s a horrifying thought,” Damien said, swallowing hard.

The two continued to talk, but Roman let the words wash over him as he pulled out his phone, googling the news. Or at least, he tried to, before Logan snatched the phone from his hands. “Hey!” Roman exclaimed.

“No obsessively refreshing the page while your brother is in session with Parliament,” Logan said definitively. “You refreshing the results over and over will not change the outcome of the meeting.”

“Oh, he got them all off their asses this quickly? He means business,” Damien whistled. “I like him.”

Roman glowered at Damien and Damien furrowed his brows. “As a person, my love, and certainly not more than you.”

“I’ll allow it...for now,” Roman said, giving Damien a sideways glance. “Logan, my phone.”

Logan pocketed the phone and crossed his arms.

Roman grunted as he stood, holding his hand out. “My phone,” he said sternly.

Logan did nothing.

Roman leapt towards Logan, sending them both crashing to the floor. Roman tried to subdue Logan and get his phone back, but Logan was squirmier than he let on. “Hey! Gimme my phone!” Roman exclaimed.

“I’d sooner perish by the King’s hand!” Logan exclaimed.

Roman kept wrestling with Logan until someone grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and pulled him away. “Logan, give him the damn phone,” Virgil growled. “Half the castle could hear him yelling, and the King’s in a meeting.”

Logan scowled but handed the phone over. Roman proceeded to obsessively refresh the page five times in a minute, before groaning. “Another hour? Seriously?! I hate Parliament. Why do they take so long?!”

“The timeless question,” Damien said sagely. “No one really knows the answer.”

Logan huffed. “Perhaps the two of you should head to dinner,” he said, checking his phone. “We have been here two hours, after all.”

“Really?” Roman asked. “Time flies.”

“Especially when you’re wrestling with your fiancé’s tutor, apparently,” Damien grumbled. “When does Father’s meeting end, Virgil?”

“Fifteen minutes, Your Highness. He will be coming down for dinner shortly after,” Virgil advised.

“Then we really should get going,” Damien sighed. “Ah, well. I’m sure we can entertain ourselves for fifteen minutes, can’t we, Roman?”

“I suppose we’ll have to,” Roman sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. “Either that or we’ll have to call on your mother and she’ll have to help us.”

Damien hummed. “I don’t suppose she’d be highly amused. Usually around this time of day she appreciates calling her friends, or settling in with a book for the hour before dinner. To interrupt her is to ensure a slow, but certain, death.”

“Yikes,” Roman said, grimacing. “Yeah, not gonna bother her.”

The two of them walked to the dining room, and took seats at the lone table. “It’s nice and quiet,” Roman breathed, almost afraid to interrupt the comfortable silence with his thoughts.

“Indeed,” Damien said. “It feels like we only rarely get time for peace.”

Roman nodded, idly opening his phone and bolting to his feet. “Holy shit!” he yelped.

“There it goes,” Damien sighed, chuckling. “What?”

“Parliament is voting on Remus becoming King!” Roman exclaimed. “They said it was going to be another hour!”

“Apparently someone got sick of them talking, huh? Should we watch?” Damien asked.

“No need,” Roman said, beaming. “He already got the majority! He’s well on his way to two-thirds in favor!”

“Good,” Damien said. “I would have hated to have to go to war against your parents. I would have done so, of course, but it’s still rather unsavory.”

Roman laughed, sitting down next to Damien again, considerably happier. The Queen walked in, humming. “Good news?” she asked.

“Remus is gonna be King!” Roman said. “Parliament agreed! Well, technically they need to finish voting, but he already got over sixty percent in favor. He’s gonna make it.”

“Worth celebrating,” the Queen said appreciatively. “I imagine the first thing he’ll do when you two are back in the country is schedule his coronation.”

“Can’t wait!” Roman squealed. “This is going to be epic! And hopefully my parents will leave us alone!”

“I’ll make them if they don’t do it on their own,” the Queen laughed. Her smile dropped and she turned deadly serious. “Diana will quickly learn; when you mess with the Rose, you get the thorns.”

Damien groaned. “Mother, that was terrible.”

“But effective at gaining a reaction,” the Queen said with a little smile and a wink at Roman. “I have to teach your fiancé which buttons he can and can’t push, after all.”

Roman laughed while Damien rolled his eyes. “And the first lesson you are going for is puns?” he asked distastefully.

“I like puns,” Roman said.

Damien’s eyes widened and he blew out a breath. “Lord help me, I’m going to suffer so many dad jokes in the years to come,” he muttered.

“Yep!” Roman said, entirely unashamed.

The King walked in and looked around. “I see I didn’t miss dinner, at least,” he said. “How is everyone?”

“Pretty good,” Roman said at the same time Damien said, “I’m suffering immensely.”

The King laughed. “What did you do, dear?” he asked the Queen.

“I made a pun,” the Queen said with a pleased smile. “Someone was less than amused, while someone else took great enjoyment from it.”

“Ah,” the King said knowingly. “That explains everything.”

Dinner passed uneventfully, other than Patton making one pass at Damien’s clumsiness before Damien glared him into backing off. Roman enjoyed the meal (good old fashioned fish and chips—Patton must have known how to cook everything), but soon enough he was yawning at the table. “Dear, you should go upstairs and rest,” the Queen said. “You’ve had quite the eventful day.”

“I’ll be fine,” Roman insisted, even as he yawned again.

“No, my love, go and rest,” Damien insisted. “Besides, I have matters that I’d like to speak to my parents about without you around to hear.”

“What? Why?” Roman said. “Is there something you can say to them that you can’t to me?”

“It’s vows related,” Damien said simply.

“And I’m gone!” Roman exclaimed, standing up quickly. “Good night, everyone, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Everyone bid him goodnight and he walked out as he received a call from Remus. “Hey, what’s up?” he asked as he answered the phone.

“Just wanted to check on you,” Remus sighed. “I’ve been talking with my future advisors all day and could use a break.”

“I’ve been okay,” Roman said. “I’m exhausted, so I’m hitting the sack early tonight.”

“Good idea. I would, but I’m ordering our parents to move all essential items out of the castle before I return from your wedding, so. I have quite a bit of arguing ahead of me tonight,” Remus sighed.

“But you’ll be here tomorrow for the rehearsal?” Roman asked hopefully.

“Of course. Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” Remus assured. “Sleep well, Roman. I won’t keep you any longer.”

“Good night, Remus. I love you,” Roman said.

“I love you too.”

They hung up and Roman made his way to his room, stripping himself of clothes and slipping on a nightgown after coughing when he removed his binder. He was so ready for the whole wedding thing to be over and done with. He was sure he might want to savor tomorrow when Remus was actually here, but for now, all he wanted was to sleep, dream about nothing, and let himself relax before the chaos that would be the wedding rehearsal tomorrow.

#roceit #roman sanders #deceit sanders #sanders sides fanfiction #royal growing pains #our creations

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dropsofletters · 4 years

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do i even know you?

title: do i even know you? pairing: im changkyun/reader genre: aspiring actors!au/scriptwriter!au/best friends!au/forbidden love!au summary: The idea comes to them after one of their classes, making them widen their eyes as they scurry to start the first draft of the movie of their dreams. Changkyun promises to her that if this movie ever airs for the world to see, they are going to take part on it and how ironic it is that he does get a role in it once the script is accepted, but she is suddenly erased from his life. Will Changkyun pick fame or friendship? type: angst/fluff/humor/romance word count: 22,689 disclaimer: this is part of my august special called ‘the anti-love club’. each story can be read individually, however, you’d be getting a little bit more of backstory along with some easter eggs if you read each of them, as well as helping me with support. the masterlist can be found here.

The most beautiful stories never happen.

As a recent graduate, she holds onto the words she heard at two in the afternoon once, cold coffee on one hand, a pencil on the other and when the professor said such words to a group of sophomores willing to give their lives out for the art of scriptwriting, she had to jot it down. Most people believe that, in some way or another, they have to pour their souls out into their writing—as if words are only meaningful when felt, but she wonders if when there is too much sentimentalism in a piece, it loses meaning.

The notebook that she used for that class now rests on top of her kitchen counter. Next to it, a recipe of lemon meringue pie reminds her that time has passed by, for she doesn’t even remember watching said recipe on YouTube. Whenever she has an idea, she likes to grasp that same old notebook and jot something down, in scribbled notes that will definitely be read in the future in complete confusion. She has never understood her handwriting when she’s rushing, and her mind just never connects with the feeling that once existed. Maybe, that’s what the professor was trying to say—that the best writers are the ones that can convey feelings that they haven’t gone through, while those who need to sense in order to inspire an idea will live with the doom of being detached from it with the passage of time.

Instead of trying to remember the good old times of being more youthful than today, she should really wake her friend up with a cup of coffee to continue the script that has been the cause of their issues for the past seven months. Or a year, because Changkyun was the one to speak the plot while in a drunken night, and she had been the sober one to make it into something bigger while he slept.

Changkyun is that one stain in her life, exact like the one on the counter, beside the notebook that she has now closed. He has always been there, sometimes faintly, sometimes strongly. In the bubblegum that once caressed her hair when she was thirteen thanks to a devilish smile from him, and the bob cut that followed soon after. In the days of high school in which they would write the worst of stories and make their theater club friends play them out for groups of people, nothing ever to big. In her university days, most of the time spent dating around, once even dating each other for the sake of not being alone, only to break up a week later. And now, in her room, limbs interlocked with her blanket as if hugging someone’s body, cheek squished to the plaid material and the curtains of his black hair make his closed eyes disappear from her eyesight.

Though, she could recognize Changkyun’s face anywhere, for the simplistic existence of him is just second nature to her. Even in the times in which he could have left, he stayed—and vice versa. A pull that brought the two of them together, like gravity, so strong that her mind liked to imagine that it could never be broken.

If she knows the kind of coffee he likes in the morning—more milk than coffee, mind him—, then she really has to have a grasp into the kind of person he is.

One smack of her hand against his thigh is enough to have him open one eye, only to stretch his legs, joints and bones cracking alike, before his feline-like eyes are closed again. He doesn’t budge, doesn’t move, and after an all-nighter of re-writing the last scene of their final draft for their script, she is not surprised that tiredness seems to cling to him in his comfortable clothing. Around midnight, something of the like of the number two, asleep had ridden her to forget about the existence of their beloved work, the one that they had put their entire hopes into. Changkyun, however, must have fallen asleep later.

Resting the coffee on the bedside table, her weight fell on top of his, horizontal when reaching for the curtains next to her bed. Pulling them open coats her with the image of a city that holds her dreams, and yet seems too small for them. After all, making it as a scriptwriter is already difficult, but paying the bills is even more so. The tall buildings seem too tiny for her daydreaming, but the groan under her is loud enough to ground her and tell her that she is still, very much, tied by the wrist to the one man that has been almost crucial to her life…and that, clearly, none of them have made it.

“What do you think you are doing?” He asks, voice empty and with no feelings behind them. The light of that professor’s eyes, Changkyun used to be. He feels, of course he does, his body count is enough to say that the man feels with his entire heart—and in the depths of those, she likes to believe the fan of conspiracies believes in love—, but he has always been intelligent enough to differentiate his craft from his everyday life. She doesn’t.

With one hand resting over his face for the purpose of annoying him when she puts weight on it to bring her body up and straight, she answers. “Waking you up.”

“Don’t, then.”

And with his two fire eyes sending a look of despair towards her, he brings the sheets up his face to dim the sunlight that she had gladly welcomed him to. “Changkyun, we really need to finish this script today. Tomorrow’s Monday and you know I have to work—” No response, that is what she receives, to the point her hand has to bring another harsh smack to his thigh. It rings, probably leaves a red mark behind with the way he pulls the blanket away from his face, a frown painted on his features.

“Of course I do, I work with you.”

She imagines it, then, conceives it from her reality as she always does. Two recent graduates from university that had, thanks to the power of unemployment, ended up as teachers in some high school for the dramatics and lovers of shitty musicals and TV shows. They are too young to be taken seriously, most of the time, and Changkyun loves that part of his job…but that is not what has been imagined by the two of them. Cheap costumes and Shakespeare lines are not less important things, but they are not her priority, much less her dream.

Every single morning since she was twelve, she has gotten to see Changkyun. Sometimes, she doesn’t even realize he has grown up along with her. However, growing up in one thing—growing is another. As artists, scriptwriters to be exact, they have gotten stuck. Perhaps, their ideas are not enough for consideration, or the industry is closed enough to leave them out, but each morning that she gets to see him…to work with him, she knows that they deserve better.

That, in reality, her professor was never wrong.

The most beautiful stories never happen…

But fuck, she will do anything to make their dreams come true.

Sitting down beside him, she really studies him. Changkyun has his eyes closed again, the black strands of his hair a bit lengthy, the shadow of some facial hair appearing if she looks at him from close enough. His gray hoodie has a mark on it, perhaps saliva if she is judging him from well-earned knowledge, and his hand reaches out for her. It rests on her knee, weights that part of her down to remind her that no matter how many times they argue, they will always be together.

That’s the promise life brought to them.

“If you want to keep working as a theater teacher for the rest of your life, go ahead, keep sleeping, but you know that Kwon told us that he has some connections to have our script reviewed by very important people so—help me finish it?” Kwon is more of a friend of Changkyun’s than he is hers. Older than them by a few years but not wiser, the man still keeps believing that he is nineteen even when he is nearing his thirties, but his party-going ways has led Kwon to have a name in the industry, albeit important. Less of a scriptwriter and more of a costume designer, it wouldn’t surprise her if he ends up working internationally in a few years from now.

Changkyun finally opens his eyes, pointing at the tablet on top of her bedside table, near the coffee cup that must be getting cold by now. “Finished it, now let me sleep.”

Her heart feels as if it has momentarily stopped. “Finished it? What do you mean?”

“That I finished it.” Changkyun’s deep voice gets rough, the lack of water getting to his throat when he takes matters into his own hands and picks up the tablet before giving it to her. “It’s in our shared document. I finished it at five…I don’t know, six in the morning?”

With fear, as if the world is too fragile for her astoundingly strong hands, she lets herself unlock his tablet and look through the document. Through the cracks of the screen, all caused by the disaster that is Changkyun, she reads the art that he has crafted. The scenery, the dialogue, the description, all powerful, spoken into existence for the characters that have been brought to life by them. Every breath taken by the main characters is harsher than the last one, stronger, leaving her speechless with every sentence given, every line that finishes it off with a bow and a twist that fits perfectly.

When she looks at him, Changkyun has one arm splayed on top of his eyes. His other hand still rests on top of her knee, though the fingers hold her looser, as if he’s off and very close to arriving to dreamland. Tired, perhaps too much so, she realizes that this idea that had been begun by him could have only been finished by Changkyun. He has always been a better writer, she repeats as a mantra, but he begs to differ. If anything, Changkyun defends it as saying that he simply sees the picture with other lenses and the different perspectives created something out of a movie. Something worth of being turned into a movie.

“Kyun…” She says, only hearing a faint hum from her best friend. Almost as if she is back to the days in which they were both teenagers, she launches herself into his arms. Her head looks for leverage on his bony shoulder, lips pressed into a tight smile the more she feels the warmth of him. Somewhere on the bed, the tablet blinks for her attention, and Changkyun can barely place his other hand on top of her back when she speaks again. “How the fuck did you even get that idea? You wrote such a beautiful ending—”

“Ah, you were sleeping and I was listening to music and it just popped inside my mind.” Changkyun says, seriousness in his voice when her hair cascades around his face, pulling her body away from his to look at him, their ribs connected while she remains seated on the bed, but still caging him into the mattress. “You like it?”

“I think—whew, I’m just surprised!” She speaks in a louder tone, realizing that a lazy smile has appeared over his face. His mouth parts the slightest and it wouldn’t surprise her if he’s breathing through his mouth, typical of him. “Changkyun, I really could kiss you right now…if you were another person, that is.”

Changkyun quirks an eyebrow at that, soon after doubling in laughter. “We’ve been there.”

“When we were twenty.”

His shoulders, wrapped tightly in that hoodie with the unknown stain, shrug at her retaliation. “Not too long ago. You can’t make fun of it when we were both all in for it at that moment.”

Thinking back of that day, she can’t help but feel her toes curling, her spine shivering and her neck folding the slightest to stop the motion. “We lasted one week, that’s enough of a confirmation that we shouldn’t do it again.”

“Most likely.” Changkyun chuckles, sitting up on the bed before tossing the hoodie up his head, throwing it somewhere in her room. The white t-shirt underneath clings to his slim body as he moves through the place, knowing it as if it was his. A sense of nostalgia may not cling to him, but it does to her—recently, her thoughts have been invaded with the reality that she will have to move away from this shared apartment soon. To find a life that is more fitted for someone that is not in university, and hence, should probably follow the societal rules of living alone. “I’m going to go pee. Check for spelling errors if you want to.”

Her back touches the surface of her bed, looking at the document on the screen per his request. “On it.”

For a moment, perhaps seconds, words merge into their own momentum in front of her—she feels as though she is reliving this last scene again, saying her goodbyes to the characters that oh-so-pleasantly had been crafted by her best friend and herself. Nonetheless, the sound of Changkyun’s feet jumping against the thin wood of her flooring has her looking away and towards the door, not surprised to see her small, yet incredibly extroverted roommate.

Jiyoung is one of her closest friends, as well, companion of her life since university, the source of the music around her house, the one to sing at the top of her lungs and to constantly have her dyeing her hair, because Jiyoung can’t do it herself—or doesn’t want to—. Something about leaving Jiyoung behind to look for another home makes her heart ache, but her roommate remains ignorant to her advances. Instead, her liking of Changkyun has inflated into one big balloon the last few months.

If Changkyun is interested, he doesn’t show it.

So, that leaves her to believe he really is not interested.

Not to say the woman is not attractive. Jiyoung, now with a bob in a blond shade, is just too pushy for Changkyun’s liking. Hence, watching her standing in front of his best friend’s door with a glass in between her fingers must have given him the clear sign that she must have been eavesdropping to whatever they were saying. It wouldn’t surprise her one bit if that was the case.

“Changkyun—”

“Sorry, need to pee.” But behind the complexity of Changkyun, he likes to play ignorant more than he likes to play with a heart. Not outspoken enough to sit Jiyoung back on her seat and ask for some privacy, he scavenges away to the bathroom, leaving her roommate with a pout on her lips and said glass in between her fingers.

“Do you think I freaked him out?” Once, she nods and that is enough to have Jiyoung sighing and pressing one hand to her forehead. “I just wanted to listen to what you were saying.”

“Did you listen to us?”

“No. This didn’t work.” Almost exuding rage towards the glass on her hand, Jiyoung tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I’ll go make breakfast so I can make myself look better.”

Hiding a laugh on the depths of her throat, she nods once again. “Good idea.”

With one last turn on the balls of her feet, Jiyoung is away from her room, leaving her with an opened door, an annoyed sigh and a script to revise. Thankfully, the conclusion of such a prolonged project is enough to have her resting back on her bed and taking a sip of the cold coffee that must have been for Changkyun.

Her companion, the only person that artistically gets her, Im Changkyun.

###

For the past hour, she has been looking for one box in the colors of red and white. Enough to distract her in the party-obsessed crowd that she finds herself in, but also a way of fitting in that doesn’t get her out of her tracks. In between empty bottles of alcohol and people blowing smoke into her face, concentrating comes with difficulty, pushing through said bodies until her hand clutches the desired cigarettes and she is off to find her best friend, though an almost impossible task.

Not that she is much of a smoker, she has possibly had around four in the entirety of her life—to try them out and concentrate on something else when her anxiousness is up the roof. The taste is not the most tranquil one, the smoke does capture most of her attention, pushing it out in little rings that never come out as perfectly as Changkyun’s. Then again, a beginning is also an ending, and the first person to ever steal a cigarette from a party to try them out had been Changkyun, sharing it with her to have that first experience together, as well. One of many, and hopefully one in a million.

Once, she had taken the time to read some myths off of a book in the library in high school. She was bored, and it was around that time of her life in which reading came easier to her. In the back of her brain, she can remember saying that losing a friend is even worse than losing a partner, a soulmate, one’s life even. As if our hearts are tainted, deliberately looking for someone who is always there, something in a stronger presence, sometimes duller. Past kissing, past hugging, past presents…to be listened to intently and to listen with equal interest is more than anyone could ever hope for. And she has that.

Seated on the same place that she had left him in, near the entrance, his body dragged down until he is on the floor. No seats are left and the backyard of this big mansion smells like rotten egg and something of the like of puke, leaving them by the door with the need to have Kwon finally making some time for them. To spend time, however, she lets her weight rest back on his side, crossing one leg over the other to avoid flashing anyone and getting a good glimpse of Changkyun when he turns to look at her.

When she was twenty, she could have really fallen for him. Or not. She likes to believe that what happened was the best—them fearing and scurrying away from the possibility of being together and losing their friendship. Changkyun said that once everything became serious, it would be too difficult for them to keep it, and she had added that maybe, they were just curious to feel for the other, to kiss until their lips were sore and their hearts were aching for a break. Now, she realizes that there had been some kind of attraction in the past, a reason as to why Jiyoung wakes up earlier than usual to get ready when Changkyun comes by.

His black hair is pushed away from his face elegantly, a few strands out of place, matching the sweater that covers his body and causes a layer of sweat to rest on top of his forehead. He wipes it off, but the clothing may have been a bad option in such a packed party. Shoes scatter around him, around them to be exact, the walls bathed in the glow of lights that are far too artificial to settle well in her eyes and when she shows him the package of cigarettes, his lips quirk up in a recognizable smirk.

“Aren’t those the brand that we stole when we first smoked cigarettes?” Changkyun asks, his attention to detail often misunderstood—he remembers the most random of situations, just not anything special like dates or exact momentums that are more important for other people.

Back at the time, when they were seventeen, he had insisted on bleaching his hair and she remembers it because the image of Changkyun wearing a beanie on top of his hair to cover the disaster that he had made, even making some strands fall out in the process, can’t ever leave her brain. At the time, he had been better than her with smoking, even going as far as impressing the older kids with the rings he could blow into the thin air. On the other hand, the sound of her throat contracting when blowing the cigarette wrongly had been enough to dust her skin in embarrassing heat. “I thought it’d be fitting to have some cigarettes for good time’s sake, considering that you’re not balding now and we haven’t done this since we were seventeen.”

Changkyun rolls his eyes, perhaps mockingly, as he smacks his index finger on top of the closed box of cigarettes after opening it, the cig popping out at his motions. “So you can choke again, homie?”

“Don’t homie me.” Watching as Changkyun reaches for the lighter that she had almost managed to snatch away, the flames take over the cigarette in between his lips. The smell is horrid, and part of her wonders why she even wanted to craft that memory back to life, but watching him is more of a sight. His thin lips almost shyly wrap around it, taking his index and middle finger to push the cigarette away. “Come on, do the little rings.”

He lifts a finger from his free hand up in the air, putting his lips into an ‘o’ shape and almost as if he had never stopped smoking, he blows four rings into the air, dissipating into the crowd of people in front of them, not caring about their existence. In their little bubble, they are, when she cheers for him and Changkyun has to cough out the excess of smoke that he managed to swallow accidentally, only reacting when her fingers reach for the cigarette and puts it between her lips.

His eyes, windows to the soul, concentrate on her lips as they play with the cigarette, taking it away from her mouth before she could even let it burn the slightest. “You shouldn’t be smoking these.”

“It’s only one. I’m not getting addicted.” She replies, her chest coming in contact with his when she puckers her lips to reach for the cigarette, only to have him twisting it around and taking another drag himself. “Besides, I was the one that stole them.”

“You shouldn’t steal.”

“Well, I was bored.” Finally relenting, just when she rests her head on top of his shoulder to further accentuate her boredom, she feels his fingers slipping the cigarette in between her lips, grabbing it properly to have a taste. “It’s your fault that Kwon had us coming to this horrible, rich party just to check if he has gotten out script.”

But Changkyun is deep in his thoughts, as if the lights in front of them, the smell of beer and cocktails, the people dancing are the ones trancing him. He doesn’t pay attention to the smoke that appears in his line of sight, not when he lets out a fragile smile appear on his face. “I don’t think it’s a horrible rich party.”

“Why?”

“They have money.”

“Yeah, and?”

“That’s all everyone needs, right?” Changkyun asks, perhaps a bit lost in the way he raises his eyebrows, looking into her eyes for the briefest second when he voices out something so…volatile. In a way, she knows that money is important, but even thinking about the weight of it makes her sick in the stomach. Another difference of theirs—she escapes, while he roams the world to look for his one light. She looks at the city from far away, wishing to have a bigger dream, while Changkyun makes himself silently known in between the buildings. “And wants, actually. If we had money, we wouldn’t be teaching a bunch of teenagers how to be or not to be. We’d be…I don’t know, you remember how Matt Damon and Ben Affleck were back in the day? Like the closest of friends but rich? We’d be that.”

She pushes the cigarette towards his lips, as if to shut him up for a second, and she tells him the truth from up close. “I’m happy with being your friend, no matter how much we earn or how famous we are. We may not be famous celebrity friends, but we’re amazing friends.”

And then, she switches her mind. Part of her begs for him to say something, to agree that there is nothing more than there shall be needed in between the two than relishing over memories and creating new ones, than knowing each other to the core. Instead, Changkyun hums, taking the cigarette from his lips and looking at it. “You’re doing it wrong.”

“…Life? Yeah, I know.”

With laughter from him relishing his lack of response to her previous statement, Changkyun shakes his head. “No. Smoking. You blow the smoke out too fast; you’ll never get to do the rings if you just spit everything out.”

“Teach me.” Fixing her posture, she twists until her legs are interlocked with his, watching as he takes the cigarette once again and like second nature, blows out three smoke.

“Put your lips up, like blowing a kiss, but control the air you’re letting out. In little spurts, you know?”

She doesn’t. Not when she gets to see Changkyun from up close and realize that there are angels in him, singing choirs, making it dangerous to get too close…but knowing that he’s the same man she has always known. Her friend. Growing up doesn’t mean he has changed, but uniting the past and the present made her realize that, in most occasions, there is never a future. The finalization of their script taught her that there will always be a perfect ending, and beginning to think of hers—hers alongside Changkyun’s, has a knot forming on her throat, not distinguished by the man that laughs when she, once again, can’t blow rings into the air.

To control his laughter, she says: “Shut up, you’d look hotter doing that little trick of yours if you had a lip ring, but you look dumb now.”

Pushing the cigarette onto the floor to dull its flame down and extinguish it, Changkyun replies: “At least, I get to do the party trick.”

“…You don’t have to be a dick about it.”

“I’m not!” He adds, grinning widely when he takes the package of cigarettes and tosses it somewhere on the dance floor. “Now, let’s pretend you never stole anything now that you had your fun.”

“Now that you got to make fun of me?”

“That, too.”

With light following after him, as well as a lover for the night, a particularly known head of brown hair appears in front of her. Long strands, a bit wavy at the edges, only pushed back by the fashionable pink sunglasses that are doing nothing to conceive the blessed-out look on his eyes. Kwon is a sight to see, someone that is made for fashion and has conceptualized it. The pristine red shirt with some buttons opened, paired with some nicely shaped pants already make him the highlight of the night, taking her by the hand to have her up her feet and away from Changkyun.

“Guys, you don’t have to sit on the floor. Come on, you’re my friends!” But this elongated slur on Kwon’s tone just lets her know that he has been drinking too much, and while she welcomes the hug by the shoulders that he gives her, his lover of the night doesn’t seem equally pleased.

Changkyun dusts the back of his jeans before speaking up. “Sorry, the backyard just smelled like shit and we decided to stay here.”

“As per usual. These parties get crazy.”

The interest on the situation perks up when she realizes that Kwon is in front of her. Growing rich Kwon, who has been an excellent friend to the two of them—more to Changkyun than her—but his pleasant personality is only the cause of a million questions inside her head. “Changkyun told me this is your mansion now. You’ve really made it big, huh?”

“My boyfriend helped me find it,” Kwon says, not caring that someone is holding onto his arm at that moment, or that he takes a sip of his beer right after he says it. “You know, he gave me all this to shut me up. It worked.” Yet, the laughter that leaves his lips sounds a bit strained. This fear of richness has always existed within her, and it may come from a place of deep, rooted jealousy that she has never explored in her, but fame, money and having everything in life is just too much for some people. Too strained, too fake, surrounded by people who rarely cared about them…and knowing about that destroys whoever is in that position, too.

“I like it!” She says, trying to change the subject, placing her arms over her chest just in time to have Kwon nodding at her words.

“Just like how I like your dress. Is it thrifted?”

In such a place, it may be a sin to say what she just did. “It is!”

“I like the whole putting a shirt under the dress situation. Makes it look more fashionable.” Kwon explains, swatting his companion’s hand away and wrapping his arms around Changkyun’s and her shoulders, the smell of alcohol dense in the air. It worries her, for no matter how close or not close Kwon is to her, he means a lot to Changkyun. His innocent face, rounded, going together with his pair of twinkling brown eyes and huge grin, has now transformed into something more somber. The typical smirk, a dark glance, and a tinge of pain beneath those eyelids. “How have you two been? Changkyun, you’ve been taking care of her, I imagine.”

“…Of each other, I guess. We’re always together.” Changkyun explains, walking towards the main hallway, much quieter than the rest of the mansion. “By the way, did you read our script?”

“Twice.” And that excitement that characterizes Kwon reappears, letting go of them to grasp his own hands together. “Couldn’t expect anything less from you guys!”

“So?” She asks, biting down on her bottom lip out of pure curiosity, only to have Kwon looking at her.

“I’ve sent the script to some of my friends. Connections, you know, I’d do anything for two of my real friends.” The pain behind that statement is brushed off by the man who says it, but she can’t help but stare at him in awe. How she wishes she could talk to him once sober, and make him feel as though he is more worthy than he lets himself on. Some stars lose their light, dulled in the skies and losing themselves in their darkness, and Kwon is one of them. “But it may take a while. Three months minimum. You know how big producers are, much more if they are companies, but I’m doing my best here.”

“That’s more than we could ask for.” Changkyun speaks, already patting Kwon’s back. “Man, thanks for helping us out!”

“I want to be in the speech when you win an award, that’s all I ask for.” Kwon says, stopping on his tracks. “And a drink, you guys want one?”

“How about…some tea? Just so you can unwind…and not get drunker.” She replies, a chuckle to her tone to seem more amicable, and the way Kwon smiled at them breathed all senses of hope out.

“I haven’t had tea in so long. Sure!”

Because Kwon may have earned a million friends, but none of them cared as much as a real one did. As much as she cared for Changkyun, and vice versa, the reason as to why she believes that it is harder to find a friend than for it to rain in hell.

And it may be hell for her to live without her best friend.

###

“You know that one movie with the pants and the girls?”

Changkyun lifts his eyebrows from his position on the couch, legs too parted in the cramped space, her knees pressed to her chest, heartbeat unmatched to the crickets making their noises outside. The wind blows on the window obnoxiously, far too old for it to stand upright with the commotion, trembling under its weight before falling silent and repeating again. However, her mind is off to one of those corners of her brain that goes unexplored, only opened when around Changkyun—the only person that brings a sense of comfort that only comes with the candidness of her favorite denim jacket.

His eyes don’t divert from the screen, instead speaking with that patience that characterizes him. “You have to be more specific,” But lastly, he decides to look at her. His face turns to her, eyes inspecting her quiet stance the more she tries to think about that one movie…now roaming her brain with images of watching it on a girl’s night with some friends that are no longer in her life. Nostalgia, what a curse for her, a lover of vintage things and then, some. “I am sure that almost every woman in movies wears pants. Unless we are talking about…I don’t know, The Little Mermaid? I doubt she wears pants, but that’s because she is not a woman but a mermaid instead.”

“You know the one!” She tells him, her fingers absentmindedly reaching for his arm, touching the taut and delicate skin there before tugging at him. “The one with the friends…and they have these pants that represent their friendship—”

“What?” Changkyun asks in a whisper. “What kind of movies are you watching?”

“I’ve watched it a long time ago, but it has come to me that maybe our friendship would be stronger—”

“With a pair of pants?”

“Jeans, to be exact.”

“…Don’t.” Changkyun has lifted his voice to an amused tone now, laughing to his heart’s content. Sometimes, she wonders why she is so sensitive to sound—the reason as to why she enjoys (and fears) horror movies a lot more than the normal person. Her ears can pick out the noise of him perfectly well, the ruffling of the fabric of his shirt, the sigh that barely leaves his lips as he rests his head on top of hers and gently lowers down her face to his shoulder. The spot that she normally takes. “We don’t need fucking jeans to strengthen our friendship. There’s nothing to strengthen there.”

But, perhaps, this is just the rom-com equivalent of a best friend—and while those friendships last a lifetime, and include memories of looking for that one love affair for the main character. Only that she is not worthy of being any movie’s main character, and this is reality that she is talking about. The harsh one that reminds her that there is a world of badness outside those windows, in streets and in houses alike. “Don’t you…? I want to word this correctly…” She says, pulling away from him to look towards the ceiling. “Don’t you wonder if we’re…going to be friends forever?”

“I never think that far ahead,” Changkyun says. “That’s one of the reasons why I haven’t even given Jiyoung the time of the day.”

At the sound of her roommate’s name, she perks up. Jiyoung had proclaimed to be out for the night to run some errands, and by errands it must be that she has gotten tired of chasing around Changkyun and to ease the stress of not being paid attention to, a man had fallen into the traps of her perfectly manicured nails. “Ah, she’s only like that with you. Feel honored that you have an almost sex goddess right behind you.”

“It’s not pretty when she’s eavesdropping on every conversation we have or when…when she tries to become this image of the typical girl anyone thinks I’d like.” Changkyun confesses…and those are the moments in which the wind almost whispers to her that Changkyun has standards. That slim, somewhat pensive, sometimes intelligent and unknowingly funny man has thought about real love, or at least, has made an image of it inside his head. “To answer your question, though—”

“Please, do.”

“If I had to think that far ahead, like me…all wrinkly…on the verge of dying…one of the people I’d see right beside me is you.” One would think that there is a hidden meaning behind his statement, that Changkyun laughing at his words soon after makes it lose its sincerity, but the image is so clear in her head that she cannot imagine it not happening. Not with hands interlocked, not with a band around her finger, but chuckling to her heart’s content at the mere presence of him. Dreaming of the youth they had once lived, and not regretting it once. That is the real future she expects to have.

“I would be lying if I said I didn’t think the same thing.” She answers, placing one hand over his thigh when she goes stand up. For a moment, when she looks over her shoulder, his smile pulls her in. In moments like these is when irrational ideas make sense inside her head, like the one time in the midst of a conversation, they had opted to date. Something about Changkyun would always tell her to take a sip of life and let it simmer in her mouth, to breathe and relish in the feeling of having a new day to exist…and one new day with him. “I can imagine you as an old man. The one uncle that tells you about how he always knew about the existence of aliens.”

The infamous part of their friendship is that she knows him and that knowledge comes with the hindsight of feeling Changkyun trailing right behind her, just like she expected, when moving towards the kitchen. Jiyoung must have left some of her chicken leftovers somewhere for them to enjoy. “Let’s be honest.”

“Sure.”

“Aliens do exist.”

“They do.” She utters, hands already reaching for the refrigerator for something to pair up with cereal, for the leftovers are not in her line of sight, when the coldness of it all makes her feel…small. In a world in which she is simply one woman and her friend. Two people, two souls, only the two of them. For the longest time, she had wondered if there were friendships that felt as substantial as the one that has lasted her since the early days of her youth, and the answer is always inconclusive. Not a lot of friendships reminisce the most meticulous of things—she remembers the first meal they shared together, bowls of rice made by themselves, and still remembers the nights in which the conspiracies of the world were more interesting than homework. “I could be one, and you wouldn’t have known. Aliens are clearly more intelligent than us.”

Seated by the counter, waiting for his own serve of food, Changkyun answers: “That’s the reason why you’re not one.”

“Are you calling me dumb?”

A glint on his eyes and a shake of his head are the answers she gets: “Maybe.”

The sugary treat enters her mouth thanks to her spoon, not concentrating on the taste when she speaks with her mouth full. “I’m not that dumb.”

“We’re equally as dumb, I’d say.” Changkyun unites them in a sentence, almost as if their friendship was meant to be, leaning forward until his mouth diverts another spoonful from her cereal to his lips, only chuckling when her hand comes in contact with his shoulder. “Hey, I’m joking. Are you unable to take a joke?”

Before she could respond to him, the sound of her phone ringing has her perking up. A pointed glare towards him does nothing to push him away from her meal, instead opening his mouth to take another spoonful. Struts are what bring her closer to her phone, catching one glimpse of the contact name before leaning against the counter swiftly. “Kwon, how are you doing?”

The pop of the man’s lips is the first answer she gets. “Much better now that I get to hear your voice. Haven’t heard that sincerity in a while.”

“Three months, you say?”

“You haven’t visited me.”

“Been busy.”

“With your students, I’m guessing.”

“Entirely. Also, with finding an apartment, I’m trying to move out soon…and grow up, you know?”

“Please, don’t.” Kwon adds in between a chuckle, perhaps leaning his head back, the sourness of his voice mixed with alcohol. “Growing up is not a nice thing.”

“I know,” She conquers, voice softened at the edges when she looks at Changkyun. Once smaller, shorter, much more innocent, with his eyes looking for the art in the shape of movies—for wanting to create stories of universes he has yet to explore. Given the chance of sharing a snippet of Changkyun’s mind, she could not be more thankful of meeting him. “How’s your boyfriend?”

“Ex?” Kwon asks, a tilt to his voice and then, the movement of curtains being drawn open captured her attention. “Forgotten. I’m in Paris, living the life of a single man in the city of love.”

Music blurs in the background, far too distant for her to catch when a smile spreads through her features. “I see, better lonely than with a bad man.”

“Exactly.” Kwon breathes out before chuckling to himself. “But that’s not why I’m calling. I actually have a reason to bother you.”

Taking the spoon from Changkyun’s fingertips, she takes a bite and lets the crunch fill the air as she speaks. “You don’t bother me…or us, really! Changkyun is right beside me, stealing my food.” The man in question sends a screamed greeting over the phone, warmth brought to her chest when she imagined reuniting—the three of them—in a place in which there weren’t as many people, in which conversations could take place better than at a party.

“Put me on speaker, I have huge news for you.” Back when she was younger, she had learned how to not get excited. Her heart is not beating rapidly, imagining that Kwon is going to talk about one of his rendezvouses while in Paris, but Changkyun’s face is glued to the phone, eyebrows furrowed when listening intently. “I got a few replies for your script, actually. Mostly no’s, and three yes’s.” Kwon indicates, her eyes widening at the image of producers—out of the best places in the world—thinking of their project as worthy of a positive answer. “So, I kept going. I reunited with a few of these people and I got you a contract with the best of the trio, and the one that gives you the most money, as well. They are in love with your work and would wish to meet you to go over the contract with their lawyers and the lawyers I’ve contracted for you.”

The generous soul of Kwon is the least of her worries when images flash through her eyes. Getting out of a limousine with Changkyun right behind her, cameras flashing, the posters on the red carpet showing the pictures of their film—theirs, crafted by their own two hands, actors and actresses in love with the film, the reviews coming in whether negative or positive. Reviews, nonetheless. This is what makes her let the phone rest on the table, soon after expanding her hands to cage Changkyun in a hug that is welcomed by him immediately, hands settling on her waist when he leans her back—enough to be considered a tango when her lips part in delight and let out the biggest of cackles, almost smiling at life and the beauty of it.

Changkyun is equally as excited, thanking Kwon from the top of his lungs as he twirls her around on the kitchen and it is the most beautiful of moments when her hair is tousled, his chest is heaving and Kwon is speaking in the background, the two friends staring at each other’s eyes. Two worlds that are now part of the huge universe of future stardom. “I’m so happy that you two are getting this opportunity.”

“It’s all thanks to you, man!” Changkyun speaks in his deep voice, moving over to where the phone is resting before laughing to himself. “Oh fuck, you really did not disappoint us one bit.”

“Wait until you see how much you’re getting paid and how in love they are with this film. They couldn’t believe they were written by two theater teachers.”

“They better believe now.” She replies, looking to the side to see Changkyun already staring at her, whispering in a low, almost unbelievable tone.

“We will make it.”

The word ‘we’ holds so much weight, two people united to the end of the world…but one will always be left alone.

We will make it, he says, and she chooses to believe that is the truth.

###

Her head is tilted down, chin resting on the crook of her elbows, both arms spread on top of the table as she stares at the other groups of people. Quite a lazy, yet somewhat childish, pose…but waiting for Changkyun always comes with its downsides. For one, he is late to this ever-so-awaited dinner they planned to have the night before they meet with the people that want to take their script to the big screen, and secondly, she can’t text him more times without getting blocked on the end. Intense, she is, and Changkyun is still very much late.

The restaurant is not quite as expressively elegant as one would believe. If anything, the cheering of children, the cackles of couples and that one alone costumer that is too occupied on their phone feels far too homely. She has been there before with Changkyun, plenty of times, sometimes deciding on something like a pizza, other times thinking that the biggest dish on the menu is their way to go. Adventures spoken in between food, she’d like to call it, and it is such an excellent contrast to be there to celebrate other than, obviously, eat. To worship the idea of finally getting to be just like the people they used to look up at when younger.

A woodened wall that covers half of her body is what separates her from the main area, instead opting for the one that carries most of the drinkers of this bar-restaurant. A man is shouting about the game that she couldn’t care less about, but with the boredom clinging up to her, she decides to rank the soccer players from most handsome to least. Something about athletes has always caught up to her, after all.

Her body perks up at the weight of someone’s lips pressing to the top of her head, turning around to scream at whoever has decided to break this barrier of personal space. However, Changkyun’s arm is already wrapped around her shoulder, their friendship bracelet caressing her shoulder. His reads the first two digits of the year in which they met, while hers has the last two. The white fabric of his t-shirt covers her vision until she decides to lift her gaze, watching his eyes from under the cap over his black hair, an apology in them.

“Sorry, I was getting ready.”

“I can tell,” She says, staring into his eyes before taking the fabric of his shirt in between two fingers and sniffing it. “You smell like you are a walking deodorant. Did you really want to get that dolled up just for me?” The teasing tone of her voice earns her a laugh from him, sitting across from her to take the menu from between her fingertips.

“One of the waitresses here is hot,” Changkyun starts, pointing with his shoulder to his left and indeed, there is someone right there that is—at the very least—a ten on his mental scale. A bit over six feet, the over-the-knees socks looking good on her, displaying the same soccer t-shirt as the men on the game and the ones screaming for them, long hair touching the edge of her shorts. “Do I really smell that strong? I think ladies like it when a guy smells like this.”

“We do,” She says, pushing her weight forward to squint at him. “Rapunzel over there is such your type. You really don’t change.”

“Ah, you know I don’t have a type—” Changkyun has already put the menu down, calling a waiter over and with a raise of his hand they order two individual pizzas, never able to share one without fighting for the last piece.

“You’re what I like to call the ‘book example of a guy’.”

With a cackle, he takes a sip of the Coca Cola he ordered ahead. “How so?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she spares another glance to the long-haired waitress. “She’s so attractive, for one. Two, you’re a legs guy—and she’s got some pretty strong pair, I may ask for her leg workout.” There is a bit of comedy in her tone, wanting to ease the night as something to enjoy. Two friends having conversations that are not rare for them. “And you have this thing for the ‘two sides of the coin’ girls. That can give you both the innocent look but with some spice.”

“Those are all pretty general things!” Always one to defend his point of view, Changkyun stared at the TV screen and almost like he read her thoughts from earlier, he says: “I’m sure you’ve checked out one of those soccer players.”

“I did,” She admits, shrugging her shoulders before quirking an eyebrow. “But since I’m so secretive about everything, I doubt you’d know which one I liked the most.”

Changkyun continues watching the game for a while longer, his ring-cladded fingers playing with the edge of his bottle of soda, the perspiration clinging to the skin and reddening it when his mind is made up in about a minute. “Son Heungmin.”

Much more knowledgeable on the sport than her, the name rolls off his tongue easily and she has to look over her shoulder to catch a glimpse or repetition from the goal he just scored. And indeed, shown in the screen in high definition is the man that she had deemed as attractive earlier, only studying his expression while playing, the layers of sweat on his face doing nothing to conceal the clear beauty of him. “Maybe…” But the way she bites on her bottom lip has Changkyun clapping his hands and pointing at her as he cackles.

“I knew it!”

“How?” Suddenly interested, she asks him. Changkyun leans back on his seat, quirking a smile up.

“Wouldn’t you wanna know, love?” He sings, only to have her kicking his shin from under the table.

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Changkyun—” Whining, she continues. “Please, I need to know how you guessed that.”

Relenting takes a few minutes and only after a lot of insistence and when the food gets to their table, Changkyun finally surrenders. His mouth is already muffled with a big bite of his pepperoni pizza when his theory is spoken into the easygoing air in between them. “I based it off something you once told me,” His cheeks are dusted in pink thanks to his laughter, his lips coated in grease while the cheese parts ways with his slice, chewy in just the way they like it. “He has good hair, and styles it exactly how you like it.”

Hair? She doesn’t recall ever talking about hair, frowning deeply when she shakes her head. “I never said that…when? What? I never said that!” That doesn’t mean it is not true. While it is not the first thing she notices, nor is it a deal breaker, she loves a good hairstyle on men.

“You so did, I remember.”

“When?” She whispers, trying to recall one of the drunken nights in which they would speak about various matters, but her thinking is cut to an end when Changkyun says—

“You said that once when we were dating.”

Oh, the one-week-trial that they had, of course it had been at that time. While recalling if Changkyun ever dolled his hair up that way while they were together, her mind makes out the image of a younger version of him laying by her side, her fingers trailing over his jaw and to his hair, gripping the thick strands that had been styled back, playing with the soft hairs that had slipped the hairdo and feeling the soft sigh that had left his lips at the time. Changkyun is one good of a kisser, but the memory comes to her because she doesn’t think she has ever seen Changkyun that dolled up around her since then. “Oh, right! We made out once because you had styled your hair like that.”

He shrugs, taking a bite of his pizza. “I got what I wanted, and ever since then I just knew that you loved hair like that. Without knowing, but you do.”

With a chuckle, she pours some sauce on top of her pizza, not putting it up to her lips until after she spoke. “You should style it like that more often.”

“So we can make out?”

“No! Gross!” But the tone of her voice is a bit too high. He may not have noticed it, neither does she think it is that important, because she knows that something like a relationship with Changkyun just wouldn’t end well. “Tomorrow you should do your hair like that. After all, we should be elegant when meeting these people…and we want to make the best impression.”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually.” He answers, pointing his chin towards the waitress. “Do you think she would like it?”

“I think she is way over your league.” She sarcastically adds, only to have Changkyun throwing one of the slices of pepperoni to her face.

“You’re such an asshole sometimes.” Changkyun finishes, only to have her doubling in laughter and throwing her head back.

Absentmindedly, she may have known that Changkyun was getting that number on the end…and that, of course, the waitress would send a smile his way in hopes of seeing him again. It is exactly what happens, the reason as to why she stands on the sides and watches him grow away from when they were twenty, from that one-week-trial that should not mean anything, and it never did.

###

This part of town is unknown to her, far too pretty to ever match her small neighborhood and her equally as tiny group of friends. The cars that pass by Changkyun’s seem to be fresh out of the shop, doors opened by buttons, the big wheels not once turning, looking as though they have not been used—ever. The houses, not to be spoken about, are on the hills far away. Mansions that are separated from each other, probably some pools to match the unnecessarily immense glassed windows. This is the way, Kwon said when giving them the address, but the more she nears the offices in which they are supposed to meet in, the more scared she feels.

Kwon would have made her feel more at ease, but the man beside her is equally as nervous, deep in thought and not once reciting the words to his favorite song of the month. Instead of paying attention to Changkyun, she plays with the edge of the skirt Jiyoung had given her. A sixties moment, she had called the flared skirt, dots on it scattering in delicate pieces, black and white to match the red of her shirt, snug to her body, long sleeved, paired with a necklace that screams faux. Probably a gift from some relative, if she can remember correctly.

It doesn’t feel better when getting out of Changkyun’s old Toyota, the sun touching their skins, the wind too strong as they move accordingly to the guide that they have been assigned. Buildings too tall, not differentiated by color but in a strong beige instead, almost caressing a shade of orange. The guide speaks and speaks, rambles too much and all she can think about is the expanse of the person in front of her, Changkyun, who had styled his hair exactly like that one night in their twenties, and while no romance was held in her heart, her hand extended to interlock with his.

Dropping his voice to a mere dance of his tongue, he speaks near her ear when she keeps up with his steps. “What’s going on?”

“I’m about to shit my pants.”

“Skirt.”

“Same thing,” She replies, selling a smile to the guide that looks over her shoulder to look at them. When opening one of the doors, her grip on Changkyun’s hand grows so strong that the rings on his fingers dig into her skin, breathing closely to his face, his lips parted when she says: “Don’t let go of my hand, please. I may pass out if I ruin this opportunity for us.”

And with the certainty of a man much older than him, Changkyun answers with a simple: “I won’t.”

These producers that Kwon had spoken about as the highest beings in the world are nothing but wolves, she realizes when she meets them. A screenwriter is there, as well as some director that she recognizes but Changkyun plays off as if he does, unknown to her best friend. The meeting room welcomes such few people in a big table, copies of the contracts given to the lawyers that had been waiting for them, and the lawyers of the company themselves. The host, the producer in this case, speaks with such mightiness, going over the most important parts that sound amazing. They sound as if they were taken out of a movie, quite literally.

Her hand is cramped, a bit sweaty, but still being held by Changkyun. Seated by her side with his black button down and some trousers, Changkyun has crossed one leg over the other and has let her own rest in between his thighs, near his knees. The contract is brought closer to his face, studying it with intent, while she tries to concentrate on her own. Instead, she looks at the director, then listens to the movies they mention, feeling as though her heart is about to burst with the excitement and awestruck of being given an opportunity.

Her own chance to shine—and not alone.

The producer, Byungho, stops in his tracks right in front of his seat, hands expanded over the black table when he points at the last part of the contract. “My lawyers can explain this last clause in further detail, but I personally asked for this one to be highlighted after Kwon gave me the pleasure of watching some of Changkyun’s performances from his days in university.”

Her best friend stops his ministrations, finally uncovering his face to the people at the table by lowering the contract down. His fingers untighten and had it not been for her, he would have let go of her hand when he leans forward and says a confused: “Pardon?”

“Kwon said you were an actor back in university, too. Never took it too seriously, but when I saw the talent you had—” Byungho stares at Changkyun dreamily, bills painted in his eyes to worship money. “I just knew you had the talent to be the main character of this movie.”

“Ah, Mr. Jo—”

One of the lawyers speaks then, a woman with a heavenly voice and a set of long lashes behind her glasses. “If I can further explain Mr. Jo’s intentions…he was not planning to originally have one of the scriptwriters as an actor, but Mr. Lee Kwon insisted. After watching the recordings, Mr. Jo concluded that it would be a revolution of the cinematography era to have one of the writers acting out the scene. Less complex, more understandable, raw and hardworking in a way. It’d be a story that magazines would love to talk about—give the press something to bite into and you can bet your movie will be a hit.”

At the presence of Changkyun’s silence, she speaks up for him. This opportunity shall not be dismissed, much less when Changkyun does have that talent for acting—one that he often only uses for one scene or another when preparing the theater students. “That idea sounds great. I think Changkyun could do justice to our troubled main character, as well as his features being able to fit into the physical portion of the character.”

“There is a catch, though.” The lawyer says, standing up and rounding the table, her arm resting under her crooked elbow. “It would be unbeneficial to this plan for us to just say…Changkyun and his friend wrote the script, because we’re looking to build an acting career here, but only for one.”

“That’s okay, I don’t want to be in the movie—”

“But the credibility of Changkyun as a mastermind or a hidden talent of both worlds, writing and acting, would be lost if we have you in the credits.” The lawyer finishes, leaving her astounded at what she is trying to hint at. Not being in the credits? “We offer you money for your work, of course, but you’re not going to be displayed in the credits, neither will you get any kind of exposure. We want Changkyun to have that light…since he’s the actor we want, of course.”

“That’s the only thing I ask for.” Mr. Jo says, his hand coming forward to pat Changkyun’s hand. “Think about it, son. We’d make you a superstar in a second, and we just need…that rawness. The public does not want scripted celebrities anymore, they want thinking beings. Woke individuals, one would say.”

Changkyun’s neck extends, looking towards the ceiling and his blank yet pensive stare is enough to break her heart. That dream that she had fought so hard to have is being given entirely to Changkyun, and while her movie would be on the big screen…she’d never get to see her name on it. In a way, she’d have to be that one woman that everyone would think is a liar when speaking about her experience with the famous actor and screenwriter Im Changkyun. “We’d have to see if she’s okay with it.”

“Kyun,” She whispers, only connecting their gazes when his head lolls to the side. “…Are you okay with this?”

“It’s what I’ve always wanted,” He starts, and the weight of those words reminds her of the little plays they would have at school…or how Changkyun had been the one to have the initial idea, one that she had added herself into just because she had always thought they’d be the perfect Gemini. Two sides. One coin. But it is not always like that, holding him there, she realizes that there is so much more to Changkyun than just being her half. “But I’m not doing it if you are not okay with it.”

All eyes are on her, and the lawyer dares to prick at her recently opened wound with a comment. “Come on, it’s a lot of money if you think about it—and people in the industry will know that you had something to do with Changkyun. I am sure you’ll get a second chance.”

“But Changkyun just has one chance.” Mr. Jo pushes, patting his hand against the table. “So, I want an answer. Yes or no?”

The tip of her tongue comes wet her lips, swallowing thickly when she closes her eyes and lets go of Changkyun’s hand. The star, one bigger than she could ever be, the one rising celebrity that she needs to feel proud of. Some friends just deserve that much. The slip is almost symbolic, as if for the first time since she was around twelve to thirteen years old, Changkyun doesn’t need her…and she has to stop needing him. “I think I’m willing to do that for him.” She answers, opening her eyes to see the big smile on Mr. Jo’s face. “I’ll settle for the payment and an invite to the recordings, of course. I’d love to see him play that character that we’ve worked so hard for.”

We have.

We.

Changkyun and her are no longer a ‘we’.

“Thank you.” Changkyun says, sending a smile her way before turning to the wolves, the ones that are taking him in and making him one of their own, but eating at the flesh of her biggest insecurities. “We’ve got a deal, then. Where do we sign?”

The shivering of her hands scares her, her heart racing and pumping so harshly that it almost feels like she may die at that time. Why is it that it bothers her so much when she’ll have a big amount of money and the happiness of her best friend? The question roams her head when she watches the ink splay on the piece of paper, letting go of her dream to give it entirely to Changkyun.

His first chance and her last.

###

“Changkyun!”

Silence follows the call of his name and just when she uses her key to open his apartment’s door, her shoes knock against an empty box. The sound startles her, bringing one hand to her chest to look at the rest of the boxes sprawled on the flooring. One month of not going to his apartment and he’s already changed everything?

“Kyun! What are all these boxes for?” She asks, moving further into the room when hearing a shout of her name, somewhat excited with a screech at the end. The thought of seeing Changkyun again after a month of preparations for the movie shoot brings a sense of tranquility to her chest, only breathing properly again when Changkyun skips a few steps when getting out of his room, not knocking a few boxes over in the process, but greeting her with a half-hearted hug instead.

“You finally decided to visit your old ass friend!” Changkyun announces, sounding a little too much like something Kwon would say—and she would know, because this past month she has found more companionship in Jiyoung and Kwon than she has done on Changkyun. Something about script-reading and acting classes must be taking too much time on his agenda. “Just in time to help me move out.”

Time freezes at that moment, but it really doesn’t. Instead, she paralyzes herself like a picture as she watches Changkyun write ‘clothes’ on a box before taping it securely with quick motions. This apartment has been Changkyun’s home since he was around twenty-two, when he decided that roommates were not his thing and he was in that time of his life where hooking up needed to be more private and mature. Nonetheless, the single-man home never lost its meaning, the pictures of his friends that must be saved in some box and the scent of him that is now changed for the smell of old and dusty furniture. “M—Moving out?” She asks, taking a seat on the plastic-bag covered couch and extending her hands when hearing the rustle. “Since when are you moving out?

“If you had visited me, you would have known.”

And there he goes with that same bullshit again, the smile on his face irking her because she had visited him, just that he was not there or he was occupied at the time, and whenever they texted—often, to be exact—, he had never mentioned moving out. “Stop with that, I did visit you. A bunch of times, but you were either asleep or out.”

Changkyun tilts his head to the side at that, quirking up the corner of his mouth in confusion. “I was?”

“You were,” She adds, placing her hand over his after standing up, stopping him from closing another box with duct-tape. “And you could’ve told me through text. Also, why are you moving? I thought you told me you wouldn’t be moving out any time soon even as I was looking for an apartment.” It still takes a toll on her to find the perfect home and leaving Jiyoung in this time in which she spends less time with her friend—and her partner in class that is no longer working at the school—is almost impossible. Heart-wrenching, if anything.

“This new place is huge, and closer to the recording studio. I managed to pay it with a bit of my payment, nothing crazy.” Changkyun concludes, continuing his ministrations with the boxes. “And I am sorry if I didn’t tell you, but the moving truck will be here anytime soon and I would really appreciate it if you helped me.”

She does as he says, sadly this is what she has come to, believing that Changkyun needs to grow and become more of the man he has always wanted to be, and if she has to be in the sidelines for it, she will—but not without complaining. “Changkyun, this is not about me, this is about you. You’re almost never around and when you are, we don’t hang out anymore.”

Carrying one of the boxes, his delicate muscles popping out with the action, Changkyun answers as he moves towards the door. “I’m just busy.”

“I get it but—”

“You’re not getting it. You’re using that tone on me.”

“What tone?”

Changkyun may not be angered, face stoic when he returns to his actions of finishing with packing, but her blood starts to boil when he continues speaking. “The tone you use when you’re being petty. I just have more responsibilities than hanging out at the moment.”

“Oh, hanging out with me.” She tells him, correcting him when he tries to move towards the door, and she realizes that her grip on the duct-tape he had given her becomes stronger. “I don’t see you having any issues to hang out with your little cast, because they’re famous and that’s all you fucking wanted—”

“What?!” Changkyun asks, his voice rising when he hears the sound of her voice, and he finally spares her a glance when he stops working on the boxes and pays attention to her. His steps are slow when he nears her, as if he is afraid he cannot tame the beast that now exists thanks to betrayal, envy, or abandonment. She doesn’t know which. “I have to hang out with my cast because I will spend the next few months recording with them, and I don’t want to be the weak link. This is not about me wanting anything, you’re still as much as my friend as the first day.”

“Then, why doesn’t it feel like it?”

“Because you’re clinging to material things, it’s like you’re missing someone when I am right here!” Changkyun announces, taking her by the shoulders to shake her out of her thoughts, and her hands loosen up at the realization of it all. Maybe, nostalgia had played with her—she had judged the new version of Changkyun when in reality he had just grown up. He is becoming a successful man, one of pride, with stars in his eyes and zeroes in his bank account, with new friends to enjoy and possibly love affairs better than some waitress at their favorite restaurant.

“I do miss you,” She can’t help the softness of her tone when her arms wrap around his waist and her head rests on top of his shoulder. “I’m just afraid that you’re going to stop talking to me or something. If you do that—”

“I won’t.” Changkyun tells her, holding her with delicacy, taking one of the pieces of duct-tape in between his fingers and sticking it to her hair, earning a well-deserved smack and laughter from her. “I can promise that much. I may be moving, but this apartment is not who I am. That job I had at the school? That’s not who I am. I’m your friend, and that you have to be sure of.”

With those promises she clings to Changkyun again, happy to have her friend even when it is a new version of him. Perhaps, this may be a push for her to finally continue with her life and stop depending on other people. When seeing the apartment rid of all the utilities, she realizes how many memories she had there—but maybe, she will make more of those in Changkyun’s new home. Pushed to the back are the days in which she would wake Changkyun up, or when they would watch movies while seated on that old couch.

Because Changkyun is the person beside her, not the memories that she clings onto.

###

“Party at my place tomorrow. 9pm. You’re invited.”

Reading that text, she knows Changkyun must have mass-sent it. Not surprising, three months into his little stardom life and Changkyun had more friends than she could ever count. More than when he was in university and the word had spread around about how much of a cool guy he was, but money and importance must have taken some part on it, as well as connections. Something more interesting, he must have found, in the apartment that is far too huge for her—yet to small to have her around, or in the groups of people that he is now clinging onto.

In a miniscule second, she really does think of not going. Changkyun, this one that exists right now, is just too busy for her to tag along to a party that will have too many people all gathered together thanks to him. But then, when looking up at the ceiling of her own room, now completely alone in a place that looks like a shoebox in comparison to Changkyun’s, her mind trails until her eyes are landing on the picture by her bedside table. Framed. Two best friends from when she was sixteen, wearing uniforms that were loose on their bodies, big smiles on their faces as they held each other with the beauty of naivety and youth.

That is the friend that she has tried to reach out for in the past few months and while she has not been able to voice it out, far too afraid of losing the little minutes that are given to them when talking on the phone, she has wanted to. Scream at him? Maybe, that is something that has passed her head a few times, when she suddenly sees Changkyun in pictures on the internet, articles read about him…and there is this sense of pompousness that comes with his silence that does not settle well on her stomach. Sealed are his lips, just like his feet at the floor, unable to move to where she is, but definitely willing to go around with his group of famous friends.

The bass vibrates through her body when she enters the apartment—being honest, it may be bigger than some people’s houses—. A nice set of stairs that are chic and gray, the railings made out of silver and glass, matching the spacious windows that she has always complained about (sue her, they may be perfect for interior designing, but for someone who has lived in poor neighborhoods, they just call out robbers). The white walls do not hold lights to indicate a party to be exact, but the atmosphere is enough to make it feel more expensive than a club, but not far away from its recklessness. People there are begging to have a good time, some at the terrace in the apartment, others in the center of the room and some at the kitchen doing body shots, from what she can guess from the cheering and the small glimpse she had of two people making out on top of Changkyun’s counter.

Kwon is by her side, thankfully. She would have probably run away in fear at the rich people around her, but his hand settles on her waist, laughing joyfully at the image in front of him. It may have been a while for him—after going to Paris, he settled on working on perfecting his craft as a designer and moving out of that huge mansion bought by his ex-boyfriend, he moved somewhere else. Tranquil, away from the party lifestyle he oh-so-bluntly misses.

Not drunk like the last time she saw him partying, Kwon has styled his hair back, a few pins placed in his hair to match the button down that he had picked to color-contrast with her dress. Yellow and red, made to stand out. “Whew, I’ve been to parties like these before.” Kwon says, moving her along the groups of people and sending some waves to a few of them.

“Are they bad?”

“Well, I wouldn’t really say they’re bad. The last time I was in one of those typical rich people’s parties, I ended up having a threesome at three at the morning. Commemorative, you know.” Kwon speaks with facility, talking about those memories that have her laughing sometimes. If he ever gets to the day of his oldest days, he will surely have stories to tell the younger generation. “They’re even worse than normal parties. You see, most people here have access to anything they want, so why not use it to their favor when partying?”

That may be more interesting to Changkyun than their usual movie nights and their talks about cinematography. Hell, even more important than planning some high school students’ prom as a theater teacher. When they reach the small bar, cramped in between a few groups of people, she juts out her bottom lip as Kwon orders. Whatever cocktail he chooses to have is heaven in a cup, a man of nice tastes. “…Oh hell, tell me why I am not surprised that you were in a threesome.”

“Because no one would be surprised to know I was in a threesome,” Kwon clinks his martini with her, the taste caressing the back of her tongue, letting it simmer before pushing it down. The drink may help her ease into this night. “But you know…just a heads up, parties like these get crazy.”

Worry settles over her, and she doesn’t know why. Changkyun is fully capable of taking care of himself—an adult, he is, for fuck’s sake, but something inside her heart just tells him to keep him away from such a world. As in she doesn’t trust anyone in that room, all strangers that appeared in the blink of an eye. “One question,” She takes a sip of her drink. “And don’t call me dumb for it.”

Kwon lets his weight kneel against the counter, licking the edge of the cocktail before scoffing. “Depends on what you’re about to ask, love.”

“Kwon!”

“What? I just know that I’m bound to call you dumb if you ask something stupid, that’s all!”

With a shaky sigh, she looks down at the drink on her hand. The only reason as to why she is there is to prove a point—that she can, also, join this life that Changkyun is now part of. The other reason reads on the fact that she hasn’t seen Changkyun in well over a few weeks, and even then, the greetings were short, the conversations even duller. “Why does Changkyun prefer all these strangers over me?”

Something that characterizes Kwon is that he is so unfathomably himself that she just knows every word that leaves his lips is the truth. For a moment, his innocent expression lets his smile drop little by little, inspecting her features before downing the rest of his drink, barely a hiss coming soon after. “Because he has a chance that he’s never had, but all these years he’s always had you.” Kwon answers, as if it was that simple to comprehend, interlocking his hands and keeping his elbows upright. “And it’s your choice to feel betrayed, but Changkyun is just trying something different out. You two have been glued by the waist ever since you were like…I’d say fourteen? I think he just needs some space.”

“He’s having a whole universe, sometimes he doesn’t even talk to me.” She plays around with the word ‘space’, rolling her eyes and taking another gulp of her drink. “Look at this! We got here and he’s nowhere in sight.”

“Or we just aren’t where he is,” Kwon replies, taking her hand in his and once again using his own body as shelter for her, the fabric of her tight yellow dress making it a bit comfortable for her to walk without it riding up. So much for Kwon giving her something to match him just to fit in. Expensive, it may look, but it sure as hell is uncomfortable and too shiny for her taste. “He must be somewhere around here. It doesn’t seem like people are fucking upstairs at this hour, it’s only ten.”

Sighing deeply, she tilts her head back. “I think I should just let him be, he probably—”

“Changkyun!”

Looking over Kwon’s shoulder, grasping the man’s forearms in the progress, she watches the man that he had just called. His hair is not pushed back, but definitely done a mess, a bottle of beer dangling from his right hand, his other fingertips letting go of the waist of a woman right beside him. A few buttons of his shirt were open, the glimpse of a choker around his neck shown when he moved—but it was made out of gold, and she doesn’t even want to question how much he spent on it. Not to be misunderstood, because the smile he sends to his two old friends shine brighter than the chandeliers on top of them, moving over to grasp Kwon’s shoulders in a tight hug.

“You’ve made it!” The happiness of his tone has her moving away from Kwon, looking at Changkyun with expectation in her eyes. With the alcohol dense in his breath, he pulls away from their mutual friend—now more of her friend than his—to beam at her. His fingers carefully rub at her cheek, pinching it in the process with a lift to his tone. “Oh, and you’re here, too. I think I’m seeing a ghost; I haven’t seen you in so long.”

But that may be partially his fault, if not entirely. “Likewise, Changkyun.” She replies, going over to wrap her arm around his waist to receive a hug, but two taps on her back reminds her of her distance in between the two, only pushed further when Changkyun looks over his shoulder to his new catch, sending a smile her way. “Mhm, I’m supposing Rapunzel is forgotten.”

Changkyun stops looking at his girl, from the longish legs in the high waisted and expensive blue pants, to the marvelous white top paired with a fur coat and short hair. Chic, styled straight and in a dark color, matching her cat-like stare. “Who?” He asks after humming, and Kwon shows equal interest.

“Rapunzel, the waitress.”

“Ah!” Changkyun parts his lips, laughing in response. “Over it. Now I have Hana.” The glint in his eyes reminds her of the time in which his mischief would take the best of him, but now that he is using it with people that she doesn’t fully like, neither does she think that they like the real Changkyun, she bites back.

“Hana? More like Cruella de Vil, I’m sure an animal died just to have that coat on her.” Trying to suppress his laughter, Kwon doubles over beside her and she takes this moment to take the last sip of her drink.

“You don’t like her?”

“You’ve done better.” She retorts, quirking a styled eyebrow at him.

With a whine, he responds. “Who?”

Me. She wants to say, but instead she shrugs her shoulders, the fabric of her dress hugging her arms tightly. “Not saying.” She answers, licking the inside of her cheek before pointing her chin at her. “Introduce her to me.”

With an ounce of hesitation, Changkyun spares a look in between the two, soon after going over to where Cruella de Vil was standing. Pushing her chest forward, the little bit of classiness that she possesses comes through when the sound of sweet laughter fills the air. Now from up close, she can realize the beauty of Hana and the image of her clicks in her mind well. The loved actress on the rise, star of romantic movies, that push of comedy coming to her easily. For someone who looks so pompous in real life, her movies are to die for.

“Isn’t this Changkyun’s best friend?” Hana asks with delight, leaning down to grasp her hand in a tight grip and the action alone has her pushing her lips together. Something about that smile screams jealousy, perhaps it is a spray Hana is trying to use against her to keep her away from him. “I have not stopped hearing about you. You’re in all of Kyun’s stories.”

“Well, that’s what happens when you know someone for years. You just have…more story.” The sound of her voice shouldn’t have been quite as pointy, but the bite on her tone surprised her.

Hana tilts her head to the side, her long earrings almost tangling with her perfectly styled hair. “I don’t know. Some memories can be made in a shorter time.”

“I suppose—”

“One night is enough.” Hana says it with an innocent tone, ending with a giggle that has her smiling tightly. She tries to suppress the frown on her features by interlocking her hands behind her back, joining in the laughter that Hana has created.

“I suppose,” She repeats, still smiling forcefully. “Ah, I’m a big fan of your work. Changkyun did not tell me that you two were seeing each other.”

“It’s fairly recent,” Changkyun explains, sparing a glance to Hana before resting his hand on her waist. Her eyes go from the mere touch to Changkyun’s eyes studying Hana’s expression, and her blood boils for a reason. Changkyun has had girlfriends after her, plenty, as well as various friends with benefits and a few dates, but something about Hana makes her fear about a future Changkyun may have, one that doesn’t include her. “But…we met thanks to an interview. We’ll see how this goes.”

“Well, I’m so happy for you two.” Her feet move back and forth, unable to stay in one place, and Kwon remains silent by her side, perhaps feeling the tension in the air. “…Not so happy about the animal you’re wearing on your shoulders, though. Someone died just in the name of fashion.”

Hana pushes the fabric up on her shoulders, scrunching up her small nose. “It’s just—You know, yes, it’s not a good choice of clothing but—”

“Doesn’t matter. Anything you wear looks perfect,” Defeated by not even being able to spend time with her best friend, taken away by some woman that he has only gotten to know recently, she takes Kwon by the arm and drags him along with her as she says her goodbyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hana, but I really just came here to get drunk and have a good time, so I’m going to do just that.”

“Wait—” Changkyun starts, but the sound is drowned the more she moves towards the terrace, away from the couple.

Or couple-to-be. Whatever.

The terrace is not as spacious, a table of ping pong right in the middle, a few people crowded together with smoke blown into the air and the smell of alcohol thick. Even as she is walking, she feels as though she has stepped on a puddle of beer—or she hopes that is beer—. Though, her heart is going a mile per minute, looking for the answers as to why her ears are heated and her head is enraged.

Misplaced anger, it may be, at herself for a reason. Changkyun, growing from himself, has done nothing but live his life and she has stayed on the side, watching like a hawk ready to take a prey. Never had she imagined that a villain would be made out of her heart, for her best friend had always been someone sacred to her—but that is what she feels. Hatred, misplacement, a sudden need to be more…to be exactly the kind of people that Changkyun wants to hang around with.

And the kind that Kwon tells her to keep away from.

Colored blue is the bottle of beer that she takes in between her fingers, finding that sense of tranquility within her with the taste of the drink, but her fingers are shaking, Kwon’s voice worrisome as he speaks.

“What was that?” Misunderstood she shall remain, and by the way Kwon widens his eyes and inspects her features, he has no clue about what may be going through her head. “Are you jealous of Changkyun having a fling?”

For a moment, she bites her tongue—because she likes to believe that people understand her, even when she doesn’t capture exactly what she feels. It’s something she hates about her—she asks to be comprehended, but she never makes what bothers her obvious. “I don’t even know,” She admits, staring at the seas of people around them, the cheering people by the ping pong table, some shirtless, others without pieces of their clothing on. “I don’t even know how to explain it.”

Kwon leans back against the railing, taking a beer of his own. “Try.”

When she is alone is when she misses him the most. Now that he has entered the terrace, lifting his pierced eyebrow when he smiles at someone that greets him, she realizes that her best friend is still in there, the only thing missing is that she is not with him. Not clinging to his side as usual, neither is she the first thing that pops inside his head early in the morning. Changkyun no longer needs her, and that may be such a selfish thing to miss. “I’m so fucking angry because—look at him, it is as if he doesn’t miss me!”

“Because he doesn’t,” Kwon says. “I’ve said it already…he has you, why would he miss you?”

“He doesn’t have me all the time—”

“He does,” Kwon answers, shrugging his shoulders and looking forward, towards the people that are now putting on their clothes and messily arranging new cups with alcohol in them. “It has always been something I’ve envied,” His pretentious tone indicates, the honey in it making such a harsh truth feel drunken. “Changkyun has that kind of friend that everyone wants in you. You’re always there for him, you’d drop everything just to see him happy.”

The image of her signing the contract that gave away the rights to her own script had her taking a shaky breath. “…Why does it feel like he would not do the same for me?”

“I like to believe he would.” Kwon finishes and for a moment, she watches Changkyun near them. If it had been him put in her position, one of forgetfulness and complete invisibility, would he have stood still?

In the heat of the moment, she walks towards the table of ping pong, greeting the two guys in front of her. One taller than the other, lanky and a good head over her height, the oversized flannel on his body stylish, too much gel on his hair to uncover tanned skin with some imperfections on his chin, a smile that could blind a light just in the way he sends it towards her.

“What’s this game about?”

“Stripping beer pong.” The shorter one says, earning a bit of a dusted blush from the other man, who chuckles with drunken nature. “You wanna play?”

In retrospect, it has been a while since she has played beer pong, and she is not even that good at it. The only thing she has on her apart from her yellow dress are some socks and a pair of boots, and this may be a loss for her, but one glance at Changkyun sends a rush of competitiveness in between her, as if she wants to prove that she can also be fun. “Yeah, I’m feeling some drinks. If I drink, I don’t have to strip, right?”

“Already thinking you’re going to lose?” The taller one indicates, extending his hand to arrange the bottles on his side of the table. The brown strands of hair are perfectly put, as well as the glisten behind his eyes when he looks up. “It’s simple. If you get the ball inside the cup on this side, I have to drink and strip off something. New rules, just to make it more fun.”

“Huh, so one on one?” She asks, only to have the man in question shaking his head.

“On pairs. It’d be better for you; you only have a dress on.” Something about him is fairly bashful, the tips of his ears reddened and it must be the drunkenness inside of him speaking. “The name’s Changmin. My friend is Hyun. Who you’re playing with?”

Looking over to Kwon, who is already talking to someone—typical of him, really—she finds herself in awe when she feels someone’s presence next to her, a deep voice that she recognizes very well speaking into the colorful air of a party. “Me.”

“Oh, no, no, no—” She starts speaking when looking at Changkyun, pointing her chin towards the door. “Hana is probably waiting for you, just keep being with her.”

“You’re going to end up naked if you play this alone.” Changkyun answers, crossing his arms over his chest while he gets closer to her. For a moment, it feels as though her old friend is back—but the one from university, that had wanted to make sure she was alright after every party they attended to.

“What’s the problem with that?” She retorts. “I’m an adult.”

“You’re my friend.”

“And?”

“I know how mortified you are going to be if you end up losing this.” Changkyun turns around, taking the ball in between the table before looking at Changmin’s eyes. “We start.” That authority in his tone must have indicated that he is mad about something, perhaps her attitude towards him or this unspoken tension in between them, but a swing of his hand he throws the ball directly at one of the cups, smiling a bit to himself.

“I can take perfect care of myself.” She says from her spot, her eyes wandering down when Changmin takes his shirt off, the tattoos on his waist and chest hidden thanks to his flannel. “You know, speaking of…maybe, I should make a move on one of your rich friends.” Not that Changmin is her style, or that she is inherently interested in hooking up with someone today, but if Changkyun can do it…then, so can she.

Changkyun scoffs from his side, speaking lowly when Hyun misses his shot, giving her the ball without much of a thought. “He’s not your type.”

“Hana was not your type.”

“What’s your problem with her?”

“I don’t know her,” And when she throws, she misses the cup, sparing a glance to Changmin who is already looking at her by the time she does so. However, there is more interest on looking at Changkyun when she punctuates her issues. “And I didn’t even know that she was in your life.”

“It’s nothing serious.” Changkyun speaks lowly, taking the ball and throwing it without a care and hence, missing. “When did it become a rule in our friendship to tell you everything and anything I do?”

“Since we started being friends, we’ve always told each other everything.”

“I’ve just been busy.”

The plop of a drink splashing on her has her looking at the culprit, Hyun smirking in delight when getting the point. “Okay, one of you two: drink and strip.” The night is cold, she realizes then, the skin of her thighs presenting little goosebumps at the mere touch of the air. Her fingers wrap around the drink, meaning to own up to it when the red cup is snatched away from her hands and downed in one go by Changkyun, who had already tossed his shirt somewhere on the floor, not caring about the expensiveness of it.

“What a gentleman!” Someone whoops from far away, but her eyes are simply squinted at him, once again repeating the rules of the game, not caring about the outcome but concentrating on the task at hand. A score, and Hyun is the next one to take something off—his pants, since he had already lost his shirt in some previous game.

“Hana is not that important,” Changkyun whispers. “We just fuck and that’s it.”

“Doesn’t seem like that to me.” She tells him, eyeing his face up and down before breathing deeply. “I don’t mind you dating anyone, but you don’t tell me anything anymore. I didn’t know you had met someone called Hana, that’s a wrong start already.”

“I said it’s not that important.”

“It’s important to me!” She says, putting her hands up in the air before looking at the pair in front of them. “But go ahead, I don’t blame you. You prefer people with money, after all, and I’m some stupid fucker with a dress that makes me look like mustard. It’s okay.”

Changkyun tries to continue to speak as the game develops, but the conversation goes dull as he takes pieces of clothing off, only left with his jeans, his jewelry scattered on the table by the time the game is over, all drinks downed on Hyun’s and Changmin’s side. With quickened steps, she returns to where Kwon is, head dizzy and the image of Hana appearing beside Changkyun suddenly becoming the only thing she can see. Her head lulls back, the fresh air touching the skin of her cheeks, the heat clinging to her body in an uncomfortable way.

What he doesn’t notice is that everything has changed, from the moment they met to now—and it was bound to happen, but it gives her whiplash with how fast it was. As the night develops, staying around for the orders of pizza that came soon after and some other drinks, as well as a group of friends that Kwon found in the middle of the dance floor, she waits for a miracle. For some reason, she expects Changkyun to go over to her side, place one hand over her thigh and speak about the most random of things, perhaps catch up on the latest films they have watched on their own, but that doesn’t happen.

The bass is strong when she dances with some strangers—in a moment, she is in Kwon’s arms, in the other she thinks she has danced with Changmin, sharing a cigarette in between the two like she would have done with her best friend, and then she has passed her alcohol limit, finding solace in an empty spot in Changkyun’s couch, away from people as she lays down and lets sleep take over her. Her dreams are a mess, far too forgetful by the time the sunrays appear through those damned windows, annoying her beyond comprehension when she realizes what happened last night.

She talked to Changkyun. Drank. Danced. Smoked. Knocked herself out.

The feeling of a silky fabric running over her thighs makes her open one eye, draping her arm over the other to look down at a familiar button down. Her bones crack when she extends, her eyes inspecting the room when she hears the sizzling of food, the smell of vegetables thick in the air. When her legs decide to move away from the couch, she watches Kwon’s sleeping body on the other couch, arms wrapped around himself…but he is wearing his shirt.

A few steps away makes her scrunch up her nose at the mess, though her head is too dizzy to care about the mess that Changkyun is probably going to have cleaned up for him. Her fingers let themselves knot around the fabric of the button down that had covered her legs when speaking and realization kicks her when she notices whose it was.

Changkyun’s.

The one he took off when playing stripping beer pong.

The sizzling comes from the kitchen and the image of Changkyun making sure she is well covered and making breakfast for her brings a smile up her face. That is the kind of thing her best friend would do. Walking over the rope of hope, she walks towards the kitchen, expecting to see Changkyun with simpler clothing and a pan in between his fingers, but fuck, that is what dreams are made for…not a reality.

Arms that wrap around a small waist, and a similar shirt dropped over Hana’s body, cladding her perfectly. Her hair is put up in a small ponytail, little kisses scattered around her neck and collarbones while she cooks. Changkyun seems to be delighted, fingers pulling her closer until he takes a good scent of her, speaking something against Hana’s skin…unheard, but yet so powerful.

She doesn’t know why this hurts her, because she has seen Changkyun be with other women. This should not be news, but something about the entire replacement of her in every way drops at her stomach harshly, to the point she clears her throat to call out for their attention.

Changkyun pulls away from Hana, smiling at her when he takes the shirt from her hands. “Good morning!” He cheers, clearly in a good mood, if the lipstick stains on his neck are something to go by and the messy hair are indicators of his late morning activities. “You passed out on my couch. Had a great night partying?”

As if they had not spoken at all, he acts. Perhaps, he doesn’t really care about the tension in between the two—he thinks that some nice actions are going to save him, and the worst part? They might have had she not seen this. “Yeah. Kind of.”

“I’ve made tea for the hangover.” Hana points out from her spot, her manicured hands signaling the teapot somewhere in the kitchen. “It’s my magic potion. Been there, done that, girl. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

Before she could deny, Changkyun is already pouring a cup for her, but she stops him by placing her hands over his. “Put it in a plastic cup. I’ll be out the door in a minute.”

“Why?” Changkyun asks, his faint smile dropping when looking at her. “Listen, I know you must feel bad because you drank a lot last night and you were cranky but—”

“Kyun—” She closes her eyes, correcting herself. “Changkyun, I need to leave.”

“But why?”

“I need to get rid of this headache and go over some scripts I asked the students to write.” She’s coming up with whatever excuse appears in her head, taking Changkyun’s place and accepting the nice smelling tea when pouring it inside a plastic cup, one of those that had been used for alcohol last night.

“So, you’re not staying for breakfast?” Changkyun asks while he goes behind her, her fingers already hooking around Kwon’s hand to wake him up, speaking his name softly to help herself out.

Just when Kwon opens his eyes groggily, she answers. “We’re not staying for breakfast. I’m going to use Kwon’s car to drive him home and I’m going to get him to sleep comfortably. His back must be killing him.”

Kwon doesn’t say much, simply trails after her towards the door, but Changkyun speaks loud enough for the two of them to hear. “You’re lying to me.”

She stops on her tracks, clutching at the end of her dress when she stutters out a: “I—I’m not.”

“I know when you’re lying to me.”

Does he even know her at all?

“But I’m not.” She answers, looking over her shoulder before sending a wave at him. “Bye, K—Changkyun.”

###

You see, Changkyun is not the only person she misses in her life. Though a bit out there, definitely louder than a normal person, and as clingy as it can get, Jiyoung is one of her closest friends. With the lack of a male best friend that sits down with her and watches the matutine news or a dumb reality show, she is left to enjoy more time with another woman. Jiyoung, for example, had insisted on bleaching her hair even more, the color far lighter and her hair much drier, but the smile on her face is as welcoming as ever as she lays her head down on her shoulder and looks at the screen in front of them.

Jiyoung changes the channels too much, and even though she hasn’t seen Changkyun in well over a month again, through her texts she can feel as though he is still the same about his tastes in TV watching and shows. Something about inspecting everything and picking just the right thing is something that exudes his energy, but Jiyoung is quite the opposite. Settling on some stardom interview show just because she thinks the host is hot? That’s something Jiyoung does.

Her old place is as intact as ever, and she wishes she had the strength to erase the image of Changkyun from her brain. When in front of him, she can act as though she is tough, as if she doesn’t care that he doesn’t have time for her anymore, but give her a phone and those blinking three dots that indicate that he is texting her and she is head over heels, stopping everything she is doing to answer to him.

For a while, she has thought that this is normal—that she just holds onto Changkyun because that is what friends do, but this also reminds her of how different their friendship is now. She gives, he takes, and she never receives. He prefers cities with angels, diamonds with brightness, words of intelligence and people who speak too much about themselves. That was his dream, he always said it, their friendship would be better if only they could make their dreams come true, make money out of something they love.

So why is it that when he appears on the screen, being interviewed for his new movie about the release in a few months from now, she feels as though she is living a nightmare instead of a dream?

Changkyun promised they would be together through their dreams, but that wasn’t the case. His hair is placed in the way she likes it, standing out with clothing that mixes the eighties with something modern. Something about his face is a beauty of the sixties, a young thing ready to take over the world. His voice drops more than usual, there is an air of knowledge to him, and he seems less excited than she would have imagined him to be. He thinks that he belongs there, and strangely enough, he does.

Maybe, she had imagined that Changkyun would be different…and he was just like everyone else. With pain inside her heart, she brings her fingers up to press on the remote, turning off the TV with quickened motions. The black screen showcases her reflection, uneven breaths and shaking shoulders, a face that reads turmoil accompanied by someone by her side.

“He’s so lucky.” Jiyoung never sounds this serious, and for a moment she thinks she is speaking about the job that he has been given, the stardom that had accumulated even before his debut as an actor. A pretty face with a creative mind. “Not a lot of people get to have someone love them as much as you love him.”

She loves Changkyun, in the way a friend should love each other, willing to be there for the one that has always taken a part of her heart. This much she knows, making her frown when she looks over at Jiyoung. “Of course I love him, he’s my friend.”

“No,” Jiyoung chuckles, tucking a strand of her almost white hair behind her ear. “I like Changkyun. I’d love to have him as a lover, but…you love that guy.” Splashed in front of her are the ideas that Jiyoung has, but the attraction she once felt for Changkyun cannot be appearing again, much less can it be translated into something like romantic love. That has never existed for them. “You stay, and you’re patient for him. Your eyes get all shiny when he is around, and you can’t stand seeing him turn into someone else…but you still accept him. That’s love.”

She scoffs, covering her face with both hands as she imagines the first time that she saw Changkyun, and now she pictures the last time that they saw each other, barely there to start with. His name is up in the sky, written for people to read it as stars, but she is not shining with him. “That is lack of dignity, not love.”

“Maybe,” Jiyoung shrugs from her spot, playing with the volume buttons of the remote. “I think it started before this whole actor thing came around.”

“How so?” She asks, half interested in what Jiyoung is saying when she uncovers her face. For some reason, she tries to imagine the romantic point of it—if maybe she had not understood the signs her body had given her, had screamed at her to comprehend over the years, and Jiyoung had the key from a viewpoint of someone that had seen it in a friendly spot.

“You dated, but you finished it off because you didn’t want to lose each other, not because you only considered yourselves friends who wanted to be with each other physically.” Jiyoung, ever the clear one when staring at people, responds. “And you stayed with each other over the years. In a way, I gave up on him because of the connection the two of you had.”

“Really?”

“I didn’t stand a chance.” Jiyoung cackles at her own answer, rubbing her chin in the process. “Changkyun…he always seemed to come back to you. He’d date, go back to spending time with you. He’d fuck someone, go back to you. Even when he was in a serious relationship, he was always with you. I thought that he had caught feelings,”

This time, she looks up at the ceiling and she can’t help but smile at the reminder of their first kiss. Changkyun had done it absentmindedly, moving at the same time that she did and capturing each other on a kiss, soon after came the idea of being together because of loneliness. All she knew for that week was that no one had kissed her quite as softly as Changkyun did, as if he wanted to savor every piece of her, making flavors out of their union. “Why me? Why him? Why us? I doubt—”

“You have to look at it from my way,” Her friend says, running her fingers through her scalp to ease her mind. “You know people are in love when they say each other’s name while staring at the other. That doesn’t happen often, but there is a little breath that is taken whenever the person you love says your name and vice versa.” The caress of his eyes roaming her face when saying her name awakened memories inside her, bringing a flutter to her stomach. Could it be? “It’s cute. You’d look at him and lighten your voice when saying Kyun, and he’d look so in place…in peace when you said it. When I noticed that, I thought I stood no chance.”

She chuckles at Jiyoung’s antics, resting her head against hers as she laughs. “I don’t know…”

“Do you think I’m right?”

For a moment, she ponders on everything that has changed and everything she misses, but the thought of always staying for him keeps being repeated. The world has been painted blue for her, and she still held it on her shoulders—just so he can live inside of it and have a beautiful life. “I may…” She replies, closing her eyes tightly and feeling the back of her throat contracting, feelings bursting from a part of her that had been hidden. A single tear rolls down her cheek when she remembers, and God, nostalgia has always been her weakest point. “All I know is that I don’t want to lose him, and I want to have him all for myself. How it was. How it was in that one week we were together.”

Jiyoung’s fingertips run over the expanse of her cheeks, taking away the tears that had piled in there. “Can’t believe we’re bonding about a man that I wanted to sleep with, and that you love.”

That brings laughter out of her, pouring rain coming from her eyes when her phone rings momentarily, the idea of Changkyun being the one to text her having her hands moving with precision, pulling the device away from the coffee table to look at the screen. A picture taken on the night before she lost him, in that restaurant where they had talked about their types and their dreams, and the light in her eyes was different from the dulling tone she has now, seeing that it is a message from a fellow teacher.

She just wants her best friend back.

Even if it’s to love him in silence.

###

Chasing after a dream of wealth, success, fame had been what had united them. As long as it’s not what separates them, the dream still stands.

Last summer, that thought had passed her head. This summer, she can say while being in Changkyun’s arms that she had never felt quite as separated from him as that moment.

Even when the windows are big in Changkyun’s room as well, the birds chirping outside cannot take her mind away from the movie that is being displayed on the screen for them to see. Theirs. The one script that had come to life only one year after they finished it. His fluffy and brown blankets are brought up to her jaw, her head resting on his shoulder while his back is placed against the bedframe. She doesn’t spare a look at Changkyun, but he is silent, perhaps judging himself or enjoying certain lines he said—but she has finally come to the conclusion that Changkyun’s future was always meant to shine with the stairs.

He deserves this, she realizes. The big apartment, the too-cold air conditioner, the birds singing only for him and the people that go around him, the fanbase that is growing slowly but surely. All of those he had worked hard for, and all she had done was give him the opportunity to live such a beautiful life. Their character needed to be portrayed by him, all the aches and the beauties of it showcased in his expression. When she wrote it, she never realized Changkyun could convey such emotions, but now…there she is, always coming back to him and now, extremely proud.

Because she is alone with him, watching the credits that read him and not her, and she couldn’t be more tranquil with her decision. Another opportunity may come for her, but for now…Changkyun is the only light that she dares look from up close.

“I think it’s cringy to watch myself act,” Changkyun says, his voice deep after turning off the device and twisting to his side. Months ago, Jiyoung and herself had spoken about the possibilities of loving Changkyun, and with him by her side she can confirm that it may be a reality. All these months, their meetings had been brief and non-substantial, but when she has him like this…it feels like she can reach for him. His laughter is brief, his cheek resting against his fluffy pillow. “I’m surprised you didn’t cry.”

“I kept it in,” She tells him, playing with the loose strands of his hair before sighing deeply. “And don’t cringe. You’ve always been a great actor.”

“I overact.”

“You don’t.” She replies, the sound of the ice in her drink filling the air when one of them drips into water and makes the one at the top fall down on the glass. She had forgotten she was even drinking soda on the first place. “And if you dare say otherwise, I’m going to kick you out of this bed.”

“It’s almost impossible, it’s too big.” Changkyun answers, extending his arms to further prove his point before closing his eyes tightly. It is at this moment, in the softness of the situation, when the coconut scent of his body wash takes over her and has her wrapping her arms around him, caging him in a hug that has almost all of her weight laying down on him. This steals a breath from his lungs, his arms coming around to cage her body when he chuckles softly. “What is it?”

She separates just slightly when she presses a kiss to his shoulder, through the white t-shirt to speak to him. Once again, face to face, she feels like they are at the beginning of this journey, her bottom lip jutting out to stop a cry. “I’m so proud of you and I am so sorry I haven’t shown that lately,” She whispers, her heart weighty because, once again, she seems to have her friend back. “I was afraid I’d lose you…and I felt like I did, so whenever I would see you, I would get…angry.”

His hands trail over her hair, patting it down softly, making sure that every fine hair that stands out is pushed away and down. His brown eyes are chocolate ganache when he stares at her, dewy and dulcet, looking at her with all the sentiments in the world. To name them? She can’t. “I’m never going to leave you.” He whispers. “It may feel like it, but you’re my best friend…”

“I know,” She mumbles back, caressing his jaw with her fingertips, going over the memories of his days of worsened skin, wanting nothing more than to kiss the imperfections into his soul and claim them as loved. “It’s not like you could forget me.”

A nudge to her waist has her laughing after her sentence, Changkyun joining in with ease. “Try being around you for more than ten years. You’re hard to forget.”

“Am I?”

“…Yes.”

“What makes me so memorable?”

“What?”

“You agreed that I’m hard to forget,” She says, pushing her hair to her back before sighing. Insecurity drips from her, something that she has always hated about herself, but when she is over him, barely separated from his face, the air becomes perfect for secrecy. Lovely, even. “What makes me so hard to forget?”

“I will never think about anyone the way I think about you.” Changkyun replies, and it’s such a vague answer that she almost finds herself asking about said thoughts, but the angel wings on him appear the more she looks at his face after those words, a glisten to his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “You’ve loved me as a friend even before all of…this. You gave up your dream for me. No one would do that.”

“I did,” She whispers, leaning down the slightest, breaths mingling together when she nods. “Because I really do love you, Kyun.”

And there it is, the sweetness of it all, the promise of the lack of an ending. Changkyun doesn’t realize it, simply hums in response when he takes her by the back of her neck and in his tone, there are no signs that he claims to know the weight behind those words. “I love you, too.” A love that goes past souls and friendships, one that has him leaning forward until the ghost of a kiss rests on her lips. First, Changkyun lets their skins touch, his lips part just the slightest, a shaky breath given before he kisses her as if he wants to eat her whole. Suddenly, the sky is dancing, the sunrays becoming one with the warmth of her body when Changkyun pushes her further on top of his body, her thighs caging his body to the mattress, the happiness of being kissed by him again returning.

Insomnia takes up on her when his hands work their way down to her waist, gripping softly, subtly, laughing against her lips for the briefest seconds as his body moves to his will.

“…You’re kissing me.” Changkyun throws his head back with a soft gush of breath leaving his mouth. “Are we going back to that one week of dating?”

“We’ll see.” She chuckles, pecking his lips softly before he turns them around. Her hair splays on the pillows, a squeal leaving her lips when his teeth accidentally graze her bottom lip, his body now keeping her against the bed. Her hands twirl around his neck, keeping the dance of their lips when he breathes softly against her skin.

He whispers the beauty of life in his touches, and for a moment, she thinks she has him once again. What a disgrace it is that Im Changkyun is a story that never lets a twist last too long, keeping the side characters as that—and she has become secondary, a day with him could not change that, the feeling of his fingers slotting away from her, because a breath from him is only the touch of a promise that lasts a second.

One week. One second. One lifetime.

What is it with him?

###

Redeemable, whenever she starts something with Changkyun that goes a different way from their usual stream of time, it always seems to last too little.

The hotel in which they are staying in is the complete opposite of packed. Lining the brown and white, tall walls of the hotel are windows with white railings, though that is the least interesting point of its infrastructure. From her position inside the pool, she thinks the most beautiful part of this hotel that Changkyun had boosted about—and for a reason, it’s expensive and breathtaking both at the same time—is that it feels as though she is inside a beach. The water in the pool is not too cold, clear and rich, and when she swims right towards Changkyun, she gets to see the big palm trees, the attention to detail that comes with the faux sand, and of course, she gets to see her best friend, days after that day of watching his movie. Their movie.

His arms are extended on each side of him, chest covered in droplets of water, rising up to inhale, deflating to exhale. His relaxed expression glosses over, listening to the wind moving the trees, his eyes half-lidded as he is immersed in his own thoughts. Only when her fingertips caress his waist, Changkyun snaps out of whatever thought has been clouding his brain.

So like himself, she dares ask him: “What are you thinking about?” Her hair, clinging to her skin, is the least of her worries when she finds her place on his shoulder, pecking the skin with utmost care. Changkyun lets his arm wrap around her waist, the movement of the water calming them into their position.

“Nothing really.” Changkyun replies, lowering his gaze and igniting a flame inside her that makes her feel alive. An ashamed smile appears on her face, one that he returns as if he doesn’t regret the kiss they shared a few days ago, the feeling that now has appeared after a couple of years. “I’m just surprised. You agreed to come here with me.”

“As long as it’s the two of us, I don’t mind where we go.” She answers, turning around to swim away the slightest, the water clashing one against the other, but her eyebrows move the slightest when she feels a few droplets landing on her from above, too tiny to be noticed. “Come here, let’s race.”

“That’s not such a bad idea. Let’s go.” But what surprises her is that Changkyun starts swimming with rapidness, arms extending to move his weight with precision. With widened eyes and a flutter to her chest, she chuckles at his actions, screaming his name at the top of her lungs while moving right behind him.

The pull she has towards him is so strong, and Kwon may be right when he says that she will always be there for him. Changkyun has never lost her, because she had not left for a single second. This that they live is a song that repeats itself, the sweet existence of a lesson that they continuously learn. She will always go back to him to be stronger, to connect to those roots of her that show in the smile he gives her when he wins, back leaning against the tiles of the pool.

She will never forget his face, one that had grown out of his old features, rounded cheeks and thin lips parted as he doubles over, and she joins him. The world doesn’t care to bathe them in rain, goosebumps rising on her arms when she wraps them around his shoulders to plant the seed of a kiss on his lips. To grow from the place in which they are standing, watered by memories. Returning the kiss briefly, Changkyun looks up at the sky before laughing.

“I won!” He says with all the excitement in the world, but she cuts him off as she slips out of the pool, reaching for the towels they had placed on one of the seats nearby.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s get out of here before you get sick.”

With the biggest towel wrapped around both of them, his arms caging her to his chest as he stands behind her, walking after her trail, she thinks that all the things that went wrong were only meant to unite them more. This is a song that she will never forget, the shivering of his body behind her as they leave a trail of water behind her, something that the maids at the expensive hotel will probably complain about as they move through the lobby, both the water from the pool and the rain mixing as they keep laughing the night away.

The lessons she has learned in life have always been tough, and in a way, she blames herself for always staying. In the same job. Almost in the same house with Jiyoung. Always clinging to the past, with ex-boyfriends…and with Changkyun, one of the few people that rarely disappointed her. Maybe, it is because Changkyun never quite forgot her that she stayed, or it was because she knew that she knew she’d never forget him if given the chance.

But with him by her side when they are nearing the elevator, she realizes that her life went wrong a hundred ways, but Changkyun is one of her best decisions. One that life put in her way and she always picked above everything else. Even above her dream.

The sound of his name being called makes him stop on his tracks, the towel almost slipping from her shoulders, retreating to look at the source of such noise. Seated by the lobby, on the immaculate-looking leather seats, are a group of people drinking from filled glasses of champagne, some with suits, others with dresses—all clearly more dolled up than the two youngest people there, Changkyun and herself.

“Long time no see!” Changkyun greets immediately, wrapping the towel entirely around his body, leaving her only with the small one she had around her waist, almost to shelter her from the prying eyes that had been sent her way when her best friend pulled away from her. Best friend that, if continuing down this path, may become her boyfriend once again.

A few handshakes, some bows, and Changkyun is back at being inspected by the socialites, some with smirks on their faces. For some reason, she feels as though Changkyun is a puppet to them—someone to bend to their will, but she may be just seeing them as villains out of conceptualizations she made inside her head. “I’m guessing the rain caught you and your friend when swimming.”

Changkyun’s chest shakes as he laughs, nodding at those words. “Kind of.”

The oldest looking man of the group takes a sip of his champagne before speaking. “I’m so glad to see you, we’re about to head towards a party right now…and given that your film is doing so great, I think we could introduce you to some people.”

Her body freezes when she hears those words—because a party that night doesn’t sound like a great idea. Changkyun had promised dinner, had spoken wonders about the music he had prepared for them to listen to, the tourism spots they are supposed to be visiting the next day, but Changkyun hums almost immediately. “I’d love to go.”

“I imagine your friend wants to go with you.” The same man concludes, and she wraps her arms around her chest when she is being stared at by the rich individuals in front of her. “I don’t think I’ve heard about you. Are you one of Changkyun’s longtime friends?”

“Yes, sir.” She answers, bowing uncomfortably before taking a breath in.

“It must be a delight to have known him while he was writing the masterpiece that is his movie.”

“Actually, we worked on it together—” The words escape her lips without much thought, but her heart skips a bit when Changkyun turns to look at her, eyes inspecting her expression silently.

“She means that she was there for me as I wrote it.” And there is an apology on his eyes—again, a plea to keep the secret that has given him the life he always wanted. Somewhere, Changkyun grew stronger…and that word is so damned, because he also did not change, just that his dream came true…and there is no more space for her in this world that has captured him.

“Yeah, Changkyun has always been a star in my eyes.” She tells, hoping that the weight of her words reaches him, nearing him with careful steps as she scans his face. Changkyun is not looking ahead but at her instead, and in the way her eyelids keep fluttering, she feels a force behind her ribcage that begs to be released in the form of a sob. So strong, she had been, coming back to him for an entire year, whenever he wanted, never asking for him…but maybe, it is time to leave that behind. “He was built for this world,” She whispers, loud enough for the people in front of them to listen. “And I am so happy he got this opportunity instead of anyone else.”

“Whoa,” One of the women there says. “That is really a friend.”

“Yeah.” She answers, extending her hand towards Changkyun whilst waving her fingertips. “Give me the keys, please. I’m going to grab my things before you go to the party.”

Finally downing the situation in which he is caught in, Changkyun lifts his hand in the air, as if asking for a second from the socialites before moving her to the side, standing right in front of the elevator, she presses the button to call for the elevator, her palm still opened to welcome the keys. “Wait, no. You can go to the party, too—”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why is it that you never integrate yourself into my life?”

Opening her lips in surprise, her hand comes up to cover the sarcastic cackle that leaves her lips, too short to even be coming from a place that does not speak about dread. “Me? Changkyun, I’ve spent an entire year following after your footsteps because you don’t look for me anymore. You don’t need me.” She speaks, not caring that the doors of the elevator open, shivering at the coldness of the lobby. “Do I even know you anymore? Because this is not the person that I had as a friend. I didn’t fall in love with all of…this.” Pointing at him as if he is an outcast, Changkyun shakes his head at her words.

“Hey, no, you’re mistaking it. You know how people will get if someone knows the truth—”

“I’m not asking for fame, Changkyun. I’m asking for my friend, I’m asking for you to settle for something. Do you want me as your girlfriend, your friend? Do you want people to see you around me?” Her voice is too fast, snatching the keys that had been dangling from his hands before sighing. “Changkyun…I’ve had people wreck me. A hundred times. It’s all I’ve known.” Her voice lowers, rubbing at her eyes when the tears start to appear, a shaky breath leaving her.

“Well, sorry for growing up. You gave up your dream for me, it’s not my fault that you don’t want me to live mine when you pushed me to do so.” Changkyun speaks, lowering his voice when his fingers wrap around her wrists to uncover her face.

“You know what? I should’ve expected it the moment you signed that contract that you’d break my heart.” She says, placing her fingers against the button of the elevator again, breaking her gaze from the man that she had given everything for—the one person that accompanied her through every moment of her life, only to abandon her. “And it’s okay, really. Do as you fucking please, but don’t drag me along with it—” Her name is called softly, but she walks inside the elevator, tapping the button uncontrollably as if that will make the doors close quicker. Something rips inside of her, her fingers clutching at her chest when a sob leaves her throat, soft, unheard of, but watched by him. “I’m not coming back to you anymore.”

With the doors closing, she expected him to stop her, but he didn’t. He let her go.

When she picked up her items, caging them in the confines of her bag with tears streaming down her face, she expected to hear raps of knuckles against the door, to have him begging for her to listen to him. He let her go, instead.

And when getting out of the elevator again, cladded in clothing, dry and with her bag in between her fingers, she expected to see Changkyun bothered, at the very least, but he was simply seated in between the socialites, drying himself up with his towel, only sparing her a glance when she appears in front of him, and once again, she feels as though it’s metaphorical. Only when she is in front of him, he remembers the weight of the heartbreak he had caused her.

The keys slip in between his fingertips and that man right there, seated in between the riches, with eyes that glisten as if money were in them, is not the man she knows. That’s not her friend. Not the man she loved. Not the man she stayed for. Yet, as she gets out of that hotel with the silence of him not following after her after so many opportunities to do so, she realizes that it was never his priority to go after her, but hers.

But she’s in love, and maybe she will always be. With this version of Changkyun and the previous one, with the one person that had kissed her soul as if it was supposed to be cherished…

Was that version even real?

#i.m scenarios #i.m #monsta x scenarios #monsta x #kpop scenarios #writing #the anti-love club #monsta x au #monsta x angst #monsta x fluff #i.m au #i.m angst #i.m fluff #last installment!!! which one was your favorite?

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restmyheadatnightcontent · 3 years

Text

febuwhump day 5 - ‘take me instead’

this is the product of me watching the witcher and the man from uncle repeatedly to get myself through lockdown so enjoy a little geraskefer as spies ft horrible creepy stregebor

geraskefer | 1414 words | cw: drugging, violence, referenced experimentation

_______________________________

He should have known it was too good to be true, he’d had a bad feeling ever since they had started the mission but he’d had no reason for that feeling so he’d just ignored it. Which was stupid – rule number one of being a spy is trust your gut.

It had been too easy, he and Geralt had snuck into the facility with relative ease, there were no guards to be seen, and he had cracked the safe with no trouble. They were on their way out with the files when they had turned down what they thought was an empty corridor only to be accosted by a swarm of guards. He and Geralt had managed to fire off a few shots but it wasn’t long before they had tackled him and were pressing a syringe into his neck.

He winces now at the memory of the cold metal sinking in. He hates it when they use drugs – it’s cheating. If you want a fight at least do it properly.

When whatever they had injected him with had worn off he awoke to find himself in a sterile laboratory, stripped almost naked and strapped to a cold operating table, with Geralt still unconscious on a table next to him. The fact that the other man was not yet awake means that they whoever has captured them were prepared for them and for Geralts mutuations. They had been lured into a trap and now Jaskier is just left wondering why.

He hopes that Yennefer had managed to get away, that she had heard the fight via the bugs that he knows she planted on him and Geralt before they left and she called in for help. As soon as he and Geralt had not made it to the agreed meeting point, he hopes that she had left her position and gone to get back up rather than trying to stage a dramatic rescue. But knowing Yennefer, its almost certainly the latter.

His fears are confirmed when the door opens and the guards carry in a familiar body. He tries to get a good look at her as they strap her down to table on his other side, and he cannot see any visible wounds. However his heart drops when he sees the dimeritium cuffs that have been placed around her wrists. Gods knows what they did to her in order to get them on but he knows it can’t have been pretty.

He turns his head back towards the ceiling and tries to figure out how the hell they are going to get out of this one. He waits for a sign that either of the other two are awakening but he is just met with the sounds of the steady breaths of his companions. Normally, that noise brings much comfort to him but only in the confines of their bedroom, here in the unfamiliar room it does nothing to soothe his nerves. He’s without his lockpicks which is making his escape from the table much harder. And whoever it is that has trapped them will be ready. They had measures in place for both Geralt and Yennefer, which means they knew about them and they managed to fake information well enough to fool Vesemir. They aren’t amateurs, whoever they are.

Before he can get much further in his investigations the door is opening again. He lifts his head to see an elderly man in a white coat coming into the room. He seems to be just an ordinary old man – grey hair and a small beard – he looks like someone you would walk past in the street. But as he gets closer, Jaskier gets a glimpse of something in his eyes. Or rather a lack of something – his eyes are cold and calculating and seem to devoid of any light. Paired with the almost hungry smile the man has on his face, they send a shudder running down Jaskiers spine.

“Hello Mr Pankratz,” he says “Yes, yes I know who you are and who you work for so let’s not bother with any of that feigning ignorance act I’ve no doubt you’re terrific at, hm?”

He walks up to Yennefer and Jaskier clenches his fists as the old mans hand lifts to stroke her face. “It’s such a pity that the others aren’t awake yet. I must have made a mistake with my calculations. But no worry, we’ve all got plenty of time to get to know one another.”

He turns back towards Jaskier and he finds himself staring again into the soulless eyes.

“Who the fuck are you and what the hell do you want?” Jaskier asks angrily.

“How rude of me, not introducing myself. I am Stregobor,” he says calmly. Jaskier has heard the name before but he can’t quite place where. The doctor continues“And as for what I want – well I am a scientist you see. And I have always been fascinated by your organisation, about the people that work there. About what is done to them.”

“Yes, yes, I know all about the Witchers and their mutations. I’ve been trying to recreate the process myself for many years but I have never quite managed to get it right – never managed to get them to stick. And now I have one of my own to study and practice on, as well as one of the most powerful mages on the Continent,” he says, with an air of fascination “Yes I think this is will be one of my most productive studies yet.

Of course that’s where Jaskier knows the name – Stregobor was the one responsible for Project Black Sun, the systematic murder of the young girls who were all born during the eclipse and all seemed to show the same strange mutations. He’d heard horror stories about the man from Renfri and that was well over 20 years ago. Gods knows what the man has been up to since then, but it can’t have been good.

Stregobor crosses over to Geralts prone form “I think I’ll start with this one, see if I can figure out what makes him so special.”

“No,” Jaskier says, struggling against his ties “no, you can’t.”

“Oh I think you’ll find I can dear boy. And there’s not a lot you can do to stop me.”

“Take me instead. You won’t find out anything from him – from either of them – but I’ll tell you everything you want to know,” he pleads. He knows it’s stupid, showing his hand this early, letting Stregobor know how much they both mean to him but he doesn’t care if it means that they will be safe, that Stregobor won’t touch them.

“How sweet,” Stregobor says coming to stand next to Jaskier’s head. His hand comes to rest on Jaskier’s cheek and Jaskier flinches away from the contact. “I’ll tell them that you offered up yourself in their place, I think it will help lessen the pain. Or perhaps it will make it worse, who knows.”

He leans in closer and Jaskier can feel the other mans breath ghosting his cheek “You see, I am going to study them but I have much, much bigger plans for you, my boy. With everything I learn from them, from their bodies, I’ll finally be able to perfect my experiments and I’m going to use it to transform you into the perfect fighter. And then you’re going to kill them for me.”

He can see the images in his mind but the thoughts feel unfamiliar in his head, and he realises that Stregobor must be placing them in there, showing Jaskier his plans. Jaskier holding a sword in one hand, knife in the other, walking towards Geralt and Yen. He can hear their pleas as he pushes the knife in, feels their blood coat his hands, their eyes filling with tears as they stare at him, mouths open in shock as he twists the knife—

“No. No,” Jaskier whispers “I won’t.”

“Oh but you will,” he says and then he is calling for the guards and Geralt is being wheeled away.

“If you touch so much as a single hair on his head, I will burn you and this place to the ground,” Jaskier growls. He struggles against the bindings holding him to the table as he watches Geralt’s white hair disappear through the door.

He’s going to get them out of this and stop Stregobor if it’s the last thing he does.

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday5 #the witcher #the witcher fic #geraskefer #geraskefer fic #geralt x yennefer x jaskier #geralt #yennefer #jaskier #my writing #my fic

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fanfic-corner · 3 years

Text

Wrapped In Red

Merry Christmas, @masterofevilmonkeyness! I’ve really enjoyed writing your secret santa for @destielsecretsanta2020 this year, and it has actually ended up being the longest fic I have ever written!

First of all, here’s the playlist. My friend found some perfect songs for the different scenes, and we had a lot of fun trying to find songs with specific vibes!

Without further ado, here’s the fic. And, if you’d prefer, the link to it on AO3.

{o0o}

“So you’ll do it?” his brother’s voice crackles though Dean’s cracked phone, and he sighs. So yeah, maybe he hasn’t been on a case in a while and has been going slowly insane just hanging around the bunker, but he also doesn’t want to leave Cas alone. Since his grace had faded completely a few days ago, the former angel had hardly left his room, and Dean wasn’t sure what he could do to help.

He rubs his forehead, already feeling a headache coming on simply from this conversation, and replies, “I’ll ask Cas.”

“Okay, text me if you’re going,” Sam responds, the phone making the muffled noises that Dean has learnt means that he is holding his phone on his shoulder, freeing his hands to talk to Eileen.

“Stop worrying, anyway,” Dean tells him, cracking his back as he stands up. “You’re on holiday. Leave the cases for a while, and I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

“Alright, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Dean slips his phone into his back pocket and wanders down the hallway, so engrossed in his plan to invest in some thick socks because the bunker floor is freezing that he nearly walks straight into Cas. His dark hair sticks up in every direction and he is wearing an old Zeppelin shirt of Dean’s and a pair of Sam’s sweatpants, which look like they are being held up by some kind of miracle. Paired with the bags under his eyes which are so dark that Dean mistakes them for bruises, he could be mistaken for a ghost.

“Hey, uh,” Dean stutters, not sure what to say. “Sam has a case that I was thinking of going on, but we don’t have to, we can just pass it on to Garth or-”

“I’ll go with you,” Cas interrupts, his voice hoarse and croaky.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You don’t look...great. No offense.”

“I’m fine, Dean.” Cas’ steely blue eyes had always been able to pull off a frighteningly good stare, and Dean just decides to go along with it. It would do them both good to get out of the bunker, in any case.

“Okay,” he agrees, “shall we go in about an hour? That’ll give me enough time to pack for both of us and you enough time to have a shower.”

Cas nods, and they part ways, Dean watching the angel hoist his borrowed pants up and disappear around the corner before shaking his head and fishing his phone out to text Sam.

We’ll take it. Send me the details, setting off in an hour.

{o0o}

Dean had tried his very best to hold a conversation when they set off on the fourteen hour drive, but he had long given up and they were only at the two hour mark. Every question he asked so far had either gone unanswered or had been graced with a monosyllabic response. It was like trying to hold a conversation with a brick wall. Well, no one could fault him for trying.

Flicking his wrist out lazily, he turns on the radio without looking with the kind of graceful expertise that only comes from years of driving his baby at night. It takes a full ten seconds for him to realise that the sound of jingle bells is coming from the speakers before he groans. “Nope.”

A surprisingly warm hand shoots out to stop him before he can turn it off, and Dean looks up in surprise at Cas’ imploring face. “Please can we listen to it?”

Considering what the dude had lost recently - and the fact that apparently his puppy eyes are almost as effective as Sam’s - Dean was hardly going to deny him this one thing. He did, however, have one condition. “Okay, I’ll leave it on, but only if you fish out my Christmas mixtape from the box.”

Dean never took his eyes off the road, but he was acutely aware of the way Cas stared at him for a moment before excitedly rummaging through the old box of tapes. Eventually, he pulls it out, admiring the battered stickers and fading drawings that he and Sam had added when they made it all those years ago. Cas gently slides it in and the first few notes of Mariah Carey grace the air.

“Hell yeah,” Dean says, grinning wildly. “You, Castiel, are about to be educated in some proper Christmas music.”

By the time the mixtape finishes, they are both in a much better mood, so Dean decides it is probably a good idea to stop for a little bit to get some snacks and some gas. Frowning, Cas informs him that he needs the toilet, before disappearing towards the nasty looking bathroom. Dean can’t help but feel bad for him; as much as he loves being human, he knows it must be annoying to suddenly have the weird experience of a human body. They always seemed to hurt or need something, and he could tell that Cas found the whole thing incredibly repetitive and exasperating.

The gas station is like every other gas station Dean has ever seen; empty, with a layer of grime that seemed to cover everything and the bright lights that ensured that no matter what time of day it was, it always seemed to look the exact same. This one, however, is also covered in Christmas decorations. Glittery tinsel and rainbow paper chains swing from the ceiling, the air conditioning coaxing them into a gentle dance. Fake snow covers every surface, and flashing fairy lights force him to blink and look away.

Dean moves on autopilot, picking up snacks that Cas hasn’t tried yet and a couple of bottles of water, before reaching the counter. He has to yell to the cashier - who is decked out in a festive jumper and Santa hat - in order to be heard over the deafening Christmas music.

“Here,” she practically sings, disappearing into the back room for a second before reappearing with a ridiculous pair of reindeer antlers. “These are for you, sweetie! No charge. Cheer up, it’s Christmas!”

Dean tries to refuse the antlers, but the lady - Lucy, her name tag reads - is not taking no for an answer, so eventually he gives in, telling himself that it is just so he can leave this Christmas Hell and get back to driving. Cas is waiting for him outside, leaning on the car and watching as the first few flakes of snow start to fall.

Dean hesitates for a moment before offering the antlers to him. Cas just stares at them, his head tilted to one side. Sighing, Dean just steps closer and puts them on Cas’ head, laughing when the bells jingle as he tries to look up at them without taking them off. He slips his phone out and sneaks a picture of the bewildered former angel, hastily putting it away and bundling Cas in the car so that they can set off before the snow gets too bad.

“Why did you give me a pair of fake antlers, Dean?” Cas asks as they set off, turning them over and inspecting them in his hands. Much to Dean’s dismay, they wouldn’t fit in the car.

“Thought you liked Christmas stuff?” he replies, grinning.

“What do fabric antlers have to do with Christmas?”

And so, Dean finds himself spending the last leg of the journey attempting to explain Christmas traditions to Cas, who can’t help interrupting and pointing out the real facts, rather than Dean’s Christmas cracker knowledge. They go over Santa and his reindeers (“reindeers can’t fly, Dean”), the birth of Jesus (“I remember Balthazar telling me about that”), and mince pies (“why are they sweet? Mince isn’t supposed to be sweet.”). By the time they arrive Dean is so eager to escape the onslaught of questions that he doesn’t know the answer to, he hits someone with the car door as he gets out.

The actual reason that they have driven into the middle of absolutely nowhere dangerously close to Christmas is because a couple had gone missing last week and hadn’t been seen since. Usually, they would assume that this case wasn’t their kind of thing, but Sam had been asked to check it out by another hunter who knew them (and who apparently had some beef with a ton of shapeshifters), and so here they are..

Dean suggests that FBI agents might be a bit too suspicious for a small town in the middle of nowhere, so instead he and Cas decide to pretend that they are just family visiting them for the weekend. They knock on next door under the pretense of asking for the spare key, and are greeted by possibly the grumpiest people Dean has ever met.

“Fine,” the lady snaps, the half of her face visible from behind the door frowning at them in disgust before turning back into the house. “Harold, get the spare key for next door!”

“Do you happen to know where they have gone?” Dean asks politely, the pleasant smile on his face starting to ache.

“No.”

Cas raises his eyebrows at Dean, before he tries. “When was the last time you saw them?”

The woman huffs impatiently. “Probably when they went to that stupid office Christmas party. We could hear the music from here. It was so inconsiderate.”

“Oh,” Dean replies, sharing a look with Cas. “Where was this party?”

The door opens fully, a man appearing behind the lady - Harold, Dean assumes - who hands the key over to them. “It was those blasted Mitchells.” He turns to his wife, his bushy eyebrows raised. “Did you hear that they are throwing another goddamn party tomorrow, Ann?”

“Thanks for all your help,” Dean interrupts before they can get too carried away.

“Merry Christmas!” Cas adds, already backing away.

They speedwalk back across the victims’ house, making sure that the neighbours’ door is shut before they completely break down laughing. Dean can barely open the door, but when he finally manages to correctly align the key in the lock, they both tumble into the front room, shaking uncontrollably.

Dean collapses next to the couch, sliding to the floor. He takes a couple of deep breaths before managing to speak. “Sounds like we’re going to your first Christmas party, Cas.”

{o0o}

After making their way through most of the people in the town, two things have been made very clear. First of all, the last anyone had seen of the victims - Adam and Amelia Knapp - was at their office Christmas party. Which nearly everyone in the town had been at, and yet no one knew anything remotely helpful. Secondly, there was another Christmas party being held tomorrow night by the somewhat popular Mitchell family, and the chances of their mystery monster striking were high, in Dean’s opinion.

The most logical course of action would be for Dean and Cas to pretend to be guests at the party, so they could stop their creature before anyone else went missing and then they could disappear back home in time for Christmas. However, Dean had found that nothing in his life could ever be that simple, so instead he found himself standing in front of a wide array of hats, trying to wrestle a fez away from a former angel of the Lord.

Because of course it had to be a costume party, and just as the icing on the cake, it had to be a couples only costume party.

“Dude,” Dean says, finally managing to wrench the fez from Cas’ iron grip, “if we’re wearing hats, at least try a good hat.”

Dean plops an example on Cas’ head, laughing as it slips over his eyes. “These aren’t Christmassy, Dean.”

“Sure they are,” Dean says, grabbing a hat more in Cas’ size and a matching one for him. He strolls over to the till, grabbing a couple more things on the way. “You’ll see.”

Since they have a few hours to kill before the actual party, Dean decides that they can waste some of the day doing some Christmas shopping, especially after he finds out that Cas hasn’t got any presents yet. He drives them to a nearby mall, throws Cas a handful of notes and his antlers, and gives him strict instructions to buy some presents and then meet Dean in the food court in an hour.

“Why can’t we do it together?” Cas asks, and Dean could swear he was pouting.

“Because the presents are supposed to be a surprise,” he explains, shooing Cas away with his hands. “Look, I’ll see you in an hour, and if you need anything you can just call me, ‘kay?”

Cas nods and meanders off, disappearing into the crowd without further complaint.

It is nearly ten minutes later, while he is rummaging through some shirts in an attempt to find one in Sam’s size, when Dean realises that this is the first time that Cas has been alone since he lost his grace. A sudden jolt of panic rushes through him, and he has to force himself to take a deep breath.

Castiel was older than humanity. He had led armies of angels. He had fought against demons and archangels and every monster under the sun. He could handle buying a few Christmas presents.

But, at the same time, Dean can’t help but worry. The dude has questionable social skills at best, and he is still trying to get to grips with his brand new human body. He often has to be reminded to eat or drink water or sleep, and there were several embarrassing occasions in the beginning where he had forgotten entirely.

Dean’s hand itches, his fingers curling towards his back pocket, but he resists the urge to call and check up on Cas. He doesn’t need a babysitter. He tells himself that he should just get his presents for people and then he can meet back up with Cas as soon as possible.

The mall is packed, the usual last rush as people get the last few things they need for Christmas. Conversations and the sound of toddlers crying fight to be heard over the echoing music, festive music adding to the deafening noise. While dodging people, making his way to their meeting place, Dean tries to remember the last time he was in a mall. Certainly not recently - he thinks it may be some time before he met Cas - and he definitely doesn’t remember them making him feel this claustrophobic. The sea of people pushing against him makes him want to throw up, and he finds himself having to duck into the nearest shop to avoid the crowd, shutting his eyes and leaning heavily against a railing.

“Dean?” a deep, familiar voice asks him, concerned. “Are you alright?”

Dean cracks one eye open, laughing when he realises what shop he found Cas in. He knew he should never have introduced him to Hot Topic. “I’m fine, Cas. Just hungry.” he deflects, standing up straight and patting his friend on the shoulder.

Cas gives him a look that says ‘I know you’re lying but I’m going to let you get away with it just this once’ and instead says, “Let me pay for this, and then we can go and get some lunch.”

Not even twenty minutes later, Dean is watching Cas eat a taco for the first time and has completely forgotten that he ever felt bad, because he is laughing too hard to care. Cas looks highly bemused at the stain on his precious trench coat, but Dean thinks that, secretly, he doesn’t mind.

{o0o}

There is no question that they are in the right place when they pull up outside the address they were given a few hours later, if the ridiculous amount of fairy lights and assorted decorations are anything to go by. They can’t help but stare at the blinding display for a moment, before Dean turns to Cas to make sure he remembers the plan. “Okay, so we go in, find our mystery monster-”

“Sam thinks it is a shapeshifter.” Cas interrupts.

“Okay, so we grab this shifter, gank it, grab some food on the way out and then drive home in time for Christmas. You remember the cover story?”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Yes, Dean. We’re the Bassons, and we’re thinking about moving here. Do I need to repeat the rest?”

“Alright then, you ready?” Dean intertwines his fingers with Cas’ - in order to keep their cover, obviously - takes a deep breath, and then opens the door.

A wave of heat rolls out from the crowded house, contrasting with the painfully cold air outside. As they step inside, Dean picks up a delicious smell wafting in from the kitchen, a mixture of turkey and cranberry sauce and mulled wine and gravy. The third thing he notices is the music blaring in from the other room, loud enough that he can feel the vibrations thrum through his body. He laughs when he realises what song it is. Space Cowboy; he couldn’t have picked a more fitting song.

After they had come home from their spontaneous shopping spree, Dean had spent an hour making the perfect couple’s costume. Considering the only supplies he had were ones he had picked up from the dollar store, he was actually pretty impressed with his handiwork. Both him and Cas were wearing their normal fed suits, however, it was the hats that really sold it. Dean had affixed - using an alarming amount of superglue - a strand of purple and blue glittery tinsel to his cowboy hat, and a set of fully functional Christmas lights to Cas’.

Cas had protested at first - “How are cowboys Christmas related, Dean?” - until he had been convinced by the hidden practicality of it: any weapons they brought with them could be written off as part of the costume. Also, cowboys are awesome. Dean has yet to find someone who can prove him wrong on that point.

Cas squeezes Dean’s hand to get his attention, nodding towards two people who appear to be the hosts of the party. The music shifts into some Christmas classic, and they make their way over so they can start ruling people off the list of suspects.

An hour later, Dean officially decides that he is never attending a Christmas party again. Luckily, they’ve only had to deal with one homophobe, who Dean ‘accidentally’ dropped a whole plate of food on, but that doesn’t mean that none of the other guests are driving him up the wall. It seems that everyone is slightly drunk apart from them, and the only reason Dean hasn’t joined in is because of the dirty looks Cas sends him every time he so much as glances towards the punch bowl.

It’s the karaoke that does him in. Cas is somewhere (Dean couldn’t tell if he genuinely needed the bathroom, or if that was his attempt at saying he was going to scout the house) and there is a woman wearing a skimpy reindeer outfit and wailing along to Last Christmas. God only knows what caused her to get on top of the table and join in while crying, but Dean suspects the answer includes lots of alcohol and the fact that the man who she had arrived with had disappeared upstairs with an elf some time earlier. Her rendition certainly isn’t going to win any awards.

With Cas not there to see, Dean manages to finish two plastic cups worth of surprisingly nice punch before he can be stopped. Considering the dude has flashing lights on his head, Cas can be remarkably sneaky when he wants to be.

“Dean, I don’t think-”

“Oh, what wonderful costumes!” a woman interrupts, and Dean forces a smile back on his aching face before he turns around to face her, just in time to see wink at him. She is wearing a green dress and is covered in baubles and tinsel, and the man standing next to her is literally wearing a massive cardboard box, wrapped to look like a present. It takes all of Dean’s self control not to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it.

“Thank you,” Cas says, and Dean wraps an arm around his waist in order to confirm that they are, in fact, a couple. The few times he had touched Castiel, he had been cold; it had felt like touching a corpse. As a human, Cas was like a hot water bottle, and even though the house was boiling, Dean couldn’t help but latch onto him whenever the opportunity arose.

“I’m Natasha,” the woman continued, staring at Dean in what he had to assume was her version of ‘seductive’ and completely ignoring Cas. “Oh, and this is Cole,” she adds as an afterthought.

Cole also winks at Dean. He has never felt so uncomfortable in his life, and he went to Hell. Although, he has also never had both members of a couple separately flirt with him while fake dating someone else.

“I’m Dean, and this is Cas,” he replies, pulling the former angel even closer into him. “My husband.”

“Oh,” Cole says, and Dean doesn’t think he is imagining the disappointed tone.

“Sorry,” Natasha adds, not sounding in any way apologetic. “I didn’t realise you were a couple!”

Dean didn’t think he could make it more obvious, but… if she didn’t believe them, then they might be at risk of blowing their cover. There were already at least seven people who had been avoiding them after the usual weird questions and some not quite realistic ploys to get them to touch a silver coin that they had brought with them.

“Why’s that?” he asks, and regrets the question almost as soon as it comes out of his mouth.

“For starters,” Natasha proclaimed, way too eager for this to end well. “You’ve been standing under mistletoe this whole time and haven’t kissed!”

Dean’s whole body freezes as they both look up, and sure enough, the bastard plastic plant is hanging directly over their heads.

“I didn’t realise,” Cas says, somewhat dazedly.

Dean takes a deep breath - there’s nothing they can do now, not with these nosy, weirdass people watching and waiting and expecting a kiss - and pulls Cas closer, turning to face him so their bodies are pressed together. In the dim lights, the lights on Cas’ hat make his startling blue eyes twinkle like starlight, and Dean wonders how he never saw how gorgeous he was before now. Maybe he had, and it had just been buried along with everything else.

“Dean,” Cas’ low voice rumbles, but he doesn’t finish his sentence.

Kissing a man is not so different to kissing a woman, and Dean can’t help but notice how much he likes the feeling of Cas’ chapped lips on his own. Something lights up inside him like a firework, and he realises exactly how much he wanted - no, needed this. He feels better than he has in a long time, as if a missing puzzle piece had suddenly slotted into place.

Cas pulls away first, and Dean’s mind suddenly catches up with his body. Holy shit, he just kissed Cas. He barely registers Natasha and Cole walking away, still transfixed by the fact he finds a former angel of the Lord - who is a man - devastatingly handsome.

“Dean. Dean, are you okay?” It is only the feeling of Cas’ body heat leaving him that gets him to look down, absentmindedly fixing the shorter man’s hat.

“Yeah,” Dean replies, choking on the words. “Yeah, I just gotta - I’m just gonna…”

And, like a complete and utter cowardly dick, he walks away.

{o0o}

It has been twenty minutes, so Dean can be fairly certain that Cas isn’t gonna come looking for him. Which is fine. It’s not like he was expecting him to. They only kissed to keep up the pretense, and Dean’s weird behaviour has probably ruined that anyway. It meant nothing.

The problem is that Dean can’t stop thinking about how amazing it had felt to kiss Cas. He had tasted like mulled wine and honey and the promise of a thousand lazy mornings. It had felt like flying and drowning all at once. Dean had never understood when people had described kisses as things that had nothing to do with the act, like earthquakes or lightning or fireworks, but the only way he could explain the ecstasy he had felt when their lips had touch was an act of God.

And that thought only spiraled into another: Dean had kissed an angel of the Lord. An angel. Even though Cas was human now, he still remembered the birth of existence and every word that came out of his mouth was fueled by eons of knowledge and memories and experience. He held himself with a grace that only a true warrior can execute, and to him, Dean must seem so small. How insignificant was he compared to that brilliant man?

Finally, there it is. The real issue. Castiel is a man.

It had taken some time, but Dean had taught himself, eventually, that John Winchester was a terrible parent. In fact, it was generous to call him a parent at all. It was Dean who had raised Sam, raised himself. And, even now, he couldn’t help but fall back into his old mindset, into an old version of Dean who would have done anything for his father’s approval. But, if he is being honest with himself - and, let’s be frank, it’s about time - Castiel was not the first man he had liked. He probably wasn’t even the third.

In that moment, Dean decides that he doesn’t want to be a coward any longer. If he never expected his life to be a long one, then it is all the more reason to go for what he wants now, rather than later.

Yeah, maybe he’ll lose Cas, but… the possibility of what could await him if Cas does reciprocate is far more frightening than the former angel laughing in his face.

{o0o}

Castiel considers himself very knowledgeable in Dean Winchester’s emotions. He knows exactly how long to avoid Dean after eating a slice of his pie, he knows that he can hold full conversations with just a look, and, as an example, he knows that after their kiss, Dean Winchester was panicking. Badly.

That was fine. Castiel was fine with that. It wasn’t like he had been secretly in love with a man who had repeatedly called him a brother for over ten years. Nothing like that.

Sighing, Cas gently puts his paper plate on the corner of the kitchen table, the food he had been so excited to try half an hour ago now making his stomach roll. He figured that Dean had just needed some air; he would cool down, shove all of his emotions down in true Winchester fashion, and then return and pretend that nothing ever happened. The problem wasn’t just with the fact that Cas would very much be remembering that kiss until the day he died, but that Dean had been a really long time.

Time moves differently now that he was human. As an angel, everything seemed to move so much faster. There was always something to do, the faint crackling of angel radio like a comforting background noise or a million particles to study. A blink of his eye and a century could have passed, and yet here he is, thirty minutes feeling like an eternity.

It’s by the time Cas has checked every room downstairs that he really starts to worry.

Dean is not in the kitchen stuffing his face, and he is not in the dining room drinking punch, and he is not dancing to the rather annoying upbeat song that is playing in the living room. He is not in the hallway, or on the stairs, or in the bathroom. When Cas starts asking, people give conflicting answers. A bauble saw him go upstairs, a Christmas tree could swear he was in the kitchen, an elf insists that he went outside.

Since it is the only place he hasn’t checked, Cas heads outside. There, on the floor, is Dean’s stupid hat, the tinsel loose on one side, dangling pathetically into a puddle of melted snow.

Cas immediately calls Sam, who picks up surprisingly quickly. “Cas? What’s up?”

“ImighthavekissedDeanandnowIdon’tknowwhereheis-”

“Cas, slow down,” Sam urges, forcing Cas to take a deep breath before continuing.

“We’re, uh, at a couples’ only party, and we had to kiss and then Dean freaked out but he’s been gone for ages and I think he is in trouble,” Cas says, only marginally slower than before.

“Shit. Okay, send me the address. We’re on our way.”

Sam, Cas thinks as he tries a door handle that he missed before, is excellent at coming up with plans. Maybe it’s the time spent in college, maybe it’s his years of hunting experience, but even over the phone he had pointed out things that Cas had failed to spot. Like, for example, the door to the basement.

Cas turns the phone flashlight on like Dean taught him, the beam still not strong enough to light up the impenetrable darkness. The music fades to a distant hum in the background, becoming distorted and frantic as Cas feels. His eyes have barely adjusted enough to see the familiar but unconscious form on the ground - “Dean?” - before something solid connects with the back of his head, and Cas tumbles forwards, crumpling at the bottom of the stairs.

{o0o}

“Cas?”

Cas groans. When he had finally fallen completely, he had been surprised by how much being human hurts. Something always aches, and everything is so easy to damage. Even the smallest of injuries - a stubbed toe or a papercut - hurts way more than it should.

Apparently, a combination of blunt force trauma to the back of the head and the general bruises one acquires from falling down a flight of stairs hurt a lot more than a stubbed toe.

“Hey, buddy, you okay?” A familiar voice asks, and Cas tries to turn his head so that he can see Dean, instead finding out that that particular head movement causes his vision to blur and swim. When he attempts to bring his hands up to survey the damage, he can’t understand why they don't move for a moment, before his brain finally manages to catch up and he remembers the night’s events.

So, maybe he wasn’t expecting his first kiss with Dean to be followed by being kidnapped and tied up in a basement, but this is a Winchester they are talking about here.

“Come on, talk to me here.” Dean says, sounding worried.

Cas swallows, aiming to say something to ease Dean’s concern and instead causing a coughing fit. “I’m fine,” he eventually manages to gasp.

Dean snorts. “Sure sound like it.”

They are silent for a moment, the only sounds in the room an echoing drip and Cas’ raspy breaths. Cas isn’t sure how long they have been down there, but since Dean isn’t wriggling about in an attempt to escape, it has probably been long enough that he has already checked whether or not he can untie himself. From what Cas’ fumbling fingers can tell, though, the knots keeping them bound to this stupid pole are very good.

He feels utterly pathetic. He used to be a soldier - he had led armies, fought battles that humans couldn’t even comprehend - and here he was now, entirely useless, taken out by a baseball bat and kept prisoner by a length of rope. If he was still an angel this would have never happened. He could have saved Dean, he would have killed whoever did this, and they would have been back in time to enjoy the end of the party.

“What do we do now?” Cas asks, finally breaking the silence.

Dean sighs, and Cas can feel him against his back as his whole body sags down. “I don’t think there’s anything we can do but wait.”

Cas didn’t think he had ever heard Dean give up so easily, and it scared him. “What?”

“I don’t exactly see a way out of this, Cas. I’ve been trying to get these ropes off for half an hour and I think they’re probably just tighter than they were when I started.”

Cas gave an experimental yank, and Dean hissed in pain. Suddenly, the wetness on Cas’ hands made sense. “You’re bleeding, Dean.”

The hunter didn’t reply.

Cas had always thought that his death would be noble. Previously, it had always at least been in battle or a sacrifice, but this was just… pitiful. He was going to die at the hands of some random shapeshifter in someone’s disgusting basement, while wearing a cowboy costume.

“I - uh, I just wanted to say,” Dean starts, sounding unsure, “that I’m sorry about earlier.”

“It’s fine, Dean,” he replies, shutting his eyes in an attempt to block out the conversation. If he was going to die, he would rather not be rejected first.

“It was a dick move,” Dean continues, as if he hadn’t heard Cas. “I was just - I mean - I want to say…”

“What, Dean?”

Dean’s voice is barely a whisper. “I think I’d like to kiss you again.”

Cas’ eyes snap back open, and he hits his head on the pole in his confusion. “You would?”

“You don’t… I thought… I mean, I’m just kid-”

“Shut up,” Cas interrupts, not wanting Dean to panic all over again. “I would like that.”

“Oh. Really? Okay,” Dean replies, and Cas shuffles around until he manages to hold his hand. It’s sticky and wet with blood where Dean’s wrists have been hurt by the ropes, and every aching muscle in Cas’ body screams at the awkward position, but he thinks it might still be the happiest he has ever been.

{o0o}

Dean isn’t sure how long it is until he hears the footsteps on the stairs, but it’s long enough for him to feel much too tired for a fight. Can’t the universe just let him be happy for once? Is it too much to ask to not have to fight tooth and claw for one scrap of peace?

“Well, hello there,” a man’s voice says, and Dean feels Cas stiffen. It sounds oddly familiar, but he can’t quite place his finger on where he would have heard it before.

That is, until a second voice speaks. “What have we got here, Harold?”

The next-door neighbours. The old couple who had been complaining about the parties. Of course the only two people in this godforsaken town who they hadn’t checked were the bad guys. He should have seen it. They should have asked them more questions when they weren’t tied to this stupid pole in this stupid fucking basement.

“A pair of cowboys, Ann,” Harold tuts, and Dean cannot believe he is about to be killed by a weird old couple, of all things. He had prevented the apocalypse at least twice, had defeated God, and yet he was going to be killed by the monster of the week. Who looked like they were about three hundred years old, owned fifty cats and knitted in their spare time.

Ann walks around them, her heels clacking on the stone floor, until she comes to a stop in front of Dean. “What a shame,” she says, looking down at him like he was a stain on her shoe. “I was hoping we’d get a crier. Men rarely cry. Apart from that last fellow, of course.”

Dean’s stomach rolls, and he suddenly regrets eating so many pigs in blankets at the party.

“What are you?” Cas practically growls, his hand squeezing Dean’s to comfort him.

“Whatever do you mean, son?” Harold asks, and he sounds genuinely confused.

Oh shit, Dean thinks, letting out an amused huff of breath. Great. He isn’t even going to be killed by the monster of the week. He’s gonna be killed by an actual old person.

“Is something funny, sweetie?” Ann demands, frowning.

Dean smiles up at her, deciding that he may as well die how he lived: a snarky bastard. “Sorry, I just can’t believe that I got kidnapped by someone’s grandma.”

Ann steps closer to him, crouching down so she is his height. A sliver of silver reflects in the dim light like a shooting star, slicing downwards and cutting a thin line across Dean’s neck. “Don’t give me cheek, boy.”

“Let’s kill the other one first, sweetheart. Then that rude fella has to watch his boyfriend die.” Harold suggests, spitting out the word ‘boyfriend’ like it physically hurts him.

Dean clutches Cas’ hand tighter, trying not to let the panic that is welling up inside him, cold and merciless, show on his face. He tugs desperately at the ropes around his wrists one more time, hoping for a miracle that he knows isn’t coming.

“Say goodbye, now.” Ann says, and Dean shuts his eyes. He knows that he can’t deal with losing Cas again, even if he’ll be gone soon after. He spares a brief thought wondering where Cas will go when he dies; is he human enough to avoid the Empty? And even so, would he go to Heaven or Hell?

“I love you, Cas,” Dean whispered, because even though he is scared, he knows that Cas deserves to know.

If Cas says anything back, Dean doesn’t hear it over the gunshot.

{o0o}

Dying was not a new experience for Castiel, nor was dying as a human. What was a new experience was the pain he felt in his chest that no bullet or knife could replicate. It was the knowledge that he had the opportunity to be happy and it had been ripped from him. It was knowing that someone loved him and cared for him and was being taken away from him.

When Harold dropped dead instead of Cas, his heart fluttered. Maybe he did have a chance.

“Dean, are you alright?” Sam’s voice calls out, and Cas finally allows himself to relax slightly.

“Sam?” Dean asks, surprise and confusion and relief all mixed together.

Eileen appears from nowhere and stoops down, grinning at Cas and slicing through the ropes. She winks at him but doesn’t say anything, simply helping him to his feet when it becomes obvious he can’t do it by himself. Sam has backed Ann into the corner of the room, his gun pointed at her with an unwavering hand, but Dean whispers something in his ear and he lowers it slightly. He signs something over his shoulder, not even glancing away from the threat, and Eileen rushes off upstairs, essentially shoving the injured Castiel into Dean’s side.

“Hey, buddy, you okay?” Dean asks gently, wrapping his arm around Cas’ waist to hold him up. His wrists are still bleeding and they are both cold from sitting in a freezing basement for ages, but the simple action fills Cas with a warmness.

“I’ve been in love with you for twelve years, you assbutt,” he mumbles.

Dean smiles down at him, somehow looking charming even covered in dirt and blood, only looking up when Sam clears his throat.

“Look, we should get out of here,” Sam suggests, standing up. He’s tied Ann to the same post that they thought would be their deathbed only a few minutes ago, and he is shooing them towards the stairs back up to the party. “Eileen’s getting someone to call the cops and we don’t wanna be here when they arrive.”

Cas ducks down, for a moment, holding Dean’s hand so he doesn’t completely keel over, and grabs the two hats off the ground. Reaching up, he puts his on before gently placing Dean’s on his head. The tinsel is falling off on one side, the lights have run out of battery, and they are both caked in dirt, but it still makes Dean smile.

“Let’s go home,” Dean says, leaning down and softly kissing Cas.

{o0o}

Much to Dean’s surprise, Sam and Eileen said nothing about his new relationship with Cas. In fact, when he tried to bring it up - he knew Sam had seen them kissing for Christ’s sake - Sam just shook his head and rolled his eyes at Dean. “Jody owes me fifty dollars,” was all he said, and their discussion was over.

Cas didn’t seem too perturbed by the whole situation, and Dean found himself wondering whether it was just him who found their new relationship strange. Not that anything much had changed, for that matter. They both behaved the exact same way, with added kissing. So what if Sam thought Dean was weird for still calling Cas ‘buddy’? He wasn’t the one dating a former angel.

What Dean had decided, after their fun little kidnapping escapade, was that Cas deserved an awesome Christmas. It was his first one as a human, after all, and what kind of boyfriend would Dean be if he didn’t show Cas all the wonders of the holiday season?

And that is how they found themselves turning the drive home into a Christmas road trip.

Cas wore his reindeer antlers wherever possible, and Dean took a million photos of him. On the first day, they visited a Christmas market. Dean thought it was much too busy and annoying, but it was all worth it for the smile Cas had after drinking his first hot chocolate. On the second day, they went to a drive-in movie. Cas gave both the funniest and most irritating running commentary that Dean had ever heard, having to remind him every five minutes that “it’s a romcom, Cas. It’s not supposed to make sense.”

On Christmas Eve, they spent most of the day driving to make sure they got home in time for the dinner that Sam and Eileen had promised. They sang carols at full volume and blasted Christmas songs and Dean taught Cas how to play the air guitar. Dean couldn’t remember a time when he had felt such a sense of freedom and happiness. Maybe it was just a Christmas miracle.

Christmas day rolled around, and it was the nicest Christmas that Dean could remember having. Sam and Eileen had decorated the entire bunker with tinsel and streamers, and had even managed to bring in a huge tree from outside. So maybe not all the decorations on it were technically Christmas related, but the silver bullets were shiny and although no one was quite sure what the pentagram they were using a star on the top did, it looked pretty cool.

By the evening, they had eaten enough food to feed twenty people for a week and had exchanged presents. Sam was sitting at the table with his new fancy pens, Eileen had disappeared to take a shower with her new soaps, and Cas and Dean were firmly planted on the couch. Cas’ new fuzzy socks were warm and ticklish against Dean’s feet, and the angel was a surprisingly good cuddler.

All of a sudden, Dean sat up, dragging Cas with him. “Come on, dude. We should dance.”

Cas snorted but agreed, wrapping his arms around Dean tightly. They swayed slowly to the music, his head on Cas’ shoulder, gently singing along to the slow music.

Now you hang from my lips

Like the Gardens of Babylon

With your boots beneath my bed

Forever is the sweetest con.

Dean’s mouth twists into a smile. “I could spend forever with you,” he whispers, and he leans down to kiss his angel again.

#i hope you enjoy!#destiel #destiel secret santa #my writing #fanfic

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