#Not satisfied with Cross’s high school design it doesn’t feel right to me but I redid it like four times so this is how it is for now

[cheelduh]

How to Not Kill a Ginger (High School Au!)

Part 5 to the series hehehe

Parts: 1 2 3 4

Pairing: Childe x fem!reader

Synopsis: Childe’s stomach stirs when you take care of him, and he’s not sure if it’s because of his major crush on you or just plain old diarrhea.

Warnings: Swearing. Graphic descriptions involving the true idiocy of teenage boys.

Words: Abt 2.6k

Note: Sorry I sort of half assed this. I have big ideas for the next part tho ✨😮‍💨

If there's one thing you're sure of, it's that Teucer knows how to throw one hell of a tantrum.

Him and his brother, Anthon, under your watch, manage to get into a petty squabble that's been airing for the last fifteen minutes. You've done everything, from offering candy to promising an extra hour on the switch, but your efforts do not bear fruit.

What did you tell Childe again? Oh yeah, that babysitting kids was a breeze. Apparently it's not a breeze. Maybe something more like a shart. A chunky, messy one at that.

"Listen dude," You reason to Anthon, the oldest of the bunch gently. "Where did you hide his toy?"

Anthon sticks a tongue out at you, and you nearly cry at the intensity of the insult. "Not telling."

Your patience runs thin.

"C'mon Anthon," Tonia lectures from her chair on the table like the godsend she is. "Just give him his toy back. You're being so annoying." She's taking the words right out of your mouth.

"Not until he apologizes!" Anthon crosses his arms, huffing. "He ate my cheese string!"

"There are more cheese strings!" You exclaim, opening the fridge to prove your point. "I'm sure Teucer's sorry for taking yours. Just pick another one."

"But it's not the same! He took the last cheddar and mozzarella one, now there are only mozzarella ones left." He speaks in between Teucer's wails. You wonder if this is a daily occurrence.

Tonia sighs, gets up from her chair, and hands the eldest her cheese string. "Just take this and give him his toy back."

Almost immediately, Anthon reaches a hand behind the tv table and pulls out the miniature Mr. Cyclops, then throws it point blank at Teucer's feet.

Teucer wails louder.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, shoulders sagging under the stress of being a temporary teenage mother.

Then you take a deep breathe, voice booming over Teucer's cries, Anthon's grumbling, and the clicking of Tonia's tongue. "Let's make a cake!"

Everything in the room stills. Even Teucer's loud cries comes to a halt, and he inhales so sharply that the streak of snot over his lip goes right back into its origin.

You wince inadvertently.

"Poggers!" Anthon cheers, and his siblings join in, laughing and clapping in excitement.

Tonia's eyes widen in confusion when she briefly pauses from her rally. "Wait a minute. What are we celebrating? We can't bake a cake for no reason! It won't taste nearly as good."

Everyone stops to ponder.

Then you snap your fingers in realization, and the kids huddle around you. "How about a 'get well better' cake for your big brother?"

They erupt in cheers again, but you shush them gently, wink an eye for extra measure. "We have to be quiet! He won't get better if we wake him."

The three nod in understanding and begin shushing each other, failing to conceal their giggles.

As you watch them making their way into the kitchen, bounce in their steps, you can't stop the warm smile that reaches your eyes.

That smile soon becomes a frown of horror when Anthon cracks an egg over Tonia's head.

-

The cake is not half as bad as you thought it would be initially. Between mixing the ingredients and ceasing the kids minus Tonia from being menaces to society, you were able to find middle ground.

Eventually Anthon found interest in finding ways to lick the batter whenever you turned around, and Teucer found comfort in your left leg, latching onto it as if it were a life line.

Just like how Venti latches onto his stupid little bottle of wine disguised as a water bottle. Seriously, you’ve never talked to him sober, and at this point are afraid of what’s he’s like lucid.

Tonia had been the only one taking things seriously for the most part, except for the sprinkles-to-icing ratio. She drowned the entire cake in sprinkles, the mere sight adding on the ghost of an ache in your teeth.

It looks like twilight sparkles took a fat dump on it.

"Okay besties," You inwardly curse yourself for giving into Gen-Z vocabulary as you brush your hands on the apron. "I think we've done a pretty decent job."

"It looks so pretty!" Tonia grins widely, eyeing the edible pearls she strategically placed. She quickly strikes down a finger Anthon tried to poke into the icing, with the accuracy of a true warrior.

You shudder at the thought of Childe teaching her how to stab someone with safety scissors.

"Can we add candles?" Teucer asks, but Tonia clicks her tongue in distaste.

"It's not a birthday cake." She crosses her arms judgementally. The power in her glare reminds you of La Signora, strangely enough.

You ruffle his copper coloured locks anyways, and his grip on your thigh tightens. "We can add candles if you want Teucer."

He nods his head and snuggles deeper into the side of your leg. Your heart warms up considerably.

After the candles are poked in, you try to shrug him off. "C'mon dude, just for five minutes. You don't want me to drop the cake before your brother can get a bite do you?"

Reluctantly, he obliges, and runs off to help Tonia collect utensils to take up to Childe's room.

Anthon's on door duty, kicking away any toys that serve as obstacles in your way like a professional soccer player.

Once you four make it up the stairs in front of the designated room, Anthon doesn't bother knocking. He barges in like he owns the place, chin up high and a signature smirk on his face that he probably learnt from his older brother.

Childe fumbles awake, kicking the air whilst in shock by the chaotic sound of the door hitting the wall and Teucer screaming "Happy Birthday!" at the top of his miniature sized lungs as he runs in to plop right on top of his older brother.

His bewildered expression soon turns into something of a loving smile as he begins to process what is happening, eyes lighting up despite the deep bags that frame them.

Tonia places the plates on his side table, right next to the empty soup bowl you placed there earlier. She climbs up onto the bed as well to join in on the hug.

Anthon approaches at last, hands in his pockets as he coolly acknowledges his older brother. Instead of a bone-crushing hug like the other two are indulging in, his opts for a fist bump that Childe happily reciprocates.

Then finally, between the shield that are his siblings, his cerulean eyes land on your near the doorway, then trail down to the cake in your oven-mittened hands. He averts his gaze back to your own, and grins so wide his cheeks start to throb.

"Big brother! We made you cake." Teucer moves his head from his chest to face him. "So you can get better."

Childe's laughs ring in your ears, but you don't shy away from the sound. It's a pleasant, something that you wish to hear more of in the near future. Sure enough he laughs a lot at school, but the genuineness of it at home, surrounded by his siblings, stirs something deep within you.

"How thoughtful of you." He ruffles his hair, then his eyes widen as he ushers the two off of him. "You guys can't be near me! I don't want you to fall ill as well."

"But-but how will we feed you the cake without getting close to you?" Tonia frowns, and her two brothers nod in unison.

You chuckle lightly, approaching the bed with the cake in your hands. "I'm sure he has enough strength to feed himself. The hugs and kisses surely must've energized him."

To be honest, Childe's all green in the face and the last thing on his mind would be to indulge in the cake. You understand the feeling all to well. With his nose clogged up, throat all sore, there's no way he'll stomach it. It took a lot of nagging on your part to get him to finish the soup earlier as well.

He blows the candles anyways, clapping along his siblings and letting Tonia drop a fat chunk of the golden cake onto his plate. You find it endearing, regrettably so. His dedication to keeping their dreams is admirable in more ways than you can count.

This is the same guy that wears meme shirts to school, topped off with douchey sunglasses to give him a pristine vibe. The same guy that punches holes in walls like a Kyle. The very boy that flexes his toned biceps in-front of you during lunch time, successfully ruining your appetite.

"Wait a minute..." Childe inspects the cake closely, narrowing in on the candles. "Why is there an eleven?"

Teucer scratches his neck sheepishly. "Those were the only candles we had left."

After another short-lived laugh, Childe manages a bite as everyone stares in expectation, the sound of a tight crunch enveloping the room, making you grimace in secret. If Childe feels like puking out his guts right now, he's doing a hell of a job hiding it from his darling siblings.

You're glad nobody forces you to take a bite, or it would've been a double homicide right then and there.

Soon enough, one by one the children file out of the room, satisfied with their visit. The reality is that they don't want to miss an episode of backyardigans.

Once they leave, you approach him with a napkin. He gets the gist, spitting out the remnants of the cake you slaved over for about two hours.

"Colour me impressed." You snort, moving the cake aside so you can take a seat on the open space next to him. "How're you feeling?"

"Amazing." He exclaims, eyes red like a crackhead's, nose runny, with goosebumps kissing his pale skin. He sure does look...amazing.

"Cool." You say, abruptly getting up. "I'm gonna vibe with the kid—"

His hand shoots out from underneath the blanket, clammy palms wrapping around your wrist to keep you locked in place. You gulp in anticipation.

"You kissed me." Childe reminds you, eyes twinkling in mischief, a vicious grin plastered over his stupidly handsome face.

You try not to choke on your words. "You have circumstantial evidence at most." No attempts are utilized to pull away from him.

He raises a teasing brow, and you give in because the tension is thick. Thicker than the tension between Albedo and Kaeya when the latter shamelessly unzips his front to show more of his biddies. You have no idea why he hasn’t been dress coded yet.

"Fine." You snap out of your impure thoughts, and huff out, frustrated all over. "I kissed you on the cheek."

"Still a kiss though."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes. Also, cute nails." He points out, hand moving down to grasp your fingers. The act is intimate, his caress gentle and caring. Despite his brash, violent personality, he shows you a completely different side to him that hatches butterflies in your stomach.

"Thanks." You show off the bright jewels on your index. "You have a real nail technician in the house."

Tonia has some serious talent.

When he taps one of the jewels, you slap his hand away. "Careful there dude. These cost me a fortune."

His chuckles die down and he smiles again, but this time apologetically. "They didn't trouble you too much did they? I know they can be loud."

"I like loud." You answer him truthfully. "They're fun to be around. Not nearly as chaotic as you."

He blinks in mock offence, eyes narrowing shrewdly. "You come into my house, talk to my siblings, and have the nerve to insult me? Right after taking advantage of me?"

"If you don't shut up, I'll also have the nerve to rip you a new one." You reply dryly with the innocent curl of your lips.

"Bet."

You're about to lunge at him and scream a string of obscenities that no one has ever heard of before, but the Archons are listening and you don't want his siblings to grow up without someone to look up to. Wait a minute—scratch that. You'd be doing them a favour if you wiped his existence right here and now.

You have a fragile heart though. So you sigh, and grab a fistful of sheets in both hands instead.

Childe's grin turns into a petrified scowl.

"Oh no," He pleads, weakly fighting you back. "Have mercy! Please!"

You have loads of mercy. Just not enough for him.

When you have him wrapped in a successful bundle, Childe can’t help but beam, laying limp in his confines.

“What are you smiling about?” You inquire, pulling out the medicine from his box, pausing momentarily in shock. “Wait a minute, don’t tell me you’re into these things you freak.” Head snaps up so fast you nearly suffer from whiplash.

He’s about to answer you but his words turn into a fit of shallow coughs.

“I’m into whatever you’re into.” Childe’s shrug is nonchalant. “Even if that means I have to be tied up. Kinky by the way.” He winks, and you roll your eyes, cheeks flushing in embarrassment as you hold the spoon up. The dark reddish medicine swirls in deep hues.

“Shut up and open your mouth.”

“Girlie, I don’t think you understand how contradicting that statement is.”

You momentarily wonder if it’s too late to abort yourself.

—

Childe awakens at the crack ass of night, sweat slick, sticky all over, tousled hair sticking to his forehead. He’s a panting mess, eyes darting around the dark room, inhaling, exhaling, mind in a haze from the fever. Gaining somewhat of a grip on reality, he fumbles around to turn on his lamp, throat parched and in need of water.

When he manages to find the switch, he recoils at the brightness, adjusting to the sudden change in his vision. On his side table, there’s a bologna sandwich tucked safely in plastic wrap, a glass of room temperature water, and a bottle of painkillers.

His eyes disregard most of the things, finding interest in the bright pink sticky note next to the painkillers. Unable to ignore the dryness of his throat and the pounding of his head, he quickly gulps a pill down with most of the water, instantly feeling the relief of hydration.

Then, he pounces on the note, giddiness overtaking him despite the pang in his muscles, and the general feeling of absolute shit.

I had to leave. Don’t worry about your siblings, they’re all tucked in and fine. Except for Anthon maybe. Apparently he’s mildly lactose intolerant and thought it was a good idea to overdose on chocolate milk when I was busy with Teucer. Anyways, get better soon stupid.

— Y/N

He safely tucks the note under his pillow, edges of his lips turned upwards, warmth flooding his veins when he takes another look around his surroundings.

The room itself is cleaned, floor cleared from the initial clutter and the cool shiny collector’s knives he buys off of Amazon safely hung over the wall, not littered on his desk like they usually are.

The homework he was supposed do, but most likely wouldn’t, is already completed, stacked neatly atop each other.

Childe swears his heart bursts in his chest, exploding into tiny particles that overheat his entire body.

There’s no way in hell a few days worth of homework is gonna bring his failing mark up, but then again it’s the thought that counts.

While the sandwich is catered to his nausea, bland and plain for easy digestion, an easy fill, it’s the best meal he’s ever had in his life.

#genshin impact #genshin impact oneshot #childe #childe x reader #fanfic #genshin oneshot #genshin tartagalia #kaeya alberich #tartagila #venti genshin impact #albedo #teucer #genshin archon #tartagalia x reader #tartagalia genshin impact

[yaku-soba]

i’ve seen this film before (this is an old story)

༶•┈┈ oikawa tooru x gn!reader | angst

༶•┈┈ general m.list

tags/warnings: angst (with an okay ending), swear words, oikawa doesn’t become a pro, kinda college au, author was listening to the folklore album and also mother mother while writing this, i think that’s warning enough

word count: 1.48k

a/n: this was originally supposed to be some sort of prose poetry for my poetry sideblog but it didn’t work out so </3 also, trying out a somewhat new writing style hehe :3

“someone has to leave first. this is a very old story. there is no other version of this story.”

― richard siken, war of the foxes

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

it goes like this: you fight over something small (it's never just something small), and after a while with whom the fault lies doesn't matter anymore (a double-edged sword: the fighting and the screaming and the shouting and the mocking).

it goes like this: radio silence, no missed calls, no unopened texts. oikawa, a character study: lover becomes roommate becomes a shadow you see slipping out the door if you wake up early enough. take-out ordered for one, a bed too large and cold. blankets that swamp you. 

it ends like this: you cave first (you always cave first). oikawa is too proud to apologize and you are too tired and it is easier to brush all the broken pieces of each other under the rug (it's old, you don't remember where it came from, only that it's the colour of mold and smells like mothballs, despite your best efforts) and pretend the we are fucked up, we are fucking this up away. you hate the way this story ends, there is no other ending to this story.

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

"tooru," you say, and the click of the door as he shuts it behind him rings like a gunshot. "do you know what day it is?"

oikawa is breathtaking, as always. "no," he says, casting his eyes to the moldy rug at your feet and then away, off to the side, "what day is it?" oikawa is breathtaking, and as always, he's a bad liar.

you smile, make no effort to pull it to your eyes. "it's pasta day," you answer, and it's as hollow as the ring-pop he gave you as a promise when you were younger (when you had thought you were in love; when you were in love).

he nods. "thanks for cooking dinner." he chucks off his shoes and socks in an act of practiced nonchalance.

there is no pasta day.

"welcome home," you tell him belatedly. he hums, says nothing in return.

(stilted conversation: the second stage of a terminal relationship.)

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

once, you were young and in love.

it's been proven: youth and love makes one foolish.

the story, or the prologue - it goes like this: you meet oikawa at an impressionable age (the boy next door, the golden boy, the boy the coaches eye in a game, the boy all the girls talk about, the boy). he proceeds to make quite an impression on you (a burn from sparklers on a beach at a festival, a failed ollie that left a scar on your knee, bruised wrists from volleyball, the - invisible, but you know it’s there, just as oikawa knows - stitch over the exit wound in your chest). you grow up beside him and along the way, convince yourself that sticking with him is a natural progression (cherry blossoms bloom for only two weeks). 

you and oikawa, him and you. it has always been the two of you. this story is very old, this story always ends the same way.

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

you’re fucked up. you and oikawa, him and you - somewhere, along the way, you’d gotten fucked up. you don’t know who fucked it up first, it doesn’t matter anymore. (nothing matters but the brush of oikawa’s lips on your lips and the delicate flutter of his lashes and the rent that you cannot afford without a roommate). 

oikawa is waiting on the couch when you come home (you came home later than usual - you’d seen him talking to a girl who had batted her lashes at him prettily the way he used to do to you). you shut the door behind you like a judge’s hammer, you slip out of your shoes and socks like water through earnest, cupped palms. 

“late night?” he asks (no welcome home). 

“yeah,” you reply (no i’m home). “i wanted to finish more of my project.” 

oikawa hums, looks at you from beneath those damned lashes. “that essay?” he shifts, lifts his feet from the moldy-looking rug to sit cross-legged. 

“yeah,” you say again. (you’d submitted the essay a month ago. you’re working on a presentation due in a week now).

“i ordered pizza,” oikawa says after a pause, “it should be arriving soon.”

you nod, step over the genkan and into the one-bedroom apartment. “thanks,” you tell him, “i’ll be right out.”

the bell rings while you’re changing into loungewear. you step out of the room just in time to see oikawa take the pizza out of the delivery girl’s hands - the same girl you’d seen touch his arm and smile (there is no home).

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

oikawa’s working part-time at a local diner that keeps long hours. you’re working on a degree. 

here’s the thing: he could probably afford a one-bedroom apartment of his own if he’s smart about his money. 

here’s the thing: you can’t. 

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

“someone has to leave first,” wakatoshi tells you over lunch, “richard siken said so.”

“who?” there’s a tear right down the middle of your carrot-heart. 

“someone who left first, or someone who was left. does it really matter?” 

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

here’s the point: oikawa with his long lashes and bedhead. oikawa’s sleepy smile in the mornings (you remember more than you know), the exact dip of his smile, the map you have of the lines of his palms. 

the point is: oikawa staying out and not coming home (you stopped counting after the first month, but your heart still knows), waking up to a cold bed because oikawa started leaving earlier (to go the gym, he says). hesitancy in hands where there once was security, the subtle fall of a satellite out of orbit, the gradual fall out of the childhood familiarity of being young and in love. the point is -

the point is always oikawa. 

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

oikawa gets a new, better, actual job. he’s a volleyball coach at a high school, now. 

you find out almost a month later, through takahiro and issei. 

“oikawa’s confident they’ll make it to nationals this year,” issei says conversationally, sawing into his steak, “says his kids are promising.” 

“what?” (you’ve seen this film before.)

“you know,” takahiro says, “the volleyball kids he’s coaching.” you did not know.

“ah,” you say anyway, fingers slipping around the fork in your hands and grasping onto the far edge of a cliff, “how could i forget.”

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

you finish your degree. you get a (relatively) stable job at a nearby design office.

here’s the thing: they pay you well for a fresh graduate. here’s the thing: you can probably afford a one-bedroom apartment of your own if you’re smart about your money.

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

“i’m moving out,” you say the moment oikawa opens the door, “thank you for everything.” (despite everything, you mean it. he’s taught you so many things.)

he smiles (it looks the same as what you imagine you’d smiled like the day of your first anniversary). “okay,” he says, and you think that that’s that.

“i’m sorry,” he says after a moment. 

“yeah,” you say, “i am too.” 

“thank you,” he continues, eyes almost the same shade as the day he’d brought you on a picnic, “i’ll always love you, you know that, right?”

you do (you feel the same, it is not the same love as when you had been fourteen and sixteen and seventeen and eighteen and nineteen, but it is still love). 

“me too,” you say because there is nothing else to say, “you’re important to me. you’ll always be important to me.” it’s true: he was your first kiss and your first love and your first best friend and the first person you’re leaving first. 

oikawa smiles, and disappears into the bathroom. 

you stare at the ugly rug at your feet. 

“is this okay?” you ask the broken pieces of you and him (curled around the jagged edges of each other, thorn to petal, bruise to open wound), “this is an okay ending, right?”

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

here’s the point: oikawa as the boy you loved, oikawa as your youth, oikawa as a part of the past you will always hold close but not be held behind by. 

a study in relationships: someone will always leave first, it is a very old story. 

introspection and a universal truth: youth and love makes one foolish, being foolish is not always a bad thing. 

the point is: someone will always leave first, sometimes people fall out of love, sometimes familiarity is not enough to hold them together. 

an old story, another universal truth: someone will always leave first, it is not always a bad ending. 

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

as always, likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated!! :D do drop me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general taglist :”)

p.s if you liked this, it would Be Cool if you leave me an ask / scream in the reblog tags because it would satisfy my need for validation 💔💔

#oikawa tooru x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuucreations #oikawa tooru #haikyuu!! #kyouka writes

[makebank]

secrets & suds

request: long request but to summarize jj is involved with a kook but hasn’t moved past hooking up, he gets in trouble for pope sinking the boat, and she decides to help out. 

word count: 2.3k

warnings: mentions of smut but none, cussing, typos, angst, fluff

He presses a quick kiss to your cheek as he throws his shirt over his disheveled head. His skin is slightly damp and glistening and some of his tufts of hair plastered to his forehead. “Gotta bounce, see you tomorrow?”

You beam at the blond from across the room and send him a smirk, “You always do”. He rushes out of your house just before dawn. JJ was always good about making sure to leave before your parents woke up, specifically your dad. You never minded the class division, but it was easy to say from your spot on the kook throne. You take a moment to regain your breath then toss yourself back onto your silky king size bed. Your satin pajama set lay wrinkled off the side of your bed, you knew he was going to love ripping off the matching outfit as soon as he saw you. 

For some time now you and JJ have had a little arrangement. And by arrangement that meant he came over most nights to fool around. Sometimes you’d get him to watch a movie or cuddle, but it was always interrupted by your parents waking up or his friends texting him for something. You weren’t exactly sure when you started to fall for the troublemaker, but it came with ease. He seemed so rough and mysterious, which is what amplified your want for him in the first place. But after closer observation, he is kind, gentle, and would do anything for you. Of course you knew it would never happen. He is too caught up in the division and himself to even want anything more than this. Not that you don’t love the time you get with him, but you crave more. 

You sigh as you stand up wrapping yourself in your fluffy robe. Peering out of your bedroom window, you watch JJ sprint across your lawn and expertly hop the high gate. 

-

Alternating between mindlessly scrolling through your phone and checking out your window, you grow impatient. JJ had never missed coming over without texting. You were worried something happened or maybe he was just bored of you. It was getting late, so you send a single text hoping he was okay and try to lull yourself to sleep.

-

The next morning you wake up and for a moment your fears weren’t there. Slowly blinking your eyes open, it all comes back to you. You reach for your phone hoping for some relief. To your dismay no new messages were from him. You jump out of bed and rush to take a quick shower. Some slight snooping wouldn’t hurt. 

You definitely weren’t close with any of JJ’s friends, but you did know where to find them. You enter the Wreck looking overwhelming overdressed in your designer shoes and this season’s newest sundress. You find a vacant booth and make yourself cozy until a curly haired girl you recognize as one of his best friends comes to get your drink order. After she introduces herself, it clicks. Kiara right you had a class with her freshman year of high school. Hm small world. She comes back with your coffee and asks what you’d like to order.

“Have you seen JJ lately?” you awkwardly ask. She shoots you a confused look before settling into a glare. “What’s it to you?” You stumble on your words, “Oh… nothing. He just normally mows our lawn on Wednesday mornings, but he didn’t show up. Just thought I’d ask”. She seems semi satisfied with your answer and doesn’t press for more detail. “Well, he’s busy. Not that it’s any of your business anyway. So do you want something to eat or not?” You weren’t sure why she was being so hostile it's not like you two ever had any direct problems. Maybe she was just being protective of her friend. You weren’t going to take it to heart. 

You slump down in your seat resigning to the fact you weren’t going to get any answers from her. “No, I think I’m good with just this. Thanks”. She huffs whatever and walks away. Just as you're about to leave you see a frantic boy rush up to the counter to Kiara. You knew it was Pope from the pictures JJ has shown you. He looks like he’s on the verge of meltdown. 

“I can’t believe JJ covered for me. Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money. I feel so bad! What do I do?” He’s running a mile a minute and Kiara tells him to lower his voice. She brings him into the back room to comfort him away from eavesdropping ears. However, you heard it all and can’t comprehend what happened that he would owe that much money. Nonetheless, you conclude that you’re going to find a way to help him, wherever he is. You drop a couple twenties leaving a hefty tip and rush out of the restaurant. 

Walking down the street you bump into the three bozos that rule your side of the island. They ogle you and shout their vulgar ‘compliments’ at you. You scoff but are well accustomed to their barbarian-like nature. As you strut away, you overhear Rafe yelling at Topper. “Dude, get over the boat! You won’t even hit on y/n with us. That Maybank kid will have to pay one way or another”. What was with today and perfect timing? You thought you were going to have to dig a little deeper.

You walk home to think of a plan. You had lots of money, but your parents would notice if you took that big of a chunk out without something nice to show in return. There was no way you could get that much, but you could find a way to get fifty percent. That would be enough to get the authorities off his back and give you time to talk down the Thorton’s. You decide you could easily sneak a couple thousand without your parents noticing, but you were going to have to figure out a way to come up with the rest. 

It dawns on you after spending all your childhood watching teen rom coms. A car wash! Everyone was always searching for one after a storm. Plus, it wouldn’t take much but a simple tweet and an instagram story to have people lining the block. You immediately text the girls’ group chat to set the plan for tomorrow. 

- 

You wake up with a spring in your step ready to put your plan into action. You frown a little knowing it was another day with no word from JJ. You hope he’s safe and just taking time to himself. 

Putting on your skimpiest bikini and shorts you gawk at yourself in the mirror. It’s not like you had a problem with showing yourself off, you just knew the attention you were in for today regardless. You were doing this for JJ though, you wanted to help him out and show him there’s a lot more to you than having money and pretending to be perfect. 

You greet all your friends and start setting up. As cars start to line up, you can’t help but giggle to yourself thinking of the stereotypical ‘Cherry Pie’ or “Milkshakes’ playing in the background of every car wash scene. You get to work flirting and scrubbing cars as you all work for every dollar. The nice thing about Figure 8 was that they were willing to spend whatever. Just as you were about to head to another car you hear someone shouting your name.

You whip around to see a red faced and furious JJ. “You’re alive!” You try to lighten the tension. “What the hell are you doing y/n?” You frown in confusion. “What do you mean? A car wash?” He doesn’t seem satisfied with your sarcasm. “You're half naked out here and all these guys can’t keep their hands to themselves,”  he remarks annoyed while flailing his arms. You grin for a moment realizing he’s jealous, then it dawns on you, “First of all, you just disappeared off the face of the earth for days. No text or anything. Second, since when you do you care about what other guys say to me?” He crosses his arms over his body clearly irritated by your logical retort. “It’s none of your business. And I don’t care”. All the energy drains from you at the impact of his words. “Fine. Then keep not caring and leave me alone.” You swivel around stalking off to another car leaving him alone. Even if he didn’t want you, you were determined to finish your job and then move on.

You turn over your shoulder to see JJ storming off in the other direction. Your heart aches at seeing him actually leave. At least you knew he was breathing now. The next car pulls up with Pope in it. “What was that all about?” Your eyes widen at one of his friends catching you. He chuckles, “It’s okay I know about you guys. He tells me everything”. You soften knowing you weren’t a complete secret. “I’m not sure. He’s upset with me though.” He sends you an empathetic smile, “Don’t worry. He’s dealing with a lot right now. He’ll cool down eventually.” You nod your head, “Yeah, I heard about that. That’s actually what this is all for,” you admit sheepishly. Pope’s eyebrows raise with confusion. “My mom had me bring the car, because she said it was raising money for the high school”. Yikes. “That’s my bad. I kinda said it was for whatever people would listen to, so people would come”. He laughs, “Quick thinking y/l/n. You want some help?” Now it's your turn to laugh. “I’m sure we could find you some short shorts somewhere.” He parks the car off to the side and grabs a sponge to contribute. 

The rest of the day goes by with a breeze while joking with Pope and the girls. The last car drives off and you all plop on the curb for a break. You dry off your hands and start counting the money. You could almost cry happy tears. You raised over four thousand dollars. You thank everyone and promise to buy them mimosas at brunch tomorrow. For spoiled rich kids, they sure knew how to help someone in need. Pope pulls you into a side hug, “Thanks for doing this for him”. You smile squeezing him back, “thanks for helping”. 

After putting on some real clothes you stalk off to the Thorton’s. They promise they’ll leave JJ alone about the couple thousand left so it can be paid off slowly, now that they have a down payment for another boat. You breathed a sigh of relief knowing you did all you could. 

-

JJ was relaxing at John B.'s when he got a call. After hanging up, he’s elated and full of energy. He yells to the pogues, “Guys they said I don’t have to serve any time for the boat!” They all jump up excited and ask how. “They said over half of the debt has been paid, so they said I’ll have to sign up for some payment plan. But this means it won’t be on my record or anything”. They all join him in a group hug congratulating him. John B. pipes up, “Who paid it?” JJ stops for a moment considering that it wasn’t just magic, and the only person he knew that had money that knew was Kie. “Did you have your parents do it Kie? I seriously can’t thank you enough,” he picks her up into a giant hug. She shakes her head once he lets her down. “No, I wish I could’ve though. Sorry man.” 

Pope is smirking thinking about his day yesterday trying not to blow his cover. JJ notices. “What do you know, Pope?” He just shakes his head not budging. JJ throws his arm around his neck putting him into a choke hold wrestling move. Kie and John B. are enjoying watching them fight until Pope taps out. “Fine! It was y/n. That’s what the whole giant parade of cars getting washed was”. JJ freezes speechless. He turns on his heels and instantly busts out of the chateau. 

Meanwhile, you’re getting into comfy clothes preparing yourself for a lonely movie marathon tonight. Just as you settle into your thousand thread count sheets, your door swings open making you jump. “JJ you scared the shit out of me. What are you doing here?” He crosses your abnormally large room beelining to you. He grabs your chin and pulls you into a kiss. Your hand naturally falls to his arm as you allow him to passionately lead your lips. You pull away gasping for air. “What was that for?” 

He sits down next to you. “I am so sorry. I’m sorry for disappearing and not texting you. And I’m really sorry for being such a dick yesterday at the car wash. I didn’t know you were doing all that for me. Either way though I shouldn’t have acted like that. Thank you for what you did. It means a lot. I’ll repay you I promise”. You smile rubbing your thumb against his hand. “I forgive you. You don’t need to repay me, we worked for it. You were right though, it wasn’t my business”. He shakes his head, “I wasn’t right. I like you a lot. I’m stupid for not saying it before. I just didn’t know how to tell you about all my issues and thought I’d scare you off.”

You lean over kissing him on his cheek to soothe his obvious tension. “You can’t scare me off. And I really like you too. You can trust me with your secrets, but I’ll try not to meddle anymore if you don’t want to tell me.” Grabbing your arms to scoot you closer, he brings you in for another long and deep kiss. “Don’t worry. You can know all my secrets now,” he winks as he pulls his shirt off easing you back onto the bed. 

taglist in reblog, join in my bio

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank fic #outerbanks #obx #des writing #rudy pankow #jj maybank x y/n

[littlemisslipbalm]

“I am not going to join your band” Part 3

AKA “I’ll only join your band if you promise not to kick me out if things don’t work out”

Me trying to make this have a happy ending: *jumping through hoops of my own design*

I wrote this ^^ before I wrote part 3 and boy was I right, it was complicated and I hope I did it justice, LMK what y’all think, I love you all asking for part 3 and giving me feedback. All the support means to much

Also peep the gif WITH Mitch I’m crying, they’re both smiling at y/n in the soundboard room

Word Count: 5.0k? | Warnings: angsty ASF, some crying, some yelling, more making out, even some mentions of smut (oh yeah we’re getting there - no actual sex though), swearing

I tried to make it FLUFF but there had to be drama :/ (I don’t like conflict but that’s like lowkey how stories work sadly)

Part 1 | Part 2

-

When Mitch pulled away from the hug, you felt yourself at a crossroads. You knew Mitch was right. While kissing Harry had been nice, you needed to think about why you were doing it and what it would mean for you and Harry.

You knew you were always going to love Mitch and you were working on separating the romantic feelings you had for him and the best friend feelings you had for him. But you weren’t sure if getting involved with Harry would help that process or just confuse it. That’s why you had to talk with Harry about this, where he stood exactly, and there wasn’t time, lunch was over.

Mitch stalked off ahead of you with a final: “Just...be careful.”

Moments after he disappeared through the recording door, Harry walked up behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You were still standing in the middle of the hallway, your brain racing at everything Mitch had said and every moment you had spent with Harry in the past couple of weeks. You hadn’t really thought of Harry as being anything more than a friend. But there you two were, kissing in a storage closet five minutes ago.  

“We need to talk,” you both said simultaneously. But, just as you were about to speak again, a technician rushed up beside you two and started to talk rapidly to Harry, needing assistance on something that sounded important. You raised your brows when he looked at you, his silent question of whether he could leave, “Go, it can wait.”

In that moment, you felt your unimportance in that studio - no Harry or Mitch to turn to.

This had started as a tag along to spend time with your best friend, in hopes to not get left behind, then it had turned to a light torture of watching said best friend falling for a girl who wasn’t yourself, but somewhere amidst all of that was Harry, always giving you a reason to come back. If not for him, you probably would have stopped tagging along after the first day.

He was the one to tell you to come back a second day. He was the one retuning the piano so you had something to do. He was the one liking your tune and turning into a song for his album. He was the one asking you to join the band. But was he the one for you? And if he wasn’t, and you told him that, was that the end of your time at the studio?

God, you just wished you were able to know what he was thinking. What was the reason behind his kiss? Was it something meaningless or meaningful to him. Because you had realized you had wanted to join the band, not for Mitch, not for Harry, but for yourself and you didn’t want whatever had just happened between you and Harry to come between your chance.

You sat in one of the lounge rooms for the rest of the day, you didn’t feel like watching the band record or having Mitch next to you whispering side comments while you sat in boring technical meetings. You wanted to be alone. And alone you were, no one came to look for you until the end of the day. You sat on the floor of the room, legs crossed, your body still, but your mind alive with all of your thoughts.  

At around 8:30, it was Mitch who walked through the door and sighed at the sight of you. You had texted him where you were when he had asked a couple minutes ago. “Ready to go? Sarah’s coming with us, if you don’t mind,” he gruffly said, obviously not past your earlier conversation. It had left a bad taste in your mouth, the whole situation, not being in a comfortable place with your best friend wasn’t ideal.

“I didn’t like how you spoke to me earlier.” you started and then sighed, “And I didn’t like how we left things..” You stayed in your spot, sat in the middle of the room, face turned to stare at Mitch in the doorway.

“I admit, my tone wasn’t my favorite. I was flustered,” Mitch said finally, walking into the room, door swinging shut behind him.

“You could apologize,” you simply stated, not satisfied. You loved Mitch, but you weren’t a push over. “You basically said I was a prostitute, Mitch, with that harem remark.”

“I truly, didn’t mean it like that,” he sighed and ran a hand through his shoulder length hair. He decided to take a seat, mirroring your position. He moved like a cat, long limbs slowly folding in on themselves, making him appear much smaller than he was. “I’m sorry that’s what you thought, it just,” he paused, “was weird seeing you like that. You’re like my little sister -,” he stopped talking at the look on your face.

You blinked and looked away. Do not cry right now, c’mon. You knew that’s how he felt about you, it just always hurt to hear him say it. You brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah, I get it, you’re forgiven, anyway.” You regretted even asking for an apology now.

Mitch wouldn’t let it go, he knew that the two of you had to have this conversation for once, rather than sidestepping it every time.

“I know you’re in love with me, Y/N, and I’m sorry that I don’t feel the same way about you. I know we never talk about it, but we’re both possibly at the beginning of new serious relationships right now and I think we need to talk about this.”

It’s happening. He was right, you never talked about it, and you knew he was right about needing to talk about it, too. He was always the mature one.

“And what if I’m not?” you replied stubbornly, as much as you knew he was right, you couldn’t stop the words from leaving your mouth.

“What?” Mitch was clearly confused.

“What if I’m not on the verge of a new relationship and that kiss was just a one time thing with Harry. Then I’m left here alone and embarrassed while you ride off into the sunset with Sarah and your new life. Have you ever thought about how this all might be affecting me, put my romantic love for you aside, have you ever thought about how leaving your best friend behind might affect her, Mitch! I’ve thought about it and it sucks! It sucks because you’re the only person I’ve got, the only person who’s ever given a damn about me and always been there. Soon you won’t be. My tombstone won’t even read “Happy” just “Uneventful” and “Boring.”

You practically were screaming and you had no idea when all these feelings had bubbled you the surface, but tears were running down your face now. You had never been good with confrontation.  

“And I’ve been working on it.”

Mitch still sat in a stunned silence. Not used to you losing your cool with him.

“I’ve been working on getting over being in love with you, but a lifetime of being in love with you doesn’t just go away, not because you find a girl, not because I kiss a boy, but because I work on separating feelings and ideas in my mind. I had let the line be blurred between best friend and boyfriend, when you weren’t actually my boyfriend.” You paused, “I thought you were my soulmate since I was fourteen and you never even noticed how I looked at you.” You had started fierce, but you ended softly, almost whimpering out the last words.

“I knew,” he sighed, “I knew when you made sure to come to all my shows in high school. You never missed a single one.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me to stop? Why didn’t you set up boundaries?” You pleaded with Mitch, searching for an answer from him to make sense of everything.

“Because I was young and no one had ever done that for me, no one cared about me like you did before and it felt so good to not be ignored or overlooked. To be someone’s whole world, it felt nice.”

“But...look what happened.”

“It got out of hand, but I thought you’d find a guy when you went off to college and forget about loving me like that.”

“But that’s not what happened,” you both sat silent for a few moments, “I can’t lose you, Mitch, and I’m okay just being the best friend.”

“I can’t lose you either, Y/N. I’m so sorry I never addressed it sooner, it wasn’t fair of me to keep you on the line all these years. And I’m not going to leave you behind, I’m sorry if I have been neglecting our friendship with the album and Sarah.”

Mitch reached out and took your hand, rubbing it softly with his thumb. You noticed no butterflies when he did this and you squeezed his hand gently back.

“So, best friend, as much as I would love to ride home with you and your girl, I think there’s someone else I really need to talk to.”

You were always quick to move past fights with Mitch, they were never like this, of course, but you had said your piece and so had Mitch, seeing as he reverted back to his natural silent state. This definitely was a big step in the right direction for you to finally move past your romantic feelings for Mitch. Some closure.

Mitch nodded and you both stood up. “We should hang out soon, just the two of us, do something… friendly,” Mitch said softly. You smiled and nodded.

You knew this had been a wake up call for him, too. You hadn’t really hung out outside of the studio since he’d started seeing Sarah more exclusively, meaning weekly movie nights, ‘what’s in the fridge’ dinner nights, and new music mondays had all fallen by the wayside. You knew that he’d start being there for you more after this whole conversation, because that’s who Mitch was, he listened and he followed through.

You gave him a quick hug, happier with the outcome of this conversation than the last, even if this one had involved you shouting a little bit. Then, you split off from him in search of Harry.

He was in the recording area of the studio, sitting, staring off into space with his guitar resting in his lap.

“Hi,” you said carefully. He twitched his head at the sound and looked over to see you. “Have you been crying?” He asked immediately, standing up and setting the guitar on its stand. He crossed to you, quick to your side.

You shook your head, “No, well yes, but they were angry tears, more than sad.”

“Are you alright?” Harry still was concerned, angry wasn’t much better than sad.

“Just had it out with Mitch, it’s better now.”

“About earlier?” Harry led you to sit on the piano bench with him.

“No, about him, and me, it’s been a long time coming, but we’ve got it all out in the open now. He’s going to try to be a better friend, I think. And I’m going to try to be just his best friend.”

“Yeah?” Harry urged you to say more.

“But it did start about earlier, at least,” you ran a hand through your hair, “about what he had said to me earlier, after he had walked in on us.”

“What had he said?” Harry continued to inquire, trying to understand what he had missed.

“He was warning me not to be with you for the wrong reasons and to be wary of your intentions, I guess. He cares about us both, doesn’t want either of us to get hurt and I think it was also weird for him to see us in such a compromising position.”

“Why do you think he wanted you to be wary of my intentions?” Harry tilted his head, this comment not really making sense to him.

“Well, what are your intentions?” You didn’t want to mention the ‘harem’ comment, you knew Mitch had said it in the heat of the moment and it would only upset Harry.

“I like you, isn’t it obvious?” Harry said staring directly into your eyes.

“Um..” His blunt statement caught you off guard.

Harry ducked his head and puffed a laugh out of his mouth, almost in disbelief, “No, I guess it’s not.”

You sat there, silent, still no idea how to respond. Harry scratched his head and smiled at you, “You’re gorgeous and fantastic at everything you do. You’re witty and kind, fiercely loyal and never fail to bring a smile to my face, even when you’re crying or I’m crying. Why wouldn’t I be attracted to you?”

Still you remained silent. “C’mon, Y/N. Say something, please. I just laid it all out for you.”

You nodded and tried to streamline your thoughts. Today had been a lot, overwhelming to say the least. “I’ve never had someone feel this way about me, it’s a lot to take in. And...I like you too, Harry, but-”

“Don’t say ‘but’” he pleaded.

“But,” you sighed, “I don’t want you to go through the same thing I did, being strung along by someone who can’t give you what you need. I don’t know how to love someone who isn’t Mitch, I want to, I really, really do, but it’s going to take time, and I like you enough to not want to hurt you.”

“Then let me teach you,” Harry said quickly, taking your hands in his, “Let me be the one to teach you to love someone who isn’t Mitch. That someone is me, by the way.”

You laughed at his final remark, still feeling overwhelmed and unsure.

“And I’m okay with going slow,” he shrugged his shoulders, “we don’t even have to label this. But when I’m with you, here, everyday, I feel at home and when you’re gone, I miss you. You’re constantly on my mind and I’m always looking for your approval. What would hurt me the most is if you don’t give us a chance. Give me a chance to prove to you that you can love someone else and they can love you back, properly.”

His eyes were begging you to say ‘yes’. His hands were clasped tightly around yours, tugging you closer to him.

After everything he said, you wanted to say yes. But, you were scared. You were scared because trying something new, taking a step into the unknown, it was scary sometimes.

But then, you thought back to when Harry had sat with you as you cried over Mitch and how he’d helped you through that moment of weakness. How you had known that night that you could trust him to be there for you. With Harry by your side, maybe you wouldn’t have to be so scared of the unknown, because you wouldn’t be alone anymore.

“Only if you promise not to kick me out of the band if things don’t work out.” You smiled at Harry’s slight confusion. Then his confusion turned into a huge grin, almost every one of his teeth on display for you.

“I’m sorry, I can’t promise you that…” he said mischievously, making it your turn for a look of confusion, “But I’ll raise you one. I promise that things will work out and you’ll stay in the band.”

You rescinded a hand from his grasp and swatted his bicep. “Has anyone ever told you, you’re very cheeky?”

“Almost all the time! And look at that, you’re already speakin’ my language,” he smiled sweetly at you and winked.

“Oh, shut up!” You laughed and went to swat him again, but instead he caught your wrist and brought it down to your side.

“Fine,” he said matter of factly and leaned into your lips, kissing you for a second time today.

He was an amazing kisser, better than anyone you’d ever kissed before, at least, which really wasn’t saying a lot, but you could tell he was experienced. You didn’t think you’d ever get over his warmth either. It was all consuming.

This time it was you who’s tongue asked for entrance to the other’s mouth. Harry gladly obliged as he pulled you closer to him on the bench.

You liked how quickly you and Harry could go from a serious topic to having fun, you’d said what needed to be said and now you were enjoying each other.

It was breathless between you and Harry. His hands ghosting over every part of your body and yours glued to his deliciously soft curls. Harry’s lips began to travel away from yours and a whine came from the back of your throat. Harry ‘tsk’ed against your jaw, but continued to leave open mouth kisses down the side of your neck.

“Oh” was all you said as he began to suck persistently at the base of your neck, right on top of your collarbone. It felt nice, really fucking nice and you felt a hand fall down onto the top of your thigh and squeeze it. This shot electricity through your entire body. The jolt didn’t stop Harry from continuing to suck along your neck, you just felt him pause for a moment, a smirk ghosting against your neck, nipping on the spot below his lips.

After what felt like hours, Harry kissed back up to your lips and then pulled away.

You were attempting to catch your breath when you said, “Is that what you call taking it slow?”

“I wasn’t hearing any complaints?” He responded as his smirk responded, shrugging his shoulders once again.

“No, no complaints,” you moved one of your legs so that both were on one side of the piano stool and scooted into Harry’s chest. He wrapped his arms around you as you snuggled your head into his chest. It had been a long day for both of you, as you thought back to lunch with Harry crying in the storage closet. He kissed the top of your hair and rested his chin on top of your head, beginning to stroke your arm lazily with his fingertips.

You sat in silence, breathing in each other’s presence. You also couldn’t believe how nice he smelled, even after a whole day of work. This man was magic, you thought.

Harry began to laugh softly and you shifted your head to look at him. “You know, I was planning on telling you today, before this all happened.” He continued after taking a finger and running it against the slope of your nose and tapping the tip, “It’s why I had been in such a good mood, had finished the lyrics, and was going to play it for you, but then I got all in my head. And then we were in the storage room and you were being so good to me and then we were kissing and then Mitch walked in and then you ran off and-.”

You cut off his ramble, “I think I got the rest, I was there, babe.” Heat quickly ran to your cheeks at your use of a pet name. Harry noticed it too and echoed it, “Babe? You just called me ‘babe’?”

“No, definitely not,” you tried unconvincingly.

“Oh, I like that,” he continued to tease you, echoing ‘babe’ once more, your face growing redder every second.

“Wait, you were going to play me what?” You suddenly circled back to the first part of Harry’s little rant. He took his hand away from your arm and used it to brush back a strand of hair that had gotten out of place on your head, “Sweet Creature, I was planning on serenading you and then telling you how I felt.”

“You’re fucking with me, that song isn’t about me,” you scoffed and turned your head away, feeling shy at Harry’s intense stare. He was so passionate and it came through in his big, bright eyes. They could be intimidating at times.

“Honest,” he said, “It was your tune after all, can’t believe you’d think I’d write about someone else with your own music.”

“I don’t know, I thought I was just helping you with a song,” you said sheepishly.

“I was looking at you the first time I said the words ‘sweet creature’” Harry persisted, still in disbelief that you hadn’t caught on to his crush on you until he had spelled it out, but then it dawned on him, you had never had someone pine after you.

In that moment he knew that he wanted to show you all the wonderful things that came with being liked by someone, and being intimate with someone who wanted you back. He didn’t care if you were getting over someone else, because he was going to be there to show you how you deserved to be treated and in turn he knew you’d eventually see him as more than a cute, nice guy friend who knew how to kiss.

You sat there as if you were seeing Harry with new eyes. His expression was earnest and he looked down at you brightly. You bit your lip to slow down the smile about to erupt on your face. You hadn’t felt this excited in a long time.

It felt good to be in a man’s arms who looked at you with such great care, almost as if you were the reason his world turned and he didn’t want that to stop, even if you knew it wasn’t true, his eyes insisted it was. It felt good to be in the embrace of a man who wrote you a song and made you smile and laugh. It felt good to be with a man who took your breath away and also got his taken away from you.

You reached up to Harry’s prominent cheekbone and danced your fingertips along his face. He had grown silent at your touch. Your fingers moved up to smooth one of his large brows and stopped at his brow bone. Harry closed his eyes when you touched his brow bone, your touch so close to his eyes. You rested there for a moment and then moved back down his face, traveling over his slightly gaunt cheeks again.

His eyes fluttered open and the sounds of your breathing filled the air, his soft panting slightly louder than your controlled quiet breaths. It seemed your soft caress was having an effect on him.

Harry loved intimate touch. It was taking all of his self-control to keep from nuzzling into your delicate hand on his face, wanting you to explore without his interference.

You continued to slide your hand down his face, over some light scruff, to the curve of his cupid’s bow. Harry parted his lips at this touch, unable to keep his lungs from hitching. You bit your lip again, noting your effect on him. You traced your thumb around the outline of Harry’s mouth, from his cupid’s bow, to one side, and then onto his plush lower lip.

You kept your thumb there, but pulled down slightly, Harry’s mouth opening further. He restrained the whimper in the back of his throat. You weren’t trying to get any reaction out of him, you were simply using your hands to look at his face, tracing him into your sensory memory.

When you pushed your thumb back up, putting his lip back into place, you felt his tongue peak out and touch you. You looked into his green eyes and he only looked back at you. You were in control. You pushed your thumb a millimeter further and Harry took it softly into his mouth, his tongue touching it sweetly and then he closed his mouth, creating a kiss on your thumb. You then removed your thumb from against his puckered lips and placed your exploring hand onto his thigh, giving you leverage to put yourself at eye level with Harry.

“You are so beautiful,” you said slowly, breathing out a breath you didn’t think you had been holding. His face lit up at your remark and he leaned forward to give you one more sweet kiss, “And so are you. Let’s get you home.”

-

The next few weeks felt like a whirlwind. You were constantly doing something. When you weren’t busy working on the album at the studio, Harry was sneaking you off to secluded places in the building to pepper you with kisses or whispering sweet nothings in your ear in between takes. He drove you home every night, walking you to your door and kissing you hard before you went inside, sometimes he’d come in with you and stay the night, cuddling and falling asleep in each other’s arms. Harry also took you out when he could, showing you little holes in the wall you’d never heard of and surprising you with presents that you always told him were too nice. Everything was coming so natural between you two and Harry treated you so well, it made being with him extremely fun and easy.

Mitch and you were doing best friend things again, too, movie nights and music recommendations, calling each other about random shit you’d seen on the news and couldn’t believe. You weren’t pining after him anymore. You loved him still, but you now knew what reciprocated romantic feelings looked like with Harry and you didn’t need or want that from Mitch anymore. Mitch had talked to Harry after you had explained what happened that night and he had given the big brother spiel to Harry, but was convinced when he heard the way Harry talked about you. He hadn’t realized how Harry had felt before then either. Harry joked that the two of you clearly had never seen a romcom before, because you were both “thick” when it came to flirting.

Today was no different from the rest, Harry had his arm slung around your shoulder as you were pressed into his side on the soundboard room’s couch, your arm reaching up to play with his fingertips. His mouth was against your ear, whispering, almost inaudibly, about how good you looked today and how he wanted to kiss you so badly and you were giggling at his borderline dirty words.

Nobody took any real notice, especially because this had been happening for weeks now. Whenever Mitch saw you two like this, he smiled with closed lips, but he seemed genuinely happy. He was happy that everything was working out in the best way possible.

Lunchtime was always fun because now it was time for you and Harry to sneak off to the first place you had kissed. Except it wasn’t so sneaky, literally everyone knew where you were going and what you were going to do. The minute you were inside the room, Harry would press you against the door, slamming it shut. His lips were on yours in an instant.

Today, he grabbed behind your knee and hiked it up around his hips, pressing himself closer to you. You both groaned at the way your bodies fit together. “Mmph, Fuck, Babe,” Harry groaned before moving to kiss your neck. You only whined in response, fisting a part of his shirt in one hand and some strands of his hair in the other.

You had worn a tank top today, so Harry was able to kiss all across your collarbone, he pulled down one side of the tank and your bra strap, exposing more naked skin. “Can you feel what you do to me?” Harry asks, lips ghosting over your skin, hands gripping your hips closer to his body. You can feel him pressing into you beneath his trousers.

“Can I?” you ask, he pulls away from his work on your neck and looks into your eyes. “Y/N, you don’t have to…” his tone quickly softened. The two of you had only done heavy makeout sessions and some topless groping, but nothing below the belt, yet. “But, I want to take care of you,” you stated simply, meeting his gaze with lust blown out eyes.

He sighed, “Oh, darling.” He reached up to brush your hair into place, it was always getting so messy when you made out.

“My body wants nothing more than for you to take care of me, but one, if you blow me right now, I don’t know how I will get through the rest of the day without loving up on you every second,” you laughed at his words and rolled your eyes.

“And two, when it’s our first time, I want it to be our first time doing everything together, don’t want me to get a head start.”

You wanted to be serious about him being so sweet about your first time together, but you couldn’t ignore the sexual pun he’d just made. You burst out into unrestrained laughter and Harry looked at you, concerned. His eyebrows were knit together as he watched you laughing your head off.

“What?”

“Oh my god, Harry, did you hear yourself?”

“Thought I was being sweet,” he puffed indignantly.

“Head,” you said in between laughs, “Start.”

It clicked in his mind and he rolled his eyes at your immaturity. “You catch that, it’s not even funny, but you don’t catch my flirting for weeks...makes you wonder...” he trails off.

“You’re so mean to me! Guess you don’t want anymore kisses,” you stick your tongue out at him and he smiles.

The more time you spent together, the more your silly side kept coming out with him. Harry loved it, he loved that you could be intellectual and passionate, but also pick out some unintentional innuendo pun at the end of his heartfelt sentiment about your sex life together.

You readjusted yourselves to leave and as you exited Harry said, “What am I going to do with you?”

You held one of his hands and twirled in the hallway, smiling back at him as he walked behind you. You were like a dream, his dream. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed someone until you’d come into his life, being there for him, being the lovely person he’d come to know. You were wonderful and you were his. And he, in turn, was yours.

-

Hope you enjoyed part 3!

@imagine-that-1975

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fanfic #my writing #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry is my baby #harry baby #harry styles imagine #mitch rowland x reader #mitch x reader #i am not going to join your band #omg i lowkey used the i am yours thing from the forum #im so soft for this harry #like he was the main character #because his love interest didnt see him right away #she was off chasing some other guy #and then she realized he was there #wanting to love her #i dont love how mitch and y/n resolved their conflict but i had to wrap it up #so i let y/n excuse mitch for lowkey leading her on #which isnt nice

[domesticmail]

happy new year || vince dunn

AUTHOR’S NOTE: happy new year to everyone!!! i hope you’re all ringing in this year with love & kindness! this is a fic for @hockeynetwork​ ‘s fic exchange, particularly for @pucksnsticksnhockeyboys​ !! 

i think you’re officially the last fic recipient of 2020, so congratulations!! i hope you like the fic <33

lots of thanks to @makarsy​ for beta-ing this for me!! <3

WORD COUNT: 5.7k

WARNINGS: dysfunctional family, divorce, alcohol !

SUMMARY: going back to your hometown to visit your family for the holidays is supposed to be fun. accidentally running into your childhood best friend is supposed to be nostalgic. love is supposed to have a happy ending. nothing disappoints more than high expectations.

She’d hung the mistletoe right under the hallway arch. The gray-green leaves, attached to stems that seemed to sink with the gravity, dangled from the red ribbon holding them together, tied to a hook hanging from the highest point of the arch. Small berries, white in color, caught your eye as you stood, frozen, in the living room. 

The familiar feeling of dread and terror floods your veins. Your chest begins to freeze over as your heart picks up pace. It’s like someone lit a bonfire in the middle of a glacier, and it’s melting you. If you were a little less aware, you’d think you were sinking to your knees, weakness invading and settling deep in the bones of your legs like the mere memory of him saps you of all your willpower.

There’s a strange floating feeling in the gravity you feel. It’s like you’re being pulled up and down simultaneously, and for a moment you feel so confused, and it scares you, this feeling of anxiety and fear.

A familiar hand settles on your shoulder, pulling you out of the spiral. “I thought maybe it’d be a...cute little touch.” From the way the deep voice is straining to hit a higher octave, you’re guessing it’s your brother, mimicking your mom.

You turn, and you’re right. He’s rolling his eyes, saying some smartass comment or another. Something about how she has no regard for anyone but herself. You nod noncommittally as he downs a glass of champagne. You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t you think you should pace yourself? It’s just more fuel for Aunt Cindy.”

“Y/N, I’ve never cared about what she thinks, and I sure as hell am not gonna start now.”

You shrug as he looks you up and down. Your shitty christmas sweater is the only one you own, but it’s the perfect mixture of funny and definitely going to offend Mom. It’s a knitted, ugly green, and the front has Jesus with a party blower in his mouth. He’s wearing a birthday hat, one of the pointy cone ones, and is holding a white, circular balloon that has “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” written on it in red. He’s wearing a shirt that says “BIRTHDAY BOY”.

She nearly had a heart attack when she saw you wearing it last week. The mistletoe, then, is payback, presumably.

“Danny?”

He turns back to you, eyebrows raised.

“Are you getting more champagne?” You ask. He nods. “I want some too,” you sigh, joining him at the kitchen island. He smiles conspiratorially.

While he pours you a glass, you inquire about his life. You don’t see each other often, with you up in New York and him traveling over 300 days out of the year. “It’s a miracle you’re even here,” you joke.

Danny snorts, taking a sip of his own drink. “Couldn’t miss another family event, especially not since last month.”

Last month was his 10-year anniversary of joining the Bureau, a week after he turned 33. Your mother’s pride and joy, she’d gone all out, and had been infuriated when an hour into the party he’d been called to the office. And even while she was annoyed with his duties, she still took the time to go out of her way and inform both you and your sister, Jo, that “at least he has an important job.”

You laugh. “She was pissed.”

“Yeah, she called me later that day.”

“She called you? While you were at work?”

“Do you think she has any respect for my time?”

You raised your eyebrows, eyes wide in shock. “How can she possibly be so….not self-aware?”

“I have no clue.”

As though summoned by the mention of your mother, Jo enters the room, long blonde hair a mess around her face, red and puffy. She takes the spot next to you, grabs your champagne glass, and downs it. 

“Hi, Jo,” you and Danny say in unison, neither of you surprised.

“Mom’s being such a bitch,” she spits, wiping her eyes. On her left hand, you spot something shiny, and it takes a moment for you to register the huge diamond ring on her finger. Like you can read each other’s minds, you and Danny look at each other, back to the ring, and then back to each other. Danny’s mouth is wide open in an ‘O’, and Jo squints at him. “What, Danny?”

She notices you staring at her, too. “Guys. What? Can’t you see I’m obviously in distress?”

“With that ring? You should be the happiest woman on the planet, Jo,” Danny replies.

“Ugh.” Jo sniffles aggressively. “I can’t be happy when Mom is being so...judgemental! I mean, can’t she just be happy for me?”

“Wait, wait,” you interrupt, hands up in a ‘slow down’ motion. “Who gave you that ring?”

Your sister looks at you like that’s the dumbest question you’ve ever heard. Her face in this expression looks almost exactly like your mother’s, and it strikes a nerve deep down. “You don’t remember?”

“No.”

“Peter. From - “

“The guy from the coffee shop?” You’re completely surprised. Jo makes impulsive decisions, yes, but getting engaged to a guy she’s been on four dates with? That’s just plain reckless.

“Yes. He proposed last week.” She sniffles again, this time trying to seem at least a little more dignified. Chin high, she proclaims, “We’re in love.”

Danny sips his champagne, still completely caught off-guard. He has a small smile as he watches you say, “Jo, that’s fucking insane.”

Jo rolls her eyes. “You wouldn’t understand. You’re too young.”

Your brother laughs. “She’s only two years younger than you.”

“That’s two whole years of experience she doesn’t have.”

“You realize I’m not seventeen anymore, right, Jo? I’m an actual adult.”

“An adult with an actual job,” Danny points out.

“I have a job!” Your sister protests.

“What job? Oh, wait, you mean being a sugar baby, right? That’s your job?”

Jo glares at you. “That’s not fair, and you know it.”

You shrug and drink some more champagne. “I’m being honest.”

“You’re being mean.” “Oh my god, Jo. You’re the one getting married to a guy you’ve known for two months.”

“We’re in love!”

“You can’t possibly be in love!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was talking to the expert of all things romantic! Please, O Great One, give me your opinion!”

You pressed your lips together tightly. “You’re not funny.”

“Oh, wait! I forgot,” Jo continues. “The Master of Love has a boyfriend.”

Your face heats up. You’d only told your mom you had a boyfriend so she would stop badgering you with questions about your love life. You hadn’t been thinking about the consequences, you’d just wanted to stop the questioning, and that had clearly backfired. “Mom told you that?”

Your sister smiles, seemingly satisfied with this secret knowledge. Danny, who’s been listening to the conversation with wide eyes, is grinning like a maniac behind his champagne flute. 

“Yes,” Jo says. “So, where is he?”

Scrambling internally, you frown. “He’s busy.”

“Probably spending Christmas with his family,” Danny cuts in. That is surprising - usually he’ll let Jo beat you down, and then show support later. And anyway, he doesn’t even know you’re lying about the boyfriend. “They’re probably ten times less dysfunctional.”

At the last word, Jo switches gears completely, snapping her head to look at Danny. “We’re not dysfunctional,” she hisses.

Your brother laughs in her face. “Yes, we are.”

As they begin to argue, you take this as your chance to escape. You leave your champagne on the island - alcohol will only make this worse, and you want to be somewhat lucid for dinner. On the bright side, the less you drink now, the more you can drink later. You make your way down the hall, stopping to look at the photos framed on the walls in a remarkably perfect design. Every Christmas card photo meticulously arranged from oldest to newest, below the childhood pictures. There are a few of Jo, with her beautiful curls and pearly-white teeth, playing lacrosse. Everyone’s high school graduation photos. Lots of photos of Danny, the eldest and golden child. His first birthday, his eighteenth birthday, first day in college, first Christmas back home, various pictures of him and your parents. Any picture including your dad is small and inconspicuously placed, so as not to draw attention to it.

Scattered between pictures of your siblings are the ones of you. They’re all smaller; the only large one is your high school cap and gown picture. And the others aren’t of your accomplishments - they’re of you at home, smiling, with a book, or building a snowman with your dad in the backyard. Tucked below a picture of Danny and one of his ex-girlfriends (Sandy, your mother’s favorite) and above Jo’s first varsity photo is your favorite. Your dad took it when you were fourteen, on an old camera, one that used film, and had developed it himself. You had gone to visit him in Oregon, the only one who’d wanted to go, and as a surprise, he’d taken you to the beach. Your hair is wet and sticking to your face, and you’re making a silly face - lips puckered, eyes crossed, hands at either side of your face like fish gills. It’s a decade old, and the memory has faded a bit in your mind, but you can still remember the way he laughed at you when he took the photo. “That’ll be a good one,” he’d proclaimed. “I’ll send it to you.”

That’s how it was every summer since then. You went off to stay with him in Oregon, and Jo stayed at home with your mother. Danny, seven years older than Jo and nine older than you, wasn’t involved, at that point - he was just joining the bureau. Nobody had batted an eye when your dad didn’t show up to the party last month. Him and Danny had never quite gotten along.So you spend June through August with him at Gold Beach. Just the picture brings to mind memories from the cottage; the summer your dad grew a beard; him bringing you to the touristy area, to a struggling record shop to let you pick out your first album. You still had it, tucked away in an old box of vinyls in the back of your closet at home. The Chain, Fleetwood Mac.

There was something surprising about your mom keeping this picture. She hated that you spent your summers with him. It wasn’t uncommon for her to blame your personality as an adult on those vacations with your dad, as though he was the reason you were a journalist, and not that he’d simply loved you for who you were, and given you the love and affection you’d needed. So the picture here, that was confusing. In fact, you’d thought for years she’d thrown it out, because she talked so often about how deeply she wishes she’d fought for full custody in the divorce. Why would she keep the picture?

There’s no way she kept it as a reminder of him. She’d never voluntarily keep something like that around.

So then, why does she have it?

“Do you have to wear that horribly offensive sweater?”

And there she is, the devil herself, shrill as ever. You turn to the end of the hall and find your mother there, in her favorite cream-colored dress. Her hair was in a bun, and you knew without even being close to her that she had wasted an incredible amount of hairspray on keeping it in place. She’s wearing the pearl earrings and necklace set Danny gave her for her birthday last year, and on her wrist was a surprise - the white watch you’d gifted her. 

“Hey to you too, Mom,” you greet, not dignifying the question with an answer. The best way to deal with her was to pretend you didn’t hear her little jabs.

“Honestly, Y/N, how do you expect us to have a peaceful dinner with my family when you’re wearing such blatantly tasteless clothing?” She approaches you and seems to be picking apart your appearance piece by piece. You expected no different. “Our family. And I know Leah and Mark will think it’s funny.” The only two cousins of thirteen that you can stand, Leah is Aunt Cindy’s only daughter, and Mark is her eldest son.

“What?” Genuine confusion etches itself into her features.

You raise an eyebrow. “Our family. I’m related to them, too.”

She snorts. “No, you take too much after Ryan’s family to be a Benson.” The mention of her last name, once her maiden name, presses a button for you. When they got divorced, Danny took your mom’s last name, and when Jo asked, she took her to city hall so she could change it back to Benson.You were the only child who kept your father’s last name.

“Technically, I’m half Benson, half L/N.”

“Mmm,” she hums noncommittally. “Sure. If that’s what you believe.”

You furrow your brows. “You gave birth to me.”

Smiling tightly, she says, “Babies have been switched at hospitals before.”

Completely taken aback, your jaw drops open, and she takes this chance to survey your teeth. “I see you’ve had dental work done since last month.”

You close your mouth tightly and frown. “Just a cleaning.”

She looks you up and down and once again offers nothing but a disingenuous “Sure.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence before your mother inhales sharply and asks, “Has Jo told you yet?”

“About the engagement?”

“Yes.” She is gritting her teeth so hard you’re sure she’s going to crack a molar.

“Yeah.”

“And your opinion?”

You shrug. “I think it’s royally stupid, but it’s her decision.”

This seems to satisfy her, because she nods and, after looking you up and down once more and confirming that you are not going to change your outfit, she heads past you, her heels clicking forcibly against the hardwood.

You exhale audibly when she is gone, the tension in your chest and back releasing slowly. Conversations with her are so tense you can hardly breathe, she takes up so much air.

Raised voices echo down the hall from the kitchen. You look uncomfortably in the direction the chaos is coming from. Forcing yourself to walk towards the room, you find yourself standing quietly in the entryway to the kitchen.

Jo and your mother are going at it again. Your sister’s face is red and puffy, she’s clearly been crying the entire time. Danny is sitting down at the dining room table, pouring himself yet another glass. You sigh, and there’s only one thing that comes to mind as you watch this scene unfold, your mother talking loudly and sternly to Jo, who is yelling and sobbing.

God, you hate it here.

---

You’ve been banished (read: released) to the store, to pick up eggs. And milk. But only almond milk, the soy kind. You’re not sure that exists, but whatever. Any chance to escape your mother’s house is a chance you’ll take.

This grocery store has been standing since before you were born. Your parents went to it, their parents went to it, and even their parents went to it. O’Malley’s General is over five decades old, and even worse -

As you enter through the old wooden door, you peer around at the inside of the store. Fruit and veggies are still on your left, the over-the-counter pharmaceuticals to your right. No different from when you were five.

“Y/N!” The man sitting at one of the two checkout desks to your left offers you a wide grin.

- it’s a family business. When you were younger, it was run by Dennis O’Malley, a charmer in every sense of the word. You, Danny, and Jo used to make fun of your mother every time she blushed at one of Dennis’ not-quite-well-meaning flirts.In the time you’ve been gone, Dennis must’ve died, because his usual spot at the foremost checkout counter, his rickety metal stool, is occupied by his son, Ryan. He’s your age, and it appears he never grew into his big front teeth. You offer him a wave as he sets down his magazine and makes his way over to you.

“Hi, Ryan,” you say, picking up a basket from the stack near the door.

He takes a place next to you as you head for the small refrigerators at the back of the produce section, where you know the milk and eggs are. “How are you? Feels like I haven’t seen you in years!”

You laugh politely, smile stretching thin. “Yeah, it’s been a little bit. I’m good.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

The awkward quiet stretches on. You open the glass door and look for the milk your mom asked for, almond soy milk, you’re sure that isn’t real but nonetheless -

“You look just as pretty as when I last saw you,” Ryan compliments, and you feel your stomach turn at the words. Even in high school he’d been this way, interested in you, watching you from across the cafeteria and sticking notes to your locker in passing periods. He’s a little too close, you realize as you turn to him. You can feel his hot breath on your face, and instantly you smell that he didn’t brush his teeth this morning. Your flesh crawls as you meet his eyes. “Thanks,” you offer slowly. Your eyes dart to find a way around him as you say, “Ryan, you’re a little too close to me.”

He doesn’t make an effort to give you any space - in fact, quite the opposite. He steps his right foot forward, moving at nearly the pace of molasses, and you feel your adrenaline spike when he reaches his hand out to feel the cloth of your ugly sweater, his touch suddenly turning to a death grip on the cotton. “We’ve been this close before,” he murmurs, and you panic.

Your hands come up to his shoulders and shove him away as hard as you possibly can. You succeed in pushing him away, partly, but his right hand is still gripping your sweater, anchoring him to you. His quiet demeanor dissolves into something resembling hurt as he pulls you closer to him, grabbing your other shoulder with his free hand -

The front door squeaks open. Ryan, distracted, turns to look at the door. You take this moment to finally shove him off of you, running around him. There’s another man standing at the front door, eyes flicking back and forth from you and Ryan. When you move to get past him, he appears to regain his senses, following you out of the store. 

“Wait! Are you okay?” He yells, and the sound of his voice stops you in your tracks.

You freeze in the middle of the sidewalk. There’s no way. There’s no way. You’re delusional. “Excuse me?” He asks again.

You turn slowly on your heels. He looks so concerned, his face contorted in the same way he used to frown when you’d fail a turn on the ice while practicing your routine. That worry, reminiscent of how he’d skate over and offer you a hand, pulling you up with a simple “Are you alright?”

You exhale, hard. There’s no sign of recognition on his face, no nostalgia, no recovered memories of an old friend. You’re having a freak coincidence right now, and the only other person who would understand has no idea who you are.

He walks over, his boots crunching rock salt as he surveys your face for wounds. “Can you hear me?”

Snap out of it.

You blink a couple times. Nod. Twice. “Yes, I’m sorry, yes, I’m okay.”

The friend smiles, but it’s confused, worried. “Do you need me to call 911, or…?”

“No,” you laugh. The noise catches both of you by surprise, but you can’t stop, dropping the basket, giggles shaking your body. The situation is a little comical, in all honesty - you’re stuck in your hometown with your dysfunctional family, you were practically just assaulted by someone who’s been in love with you since the eighth grade, and the boy you were once in love with doesn’t remember you. It’s like the plot of a Hallmark movie, if Hallmark movies were written by whoever writes Grey’s Anatomy.

You look up at him, and there’s that little chuckle of his, the one that lights up his whole face. He’s confused, yeah, but he’s got the right spirit. You clear your throat and extend your hand to him. “Thank you, really.”

He takes it gently. “Sure. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, definitely, thank you.” Releasing his hand, you pick up the basket from the ground. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m good.”

“Okay.” He’s still watching your face carefully. “You know what? Why don’t I accompany you home?”

Oh, no. No thank you. Not today. Not in my Hallmark movie.

“No thanks. I’ll be fine.”“Can I at least give you my number?”

You look at him incredulously. “Why?”

He shrugs. “So you can text me to make sure you got home okay.”

Your laugh is cold, abrupt. “Why would you care?”

“Because I just saw you get assaulted! Is it a crime to care about people?”

“No, but it’s weird to give your number to a stranger.”

“People do it all the time.”

“Oh, do they, really? Where?”

“Bars. Clubs. Parties.”

“We’re not in any of those places.”

He rolls his eyes with a smile, already whipping out his phone. “I’m Vince. Dunn.”

You laugh a little self-consciously. “Yeah, I know.”

Vince looks up from tapping his screen to raise his eyebrow at you. “You’re into hockey?”

“No. We went to school together.”

His eyes widen, first with shock. You see the initial confusion pass and become replaced by intense, sudden recognition. “Y/N?”

You grin broadly. “Long time no see.”

---

This absolutely wasn’t your fault.

You hadn’t ever expected him to go along with it, let alone offer himself up to help you. You’d merely been commiserating. Right, sharing your troubles with a friend. 

Vince takes you to brunch the next day, a welcome reprieve from your family. Your mother protests, but you’re only half-listening to her while you watch the read 9:13 am appear below your most recent text to him.

vince

La Fontaine is way overpriced. Let me show you a place

You smile and type back, what? so you can get me alone?

vince

Is it really so bad to want to spend time alone with an old friend?

vince

We haven’t seen each other in years, there’s no way you know any good breakfast places here

you

you remember that i grew up here, right?

vince

Sorry, how long’s it been since you’ve been here?

you

touche

you 

bastard

Vince

It’s within walking distance. I’ll meet you at Bailey’s at 10?

you

sounds like a plan

It’s good, to see him again. Your breath fogs the space in front of you, dissipating when you walk through it, your steps in perfect synchronization with Vince’s. He leads you down a back road that hadn’t existed when you were little and entertains you the whole walk with tales of his hockey shenanigans. You find yourself shocked that the Vince you knew as a child, the goofy kid that never quite fit in, is now a famous professional athlete. Time has changed him, too; he’s so mature now, with his good posture and manners. He holds the door open to a small diner off Quincy and Arlette, and you find yourself wondering if an alien kidnapped your childhood best friend and possessed his body.

When he starts talking is when you feel your heart begin to slip. The way he grins when he’s talking about his friends or his family or something stupid he’s done is breathtaking, his lips reaching his eyes. The way he throws his head back when he laughs, a deep, shaky noise, like if he’s too loud he’s going to break something.

So when he asks about your love life, you can’t help it. You open your mouth and words materialize on your lips without you even consciously forming them. You tell him everything, about your tragic love history and the way you felt when your mother asked snidely if you were going to bring a boy home for Christmas and the panic in your chest when you blurted “yes.”

And when your lip wobbles after you finish, he swears he can see tears beginning to prick at your eyes. Baby, he thinks - no, he feels the word in his heart, looking at you like this.It’s not your fault he offered himself up. He’s a grown man, he makes his own decisions, and he is the one who decided to pretend to be your boyfriend at Christmastime. In front of your family.

You’re just the one who’s going along with it.

---

“We should probably hold hands.”

The skin of his hands is rough, calloused, a sharp contrast to your soft touch. His palm feels so big against yours, the flat surface nearly dwarfing your whole hand, long fingers enclosed around yours. He bites his nails - you know from one glance at the chewed nubs of calcium.

“And hug,” he adds. “Couples hug.”

“Okay, fine, hugging, too.”

When his arms snake their way around your torso from behind, you become acutely aware of just how touch-starved you are. Every nerve ending is on fire, rocketing signals lightning-fast to your brain, adrenaline flooding your system. Your heartbeat quickens, and you know he feels it, the bastard, because your mother asks him what he’s smiling about, and he says “Nothing.”

You turn in his arms when she leaves, taking a step away from him. He looks mildly dismayed at the loss of your warmth but doesn’t comment on it. You lead the topic of conversation away from the hug.

“What about kissing?” Vince points out. “Couples kiss.”

Five.

That line has been ringing through his head all night. Every glimpse he catches of you, every tiny little look, makes the phrase rattle around his skull like a maraca of that one phrase.

When you catch his eye across the kitchen and make a funny face at him, a small gesture of togetherness in an atmosphere so cold and distancing.

“Couples kiss.”

Four.

When he rounds the corner to find the bathroom. You come around the opposite side at the same time and smack your face right against his chest, and when you pull back frantically you look up at Vince with a look of such pure apology he can’t help it.

“Couples kiss.”

Three.

You take his hand under the table at dinner. You don’t even really know why - it’s a strangely intimate gesture - but you see it through, your small hand resting gently on top of his.He flips his hand over so you can lace your fingers through his.

“Couples kiss.”

Two.

You huff, considering him.

“Only if it’s an absolute emergency.”

New Year’s isn’t an emergency, Vince knows. He knows New Year’s is actually the exact opposite of an emergency, nothing important, and if he could, he’d walk away. At least, he pretends he would.

But he can’t, because your siblings are egging him on, face-to-face with you. 

“Couples kiss.”

“Only if it’s an absolute emergency.”

“An absolute emergency.”

“Couples kiss.”

“Emergency.”

“Only if it’s an absolute emergency.”

He knows New Year’s isn’t an emergency and he knows he could just brush Danny and Jo off but the light is framing you so perfectly, and the way you smile at him so earnestly - his brain is shaking like a pinball machine but he doesn’t have time to consider that so he kisses you.

One.

He kisses you.

Your lips are sweet against his. You taste like sugar, he notices.

And then you pull away and make an excuse to use the restroom again and while Jo and Danny screech congratulations and celebrations at him. The champagne glass in his hand feels empty, and the hand he had tangled in your hair only seconds ago feels like it’s burning.

Couples kiss.

---

When you press the hastily-wrapped present into his hands, you won’t meet his eyes. It’s days after that kiss, that goddamned mistake, and you’re so shaky you can barely keep it together. The sight of you in such an uncomfortable state in Vince’s presence hits him in the heart and causes a deep knot to settle in his stomach. 

Idiot.

“I know we said no presents,”

“We’re not a couple,” you said. “You don’t have to get me anything.”

“But I think you deserve at least one. For putting up with my family.”

“What if I want to get you something? As friends?”

He offers his best normal smile. “You didn’t have to,” he says. A car horn blasts from somewhere near.

You scowled at him, but he just continued. “I can get presents for my friends.”

It’s ironic that he’s the one who asked to give presents but here you are, with a present, and here he is, empty-handed.

The silence is awkward.“Well,” you say. “Have a good trip.”

You’re turning to leave when his hand grips your upper arm, holding you in place. You move your gaze to meet his, and before you can say anything, he says,

“Hey.” His eyes are boring holes into yours. You feel goosebumps litter your skin when he says, “Happy New Year.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, and he lets you go.

He lets you go.

---

The box weighs heavy in his lap. The car moves with every bump in the road, and with each jolt he feels the cardboard corners, wrapped in patterns of reindeer faces and Santa’s smile, pressing into his legs. The sharp, quick pain is a constant reminder, and it makes him think of you. Even the wrapping paper is so stereotypically you, obviously something you grabbed from the back of your closet or (more likely) borrowed from a neighbor or classmate. He could see it now, the way you asked with a smile if they had any ugly wrapping paper, the confusion on their face as you lit up when they said, yeah, why? You delighted in the stupid pattern, so busy that he could barely focus on just one aspect. And you’d certainly picked a black Sharpie to write his name, knowing full well it’d easily be lost in the mottled colors and insane patterns. The way you wrote Vince, in that unique combination of print and cursive, like you couldn’t decide - again, so predictably you. He traces the big V with his index finger, picturing you in your apartment, on the floor, taking special care to write his name this way, on the top where he would at least have a chance of seeing it. Your hair falling into your face, hand gripping the pen and being oh-so-meticulous about the way you wrote it, his name, not wanting it to be too big, but not too small either. Just the right size to grab his attention.

Of course you would.

And you’d have known that he would hate to tear open the paper, to rip something with so much significance to him. He flips the box over and finds the taped-over seam. There has to be a way to undo this without ruining the wrapping, he knows, so he picks at the tape gently, taking care not to destroy the delicate paper. The taping is perfect, because you, obviously, couldn’t handle anything else. It spans the exact length of the box, no more, no less; you’ve always been a perfectionist.

He manages to unwrap the box with only one or two tiny tears and feels a tiny moment of pride immediately eclipsed by the desire to know what, exactly, you’ve given him for Christmas. He flips it over to find the top once more and does so successfully. The top flaps of cardboard are folded over each other without any tape, and he remembers begging you to teach him how to do this when you were kids, making presents for the teachers at your school. You never did.

He pulls one of the tabs and, like magic, the whole top undoes itself. Inside, there’s another small box with what he assumes are polaroids, two tiny boxes next to each other, a wrapped present in the shape of a book, all placed meticulously on shredded filler paper. Delicately taped on top of the book-shaped item is an envelope.

On the front, Vince, in your script. Of course.

Something about the box smells familiar, so he brings the envelope to his nose, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. The scent of your favorite perfume, the one you wear constantly, your lucky charm (as you’ve informed him several times), floods his senses, and he nearly cries at the nostalgia that fills his heart. His whole body aches with pain, begging him, make the Uber driver turn the car around, run back.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he opens the envelope carefully. Inside is a stack of papers folded together several times, small enough to fit the package. He can’t help but smile at the long, flowing script you use when you write on loose-leaf, when you’re feeling emotional. Again the way you write has his heartstrings tugging. He isn’t a crier, usually, but for you he makes an exception. For you tears gather in his eyes, threatening to break and bury him. For you he feels, feels so deeply and painfully he doesn’t know if he can manage to read more than Dear Vince because it might kill him, the aching in his heart and the begging in his hands. The memory of you is poised for destruction in his mind and he can’t help but wonder if you’d known this is what you could do to him, this was the power you held over his life.

Dear Vince, that fatal first line reads.

Dear Vince.

#vince dunn fic

[jiminwreckedme]

Unfamiliar. (m)

Yoongi doesn’t feel so unfamiliar anymore, now that you feel things you haven’t before.

Genre - Smut, little angst if you peek, fuckbuddy Au (not so pwp, the characters have a bit of a backstory?) Word Count - 12K Pairing - (Bartender!) Yoongi x (Doctor!) Reader Warnings -  bit of PDA (touching, making out), dirty talk of sorts, fingering, oral (male and female receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex (Remember folks, No glove, no love), rough sex (maybe slight choking? and restriction too) Music - High for this, Pillowtalk

You don’t know, what’s in store, but you know what you’re here for.

“What can I get you?”

You blink at him with absolute disbelief etched across your face.

“Are you serious?”

“I’m serious.”

What a killjoy.  

“Fine.” You give in and lean, resting your elbows on the cold granite stone of the counter. “Surprise me.”

Close your eyes, lay yourself beside me

He stares at you intently for a moment, a very brief moment before he replies.

“Do you have any preferences? What kind of alcohol do you usually get?”

He knows the answer to that.

“Hard liquor.”

Hold tight for this ride. We don’t need no protection

“How do you feel about gin?” He points at a bottle on the shelf behind him. “We have a fine bottle of Copper & Kings, the History of lovers.”

You look at it and cross your arms, eyebrows arched up. Really?

“Or scotch maybe? Lagavulin, 16 years old, has a bit of a savory taste if that’s what you like?”

He knows the answer to that as well.

You don’t reply, looking at him pointedly but he waits, ever so ignorantly for you to use your words.

Come alone, We don’t need attention.

You give up and roll your eyes before answering him. “Remy martin.”

“Sure, how would you like it? Neat, on the rocks, straight up?-”

“Now you’ve got to be kidding me-”

“This isn’t a place to joke around Y/n,” His voice is threateningly low, yet you hear it above all that music. “You are in my workplace.”

Open your hand, take a glass. Don’t be scared, I’m right here.

“If you don’t want me to fix you a drink, I have other customers to handle, excuse me.”

Before you can even answer the question he walks away, grabbing the jigger, artfully spinning it with his fingers.

You stare at him shamelessly, oblivious to everything else, mouth going dry. Of course he was hot, Oh Min Yoongi was hot, but there was something about him standing behind that counter that was unbelievably attractive.

Even though you don’t roll. Trust me girl, you’ll wanna be high for this.

Maybe it was because he was dressed in that spotless see-through white shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, all those veins stark against his skin every time he gripped something. Maybe because he had ditched his signature style of those blonde fringes falling into his eyes and had them pushed back, out of his face. Maybe because he was doing his job, hands working fast as though they had a brain of their own, fixing all those drinks with incredible artistic skill. Or maybe because you hadn’t been laid in about three weeks now.

For whatever reason, you were tempted to just pull him by the collar over the counter and kiss the fuck out of him.

But he walks past about 4 times without looking at you even once.

You know because you sit arms crossed, your eyes following his every action. He knows you’re looking at him. You know he knows. Because almost 15 minutes later, he brings two bottles, setting them on the work space right before you, a little less gently than you would have expected, speaking to you in the same tone as earlier, but with a hint of annoyance.  

“What do you want?”

“Would it kill you to talk to me normally for a minute Yoongi? Like I’m not a customer but someone who you-”

“Watch your mouth,” He shuts you up knowing very well what you were going to say next. “This is not just any place Y/n, I work here. You can’t just turn up here like this.”  

“You come to my workplace all the time.”

“You work at a hospital, it’s not the same.”

“How is it not the same?”

Yoongi gives up and he returns his momentary undivided attention towards you back to the drinks in his hands.

“Because people go to your workplace to get treated, like I do.” Your eyes are fixed on the way his hands move. So artistic. “People come to my workplace to drink, and you’ve come here to-”

You look up, meeting his eyes to find him already looking at you.  

“-to fuck.”

No I did not.

What, it was okay for him to say that? Although the music was louder now than before, and with no one within an earshot of you, there’s no way anyone but you could have heard him.

“You know, it’s not like I’d say no if you came to the hospital for sex.” You mutter stupidly under your breath. Please tell me you didn’t hear that.

“Not now Y/n,” Ok, he didn’t hear that. “I’m in the middle of work.”

And he walks away again, grabbing a bottle, fixing the pourer onto it.

You watch, as he slowly spills the drink over the back of a spoon into an already half full shot glass before setting it carefully on the counter. Spinning a lighter on his finger, he clicks it and lights the surface on fire, earning the many many squeals of what looked like a bachelorette party. Though he resumes working, wiping a few glasses, he is watching the supposed bride from he corner of his eye as she downs her shot within seconds amidst all the cheering and slams the glass down, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, satisfied. The edges of his lips curl into a faint smile, the contentment evident on his face despite his attempts to not to make it obvious. He was proud of his work. When he looks away from them, he sees you again and simply sighs, walking away once more to the other side of the station.

It’s a whole ten minutes before he has work in the area you are sitting, ever so patiently. You take your chance to ask him.

“You didn’t mention when your working hours were going to end?”

“When the bar closes.” He begins to wipe the water near the ice bar and doesn’t even look up when he answers. “Two, two-thirty.”

“Fine, I’ll wait then.”

That’s what gets his attention, making him stop and meet your eye.

“It’s half past 11 Y/n.”

“I know.”

“That’s almost 3 hours.”

“I know.”

He raises an eyebrow. “For sex?”

With you. “For a conversation.”

Bending down, he grabs what looks like a bottle from below the counter and slams the mouth of it on the edge of the surface, knocking the cap off, before handing it to you. “Go home Y/n, It’s not worth it.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me.” You point at the beer bottle he’s put in front of you. “And this is not what I ordered.”

“You live far from here. Best not to get you too tipsy or drunk so you can go back safe.”

You look at him exasperated. “Yoongi-”

“What are you doing here in the first place?” He frowns at you. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“I had the shift off for working overtime last week.”

“And you’re here? Instead of staying at home?”

Valid and rhetoric question. You did love staying at home, he knew you enough to know that. Turning up at a bar on your day off was quite uncharacteristic of you. Days off meant more time curled up in your bed, more documentaries to watch and just get lazy. If you weren’t someone who took every opportunity to stay at home you would never even have met Yoongi.

He was your brother’s tutor.

In a family full of doctors and scientists, your 16 year old brother was the only person insistent on becoming a fashion designer. You had assumed his passion was limited to collecting and maintaining a few catalogues and sketching designs for his blog. It was only when he was almost half way through his high school that he revealed his sincerity towards it. He was so determined, he even managed to contact some designer in Korea to intern under after he was done studying. But that meant he had to learn at least basic Korean and that’s how Yoongi came into picture. Your parents thought finding a Korean tutor in Amsterdam would be nearly impossible and frankly so did you. Until a few days later, when you got the fright of your life.

You had gotten off work early and returned home with your then boyfriend, the both of you giggling and walking in, thinking you were all alone. As the two of you sat on the couch, impatiently making out, it was then that Yoongi walked in on both of you with a simple “Could you please keep it down?” And walked back into the house.

That was the first time you saw him.

About 6 months from that day, you were in your bed grabbing the sheets as he covered your mouth with one hand and made you come with his other.

It still boggled your mind, how you went from being embarrassed whenever you saw him to sleeping with him every time you had the chance to.

It started maybe 2 days after your asshole of a boyfriend dumped you.

You were moping around the house that day after refusing to attend the baby shower of some acquaintance with the rest of your family. It was just as you were about to crawl into bed and get comfy that the bell rang and you opened the door to find Yoongi standing there. Apparently your brother hadn’t informed him about his new plans and so Yoongi turned up for the lesson as per schedule.

That’s when things started spiraling out of hand.

When he told you he would just wait on the porch for his friend to pick him up, you shouldn’t have invited him into the house you were in all alone. When he came inside and sat on the couch, you shouldn’t have told him to find you if he needed anything (even though you said it for formality’s sake). When you knew he was in the house, just one floor below you, you shouldn’t have tried to get yourself off in your room.

If you hadn’t done any of that you wouldn’t have found yourself with your fingers deep inside you, back arching off the bed when Min Yoongi knocked on your door and opened it before you could even tell him not to.

At that moment time went very strangely. It was as though he was standing at the door frame for unbelievably long, giving you all the time in the world to pull out your fingers, shut your legs close, sit up and then think of a hundred different things to say without even saying one word.

And then time sped up all of a sudden, because you have no idea how, you didn’t remember at all, but somehow Yoongi was by your bed leaning over you, planting his hand into the mattress right beside your head (Weren’t you sitting? When did you even lie down?) and then his fingers slipped into you.

That feeling of his fingers replacing yours? It was so unfamiliar but so good. They were so much longer, shaking much less, the pace so consistent - the sensation was wild. With a few thrusts he had managed to figure out how and where exactly to curl his fingers to draw that long moan out of you. And as you got louder, he got faster, not stopping for anything. Not even when he heard the car pull up in your driveway. Not even when he heard the front door opening. Not even when he clearly heard the voices of your family.

When you tried to warn him, instead of pulling them out, he covered your mouth with his hand and whispered, curling his fingers just the way you needed him to. “Shh, be a good girl and come for me Y/n.”

And you did, almost instantly, giving yourself just enough time to (1), ride the high on his fingers before (2), he pulled them out and calmly hid himself, standing against the wall right by the door while (3), you pulled the sheets over your half bare body - all just in time, before your father opened the door of your room to check up on you.

After you assured him you were fine, he left, closing the door behind him, slowly revealing Yoongi who stood there calmly, simply watching you propped up on your elbows looking at him as he slipped both his fingers into his mouth, sucking your arousal clean off his fingers before he left, a smirk dancing on his face. And as you fell back into your bed staring at the ceiling in absolutely disbelief, you heard him making his way down the stairs, updating your family on everything right up to the part where he stood by your bedroom door.

And that’s how your first orgasm with Yoongi happened.

And though you knew it was not right to let a man you barely knew do that to you again, a part of you knew that was definitely not your last orgasm with him.

The next time you saw him, about two days later, he was absolutely normal, behaving with you like he always did, like all that did not even happen. Even when you found him alone for a minute in the dining room and told him you had to talk to him, all he said was “Not now, I’m in the middle of work.” Almost an hour later, he approached you while you were strolling outside, in the backyard, surfing through your phone. When you saw him out there, your first reaction for some reason was to panic and try to hide him away from the eyes of anyone who might see you together. Yoongi was clearly confused the whole time, especially when you climbed the dog kernel right under your bedroom window, and sneaked into your own room in broad daylight, ( similar to your teenage days when you came back home late at night). But he calmly just followed you.

When you found him in your room alone once again, that was when you finally spoke to him.

“We haven’t spoken about….that incident.”

“What about it?”

“You- I mean I- that was a one time thing Yoongi, you understand?”

“This is what you wanted to talk about?”

“Yes.”

“Are you done?”

“Y-Yes?”

“So I can go now?”

You look at him surprised. “Do you have nothing to say?”

“No. If you don’t want this, then there’s nothing left to say.”

“If I wanted more then?”

“Then I’d say, I thought so.”

“W-what?”

“I have never had one time encounters Y/n, I don’t do them and never will.”

“Why is that?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Of course, it was. The way you felt when you got off his fingers? Who wouldn’t want to ride that high again? Women probably crawled back to him all the time, and he probably couldn’t have one time encounters even if he wanted to.

“I don’t like to.” He shrugs very simply. “I like to work on the basis of…..you can call it an agreement.”

“What kind of agreement?”

“Just two rules.”

Rules?

“First, while this is going on, I won’t sleep with anyone else and you shouldn’t either.” He gives a pause letting you take in that information before he continues. “Second, If either of us should want to end it, for whatever reason, then we tell the other person and we’re done. No justifications, no explanations needed. When one person says no, it ends, as simple as that.”

You stared at him, not knowing what to say.

“I am only going to proceed if you are okay with that Y/n. All you have to do is ask.” He takes a step closer to you. “Ask me and I’ll give it to you.”

At that moment you really didn’t think it through when you said yes. You just wanted him. And that day after you made sure you locked the door this time, Min Yoongi made you come with his tongue not once but twice.

It had been going on since that day.

Though quite frankly, you didn’t know what to call yourselves. This was exclusive after all and a sort of commitment as well but nowhere even close to a relationship. He wasn’t exactly a booty call either. You couldn’t just text or call him every time you were horny, Yoongi wasn’t a man who entertained those kinds of requests. Sex, hence only happened in certain conditions and that was whenever came to your house.

So Min Yoongi who used to come to your house every weekend to tutor your brother began staying for an extra hour to ‘tutor’ you as well. When you told your parents you wanted to learn Korean, it was a miracle they didn’t question it. Maybe because Yoongi didn’t charge extra for teaching you (“I’m not going to charge to fuck you Y/n, that’s not how this works.”) or maybe because your extremely social parents were barely at home during the weekends and didn’t really care much about what their adult daughter did. Much like your brother who spent most of his time holed up in the basement working on his own thing. That left you and Yoongi all alone in your room for an hour twice a week. Yes, sex with him was technically pre-scheduled. So he was far from a booty call.

Could you call yourselves fuck buddies then? Initially you didn’t know if you could, you both were not even close to what you would consider ‘buddies’ - you barely spoke. Every time you and Yoongi found yourselves together, you only ever had sex. You could barely remember an incident or two when you didn’t actually fuck upon finding yourselves alone. Once when he saw a scar on your body and asked you what it was. You remember telling him, showing him the other scars too, telling the stories behind each of them and he did the same when you asked him. You didn’t remember sleeping with him that day. Or on that day when Yoongi turned up in animated pizza printed underwear and you couldn’t stop laughing. That day you didn’t have sex either. Instead you showed him all your printed underwear as a peace offering.

But that was about it. There were no other instances as far as you could remember. But if you really did have to give the relationship between you two a name, you preferred to call yourselves fuck buddies. You don’t know what Yoongi thought of that, you always just referred to it as ‘the agreement’.

And the agreement was going like it was for the last one year - just fine, till about three weeks ago, when your brother told Yoongi he didn’t need to be tutored anymore.

You were wondering what that meant for you and Yoongi. Because if he wasn’t going to come home for your brother anymore, it made no sense coming home for just you. You had no idea how you were going to continue this arrangement of yours now and only hoped that Yoongi had some alternative in mind. You tried calling him about it but he didn’t pick up. You dropped him a bunch of texts but he didn’t reply to any. Was he busy? Was he ignoring you? You didn’t know.

Your last ray of hope was that weekend. Your parents and brother had planned to go to Korea for a week to attend the new collection launch of the designer your brother was in contact with. You could have gone too, expect you had to go to work. That’s what you told yourself but deep down you knew that meeting Yoongi was also a part of your agenda. For all you knew, that weekend could have been your last time with him. So you sent him a message that you were all alone at home this weekend and just sat with your fingers crossed, hoping he would turn up.

He didn’t show up on Saturday.

And didn’t show up on Sunday either.

Another week passed by like that and then another. With you calling him only to reach voicemail, with you sending him texts only to be replied with silence. It was starting to reach the point where you actually began worrying about whether he was even okay or not because, was it really normal to ignore someone for so long? And you didn’t even know how to meet him at least to make sure he was at least alright. You had no idea where he lived, where else he worked, what other jobs he did, nothing. You knew nothing about him.

Except that he was some sort of expert when it came to alcohol. You were surprised when you came across some of his papers on which he had scribbled, in the messiest handwriting possible, some recipes for cocktails. Back then you didn’t think about why he had such stuff written down, rather you were more fascinated by all those interesting concoctions and so you excitedly asked him about each of them while he calmly answered them. (Oh. That was another day you didn’t have sex with him.)

That night though, you had thought about it, why he might’ve known so much. It was one thing to have an opinion on different kinds of alcohol but to know things such as what kind of ice and what kind of strainer to use? That was definitely not general knowledge, he undoubtedly was a professional of some sort. You had made a mental note to ask him the next time you saw him but you couldn’t. Not when his dick was thrusted deep inside you, his mouth hot on your neck.

A few days ago, when you took a closer look at his profile picture as you sat for the hundredth time wondering why he wasn’t getting back to you, in the background you saw the neon letters spelling out the name of a bar (Truck You) you had only heard about quite often. Putting two and two together, you began wondering if Min Yoongi might actually be a bartender of some sorts and if that was his workplace. There was only one way to find out and that was to personally go there and see for yourself but you were swarmed with night shifts at the hospital and heading to a bar was out of question.

Till today, when you finally got a day off because your friend offered to take your shift to repay a favor last week. And the moment you got free your first thought drifted towards looking out for Yoongi. Even though you knew it could be pointless - he might go there often or he might even have just been there once - and there was no guarantee you’d find him there today, this was your shot in the dark. You had one chance to try and one place you could do so at. So you took it.

And it paid off because the minute you walked in, your eyes fell on Yoongi behind the counter. At that moment there was just a wave of mixed emotions. You were happy he was fine, you were proud of yourself for finding him, you were mad that he was absolutely okay and just ignored you for three weeks, you were so turned on seeing him dressed like that - so many things at once. But you squashed all those feelings in and just sat on the bar stool waiting for him to react when he spots you. It had been so long since you saw him, you had to first make sure this was not a dream. And when he finally did see you a few minutes later, his eyes widened for barely a second (so this was real) before he resumed looking completely indifferent.

And he still looked so unbothered as he worked that cocktail shaker effortlessly. It was as though you didn’t even exist and you couldn’t do anything about it. All that could be done now was wait.

And you do, boredly squirming, tapping your finger on the surface, occasionally sipping on the beer which had gone pretty flat, looking at him whip up all those drinks for what seemed excruciatingly long. You did that till you heard a voice.

“The bar is about to close.”

Your eyes fly open and find a man dressed much like Yoongi, standing right before you with a name tag that read ‘Hoseok.’ When did you even fall asleep and for how long? Your first instinct is to look for Yoongi.

He wasn’t there.

“Where’s Yoongi?”

“It’s my turn to clean up today so I guess he’s done for the day?”

“He left?”

“I didn’t see him leave the bar though. He might still be changing?”

“Where?”

Hoseok scratches the back of his head. “I’m not sure you can go there though, it’s for staff only.”

You sigh, really tired of everything. “Please.”

Hoseok looks at you with what seemed like pity in his eyes. “Are you Y/n?”

“H-How do you know?”

“There.” He points, but you don’t look. “The room next to the back door.”

“But how do you know my-”

“He’s leaving.”

You turn to see Yoongi far across the crowd on the dance floor, stepping out of the room in his usual simple tee and ripped jeans outfit. Hurriedly thanking Hoseok you rushed through the crowd “sorry, sorry.” till you finally reached the blonde man and grab him by the wrist to his absolute surprise and drag him away from the music out of the back door.

When you step out, the first thing that hits you is the smell of the trash from all the trash cans nearby, but you don’t care.

You let go of Yoongi and cross your arms but he beats you to the conversation.

“I was going to come talk to you.”

You cut it, straight to the point. “Why did not talk to me all these days?”

“Y/n,” He sighs, “I’ve just been busy.”

“How busy do you have to be to not find the time to type two words?” You unlock the phone in your hand and hold up your chat over the days, forcing him to see it.  

You : Yoongi, are you okay? You : Please say something, I’m getting scared. You : Just say you’re okay and I can be at peace. You : Where are you Yoongi? You : Why are you doing this? You : Please, please just tell me once that you’re fine.

“I’m fine.” You put your phone down sighing. “That’s all you had to say to all this, that you’re fine. Do you know how worried I was?”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why? It’s been 3 weeks and I haven’t heard a word from you, I was scared something happened-”

“To our agreement?”

What? That’s what he thought you were worried about? Sex? Yeah of course, for a day, maybe two but after that you had been worried for his life. Wasn’t it basic humanity to? To worry and care for people you were associated with? Would he have not felt the same if he was in your place? Or were you the one thinking about this more than you needed to?

“Yes.” You lie. “You said our agreement would end only if we tell each other we wanted it to end. Ghosting me for three weeks was not mentioned-”

“I don’t want it to end.” He says it instantly and so earnestly. “That’s why I didn’t say anything.”

He didn’t want to end things?

Deep down, this was your biggest fear, something you didn’t even admit to yourself. Being worried for Yoongi’s general well-being helped suppress every other reason for panic but with him standing in front of you and knowing that he was okay, there was only one thing left to be scared of. That he wanted to end things. That if Yoongi said he didn’t want this agreement anymore you’d have to stop seeing each other. You didn’t want to stop.

“So you…..you don’t want to end things.”

Yoongi shakes his head.

“You don’t want to end things, you won’t reply to me, you won’t sleep with me and I can’t sleep with anyone else either, do you know how frustr-”

“Do you want to sleep with anyone else?”

His question throws you off. Out of all the things you had listed that’s what he catches? If he wasn’t ignoring you because he was planning on ending the agreement then….Is it because that’s what’s bothering him?

“Wait Yoongi, this isn’t one of those ‘I’m catching feelings for you’ kind of situations right?”

He blinks for a bit and then lets out a short laugh. “Are you mad?”

“Then….then what’s the problem?”

“I told you, I was busy.”

“With what Yoongi? What were you so busy with that you send me a message-”

“I lost my scholarship.” He confesses, taking you aback. “I have one term left to finish my degree in English Language. They cut my grants off because of some new rules and now I have to pay full tuition payment for a term and……I don’t think I can afford it.”

“Oh.” You stutter, completely thrown off by the information. “I-I’m so sorry Yoongi, I didn’t know that.”

“You don’t know anything.”

That was unfair.

“How would I?” You whisper softly. “It’s not like you told me-”

“I don’t need to Y/n.” He smiles sadly. “We don’t mean enough to each other to share so much.”

As much as those words were true they still made you feel strangely disappointed.

“Can….can I ask you what you’re going to do about it now?” You immediately add. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“I’m not eligible to get a decent loan with the earnings of a bartender. The only way to do this is…..to earn the money myself.” He reveals. “I’ve been trying to get a job over the last few weeks. I applied to couple of places and last week I got an offer, to teach Korean in this tuition center, over the weekends.”

“That’s great!” You smile, deeply relieved on the inside. “I’m so happy for you…How has it been working there?”

“I haven’t accepted their offer yet though.”

“What?” You’re washed over by a wave of shock. “Why not?”

“I’ve been considering dropping out instead,” He slips his hands into his pocket. “I want to follow my dream over what I think my dream should be.”

You know exactly what he means. It hits home. You always thought your dream was should be being a doctor, you grew up with the idea, you were brought up with the idea, you convinced yourself that it was your dream. But all those posters in your house stuck inside your cupboards, those stages, those costumes, those routines. That should have been your dream. Being a dancer should have been your dream.

“What is your dream?”

“To be my own boss.�� He smiles. “Open my own bar one day. Maybe a chain. Serve the best kind of alcohol in the whole city. Have crazy Friday nights with packed tables and happy people. That’s my dream.”

“Then why….”

“It’s not a small investment, something like that. Even if I work 7 days of the week, save almost every cent of what I earn, it will be years before I can make enough money to do something like that. I thought the more practical approach to life then was to just change the dream”

He sighs, chest rising then falling.

“But whenever I look at the tuition fee I have to pay to finish this degree? It doesn’t make any sense to me. If I really had to churn up so much money, I figured I might as well put it where it makes me happy instead.”

“So you mean you want to drop out and…then what?”

“Kick start my dream by writing a book.” A book? “More of guide to be honest, for bartenders, it’ll have tips and techniques, how to actually use equipment, recipes, things of that sort. You’d be surprised how many people out there call themselves professional without knowing basic things like what ice to use-”

“Ice that’s not cloudy.” You state confidently, catching Yoongi off guard and shrug. “You told me this once. Ice is to a bartender what fire is to a chef.”

So that’s what all those notes had been about.

“Yeah.” He looks impressed. “But that means I have to experiment a lot, invest too much time and money, I don’t think I can do that with two jobs and continuing a degree. I have to decide what to hold on to and what to let go.”

Did you choose to let go us?

“Is that….is this why you’ve been so- I mean, is this why you couldn’t reply to me?”

“I need to sort things in my life first Y/n, and our agreement…… I didn’t think I should prioritize it at this point.”

“Of course not.” You shake your head. “I’m the stupid one, I should’ve understood you had your own problems, I’m so sorry, I just….I was being an idiot, I guess I was just so used to you being a constant the last one year, it was strange cutting off everything all of a sudden. I probably” You let out a short stupid laugh, “Probably even missed you-”

“Probably?” He chuckles. “I for one, definitely missed you.”

“Yeah sure.” You mock him, trying to lighten the mood even more, now that he was smiling again. “You wouldn’t have been able to stand so far away if you really did-”

He takes two quick strides and the rest of you words are lost against his mouth as he kisses you, trapping you between his hands against the wall. There’s a mix of urgency and gentleness in the way he moves, as though he badly wanted this but also wanted to take his time. You didn’t take his word for it, but it almost seems like he really did miss you. You take his face in your hands, gaining control, easing your lips against his, savoring the moment, not wanting to rush it through. Yoongi groans softly, low in his throat pulling your hands down with his, pinning them above you, against the wall kissing your neck as he whispered. “It was so hard to resist the urge to do this the moment I saw you.”

Your breathing becomes more audible as you arch off the wall, baring more of your throat to him, spiraling, getting lost in the sensation, before you finally manage to find the voice to ask him to stop.

“I’m….I’m not going to have sex with you near the trash cans Yoongi.”

He pulls back, face so close to yours as he grinned. “It’s been three weeks, I thought you might be desperate enough to.” There he was.

“You give yourself too much credit.” You wriggle your hands making him loosen his grip. You wanted him so badly, it had really had been way too long but the smell of the trash? You couldn’t bear it. “I just can’t here, the smell kinda ruins the mood.”

“Yeah we should get out of here.” Yoongi let’s your hand go, taking a step back. Where to though? “Let me grab my things.”

You nod and walk into the bar as Yoongi holds the door open for you.

Maybe because it’s much later at night but the lights were dimmer and the crowd was much lesser and the music was a lot slower and a lot sexier than you remembered it. You can feel your body automatically swaying to the music, forgetting the world around you. You didn’t even notice when Yoongi stepped in behind you and walked into the changing rooms.

Climb on board, We’ll go slow and high tempo

Letting the music lead you, you walk in, to the edge of the dance floor and let  your body move the way it feels its right. It felt so good to dance again. You’re so lost in your own private bubble, it takes a while before you notice Yoongi standing in his leather jacket, backpack slung over one shoulder, just staring at you.  

You beckon him towards you with a smile and he complies but he doesn’t take your hand when you hold it out, shaking his head instead.

“I don’t dance.”

You laugh and reach for his wrists instead, pulling him closer, wrapping them around your waist.  

Light and dark. Hold me hard and mellow

“What a pity, women find a man who can dance attractive.”

“That’s a personal preference.”

“It’s a scientific fact.”

Yoongi chuckles. “As far as I remember, when you entered the club, you walked past all those ‘dancing men’ and sat right there for 3 hours” He points at the stool on the other side of the floor with a tilt of his head, that cocky look on his face. “What does that tell you?”

You shrug, continuing to play with the metal of the chain resting on his chest, as though you didn’t know the answer to that.

I’m seeing the pain, seeing the pleasure. Nobody but you, ‘body but me. ‘Body but us, bodies together.

“Those men may move their bodies however they like, but a woman likes a man who knows her body.” His voice is so fucking deep. “Like I know yours.”

“Do you now?” You run your finger along the line of his jaw. “It’s been so long since you’ve even touched me-”

“Doesn’t matter.” He presses himself onto you and you can feel it. How incredibly hard he’s gotten. “No one knows you like I do, I can promise you that.”

Your lips curl into a smile as you run your hand from his chest to all the way down there, rubbing him ever so slightly over the material of his jeans. “I could say the same”

I love to hold you close, tonight and always. I love to wake up next to you.

You want to see a warning flash in his eyes or some sort of reaction to your actions, but all he does is let out a breath. “It’s been three weeks, I didn’t think you would be in the state to tease.”

“I figured if you could leave me like that for so long, a few minutes shouldn’t hurt you-”

“3 hours.” Yoongi stares at you with an intensity you’ve never seen in his eyes before. “Ever since you walked into the bar and sat there.”

I love to hold you close, tonight and always. I love to wake up next to you.

“Nonsense.” You put your arms around his neck, laughing. He was being ridiculous after all. “You barely looked at me the whole time.”

“I didn’t need to. Not when all I could think of was having you bent over that counter with your panties around your ankles.”

So we’ll piss off the neighbors.

You almost gasp, eyes widening, feeling that throbbing sensation in your core. Yoongi never speaks like this outside your bedroom.

“I just couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

“About w-what?”

He turns you around, your back against his erection pressing into you, his lips on the skin of your shoulder making their way up. He’s holding you in place with just one arm across your waist, his other hand is drawing circles on the skin your extremely short dress was exposing.

In the place that feels the tears. The place to lose your fears.

“Your moans” He’s not even whispering, he’s making sure he’s heard. “The way you sound when I’m fucking you, when you say my name.”

“The way your hands run down my back and how it feels to be inside you, so tight,” Its like he knows you clenched your walls at that exact moment. “fuck so tight all time, its like I’ve not been there a hundred times already.”

Reckless behavior.

“Yoongi-”

“And how you smell, that scent of you drives me crazy,” His voice suddenly goes so low, you unwillingly feel yourself swallow nothing. “and I can smell it right now. Is that how wet you are already?” You still can’t move. “I’m sure I can easily slide in two fingers. Maybe even three? You’re a good girl, I know you can take it.”

A place that is so pure, so dirty and raw.

It’s so hard for words to leave you. “I-I know something better you can put inside me Min Yoongi.”

He chuckles, “I offered to earlier today, you said I give myself too much credit.”

“Did you really take my word for it?” You turn to him, pressing your hips into his.

He lets out a small laugh. “Have you always been this easy to please?” There was so much pride in his voice. But he deserved to feel that. You were practically a puddle in his hands. “I can’t remember”

“Fuck me and you will.” You can’t hear or think of anything else, your hands finding that tiny cold metal of his pants and they start to unzip it already, forcing Yoongi to hold your wrist and stop you.

“I’m not sure this is the right place for it-”

“I take it back, I don’t mind doing it near the backdoor, trash cans or not.”

Yoongi smirks at your desperation. “We’ve been waiting for 3 hours, I think we both deserve more than that.”

“Yoongi…..” You whine, desperate. “Where do you want to go then? My parents will be home now.”

“I know….” He trails off for a bit. “I know a place nearby we can go to, about 10 minutes away. Would that be okay with you?”

After all these months was Yoongi finally taking you to his house?

“10 minutes is all you get.”

“Perfect.” He steps back flashing his gummy smile, holding his hand out. “Let’s go.”

The moment he leads you into the darkness of his house and shuts the door behind you, you don’t waste time and press him up against it, hooking you fingers in his belt loops, slamming your lips onto his. And he responds by letting his backpack slip from his shoulder onto the floor before he takes your face in his hand, slipping his tongue into your mouth, eliciting that soft whimper from you. His hands don’t wait there, wandering down, caressing your neck before he pushes his jacket that you had borrowed during the bike ride here off your shoulders, making you quickly reach behind and drag the sleeves down your arms before crumpling it unbothered and throwing it, however far your arm could extend.

“Careful!” Yoongi abruptly pulls back, making you almost bite your own lip as he cautions you, pointing at the silhouette of a vase you nearly knocked down with the jacket. “I have no idea how expensive anything is here. We don’t want to fall into any kind of trouble.”

You freeze.

All that excitement, the awe, the thrill, everything in you extinguishes in a second, the moment you hear that statement.

“Yoongi. This-this isn’t your house?”

“I wish.” He chuckles, hand searching the wall for the switches and flipping them on upon finding them. “My house isn’t even a quarter the size of this.”

When your eyes adjust to the brightness and you are finally able to see something other than shadows, you’re awestruck because the place is, well, absolutely beautiful. The white and blue tones of the walls, the slightly antique looking furniture, all those books racked up in bookshelves and those paintings on the walls - none of it looked even close to what you would imagine his place to look like.

“Oh my god, this isn’t your house.”

Yoongi shakes his head as if it’s that simple.  

“A friend’s house?”

He shakes his head again.

“Do you even know who lives here?”

“For someone who was eager enough to do it by the trashcans you are having an awful lot of questions now.”

“Yoongi, just answer.”

He picks up his jacket and backpack from the floor and walks in casually to dump it on the couch.

“No, I don’t really know who lives here.”

You freeze. “Oh my god, what are we doing here?!”

He shrugs. “You said you couldn’t wait.”

“What?!” Your voice leaves you as angry whispers. “Yoongi, that doesn’t mean we trespass into someone’s private-”

“Relax Y/n. I have the keys.” He fishes them out from his back pocket, jiggling them at you before he throws them onto the couch as well. “ I have permission, this is far from illegal. My housing agent suggested this space.”

You slowly walk into the house, the fear subsiding with each step.

“The owner lives in Sydney, so I was free to come over and check it out whenever I wanted to. Though the agent did ask him to let him know when I do….” He grins. “Guess I just forgot. “

“I can’t believe you Yoongi.” You shake your head in disbelief, fighting back a smile. “So technically, we are breaking in?”

“Not technically-”

“Yoongi, you just brought me to some random persons house to have sex.”

“Should I be scared that you don’t sound disappointed saying that?”

“Hmm, I like it.” You smile slowly, walking up to him, a glint of mischief in your eyes “I’m so tired of us always having to do it in my bedroom, keeping it down, trying not to get caught. That had its own thrill but here,” Pressing your body against his you tiptoe, weaving your fingers into the back of his head, whispering in his ear. “Here you can make me scream.”

Yoongi lets out a short laugh, his hands finding the curves of your hips, walking you back till you feel the edge of the breakfast bar behind, and kissing you in a way that dragged out those desperate moans. When he pulls back letting you breath and whispering, “Trust me, I’m dying to.”, you look at him chest heaving, biting your lip that was already missing his mouth. His eyes are darken with a mix of desire and something you couldn’t quite tell as he began littering kisses along your collarbone and you attempt to pull your hair into a ponytail, the way he likes it, thank god for the hair tie on your wrist. His hands grip your thighs as he stands between them and his mouth feels so good but you want so much more.

“Are you just going to kiss me all night?” Your voice shakes as he makes a trail up your neck.“I can think of better places you can put your mouth.”

“Such impatience.” He chuckles, sliding the straps of your dress off your shoulders and down your arms, his long fingers brushing them excruciatingly slowly. Of course, Min Yoongi’s recipe for mind blowing sex - foreplay, teasing, edging. But you were not in the mood for any of that today.

“You ditched me for 3 weeks,” You work faster than him, almost swatting his hands aside and pulling the dress down to bunch up at your waist, “I think I’ve been patient enough.” You unhook the clasp of your bra, and slide it off, discarding it somewhere on the floor, unbothered. Yoongi’s expression darkens as your fingers find the zip of his jeans, and unzip it without hesitation.

“Come on Yoongi, how much more do you want me to ask?”

He smirks but complies nevertheless, dragging his hands under your dress and up your thigh, pushing the material of your panties aside, running his finger between your folds.

“You’re so wet, fuck.” There is something about the way his voice goes so low and deep when he’s aroused that makes you clench your walls harder. “I could slip in there so easily, fill you up so good. Would you like that?”

Fuck yes Min Yoongi. That’s what you want to say. But you can’t. Not when he doesn’t even wait before he slides two fingers inside you, and all you can do is let out a soft moan, your body instantly reacting to the familiar feeling of his long digits thrusted inside you. But before you can fully savor that sensation, he pulls them out completely, much to your disappointment.

“Lift your hips for me.”

And you obey pulling away from the edge of the counter letting him tug that tight dress down your legs, throwing it somewhere. He pulls out the bar stool from behind you, guiding you to sit on it.

“Turn.”

You frown, not understanding as he swiftly spins the apparently rotatable stool half a round, pressing himself against your back. As you open your mouth to complain about not being about to see him, his hand slides from behind, over your waist, down there and this time, when he plunges his fingers into your heat again, “Oh fuck yes.” the feeling is wild.

His hand finds your breast as you feel yourself arch off against him, whimpers spilling from you mouth. He doesn’t let you grind against his hand, and picks up the pace instead knowing that’s what you want, as he thrusted his fingers in and out of you, months of experience telling him just how deep you liked it and just how fast. His hand switches between your breasts, mouth hot on your neck as you tip your head back, quickening the pleasure building up inside, your breaths getting louder, shorter. It’s been so long since you’ve even been touched, with him pumping his digits into you like that, it doesn’t take long for you to edge.

“Fuck, I’m going to come, Yoongi, stop.” You weakly attempt to hold his wrist but of course you are not successful, not when you feel him run his tongue up your neck. “Fuck, I want you inside me when I come, please, just stop-”

“Cute.” He lightly sinks his teeth into the soft skin of your shoulder, whispering against it. “What makes you think you’re only going to come once tonight?”

You bite back a moan, stuttering “Fuck, yes, yes, yes, right there”, incoherently and it takes just the slight pressure of his thumb on your clit and you fall apart instantly, breathing heavily.

When he feels you finish riding your high and relax around his fingers, he slowly pulls them out, and you turn to face him, finally gaining the ability to address his cockiness. “Make me come more than once today? Don’t you have a lot of confidence Min Yoongi?”

“I think I’m allowed to have it.” He sucks on his fingers, smirking proudly around them. “Delicious.”

Fuck.

The effect he had on you. Every time. Every time he managed to make such a panting mess of you all while remaining so calm, so composed and today, fully clothed moreover, with just his zip down. You look at the bulge in his pants, and you can tell he is not at his most comfortable, yet he waited for you to make the move.

You grab the edge of his shirt and pull it up, over his head, dropping it the moment he’s free of it, and run your hands against the pale skin of his torso as he watches you patiently. Oh but today you had the upper hand. You were satisfied by his fingers already while here he was, an erection still in his boxers. If you wanted you could give him a taste of his lesson, tease the life out of him, but there was something you were holding onto all these days, something you wanted to tell him for quite a few weeks now.

“Do you have a condom?”

He nods, reaching for his back pocket to take out his tattered wallet as you palm him over the material of his boxers before sliding your hand in to and griping his erection, drawing a very soft but audible groan from his throat.

“You’re going to have to take my cock out if you want to use this sweetheart,” He holds the foil pointedly.

“Or not.” You mutter unsure as you take the foil from him and put it on the surface next to you. “We don’t really have to use it you know.”

What did that expression mean?

When Yoongi doesn’t reply to that, you don’t know what to do but continue.

“I’ve uh,” Why you are so hesitant? “I’ve started taking the pill.” You bite your lower lip, muttering. “So if you are okay with it…..we can do this without protection.”

It’s a while before Yoongi stops just blinking at you and replies. “You’re saying,” He looks away momentarily, letting out a struggled breath. “You’re saying it’s ok if I fuck you raw-”

“I’m saying I want you to.” You look him straight in the eye, dead serious. “Fuck me raw.” Then quickly add, “If you want to, that is.”

Yoongi actually takes a few steps back instead. “The first time we slept together, you said without a condom, it felt too intimate.”

“Oh,” You scoff. “That was my nice way of saying ‘god knows what nasties you are carrying’.”

You roll your eyes when he looks at you confused. “STDs Yoongi.”

“I was clean then, clean now. You knew that.”

“Only because you said so.” You point out. “But I have medical proof now because I might have looked up your test results on our hospital records…?” You trail off, voice softening a bit in embarrassment. You weren’t prepared to answer all these details, it was a simple yes or no question.

“Really?”

“Yeah well,” You shrug. “I’m a resident, I have access to all kinds of records-”

“No, about this.” He straightens out, standing upright. “You really want to? You-you’re serious about….this.”

“Oh.” You nod. “Yeah, I mean, I am clean but I don’t have any evidence right now-”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

You swallow on nothing, surprised by his trust in you.

“Uh and unless you’ve slept with someone the last few weeks-”

He scoffs, “You think?”

With just two strides, he’s right before you once more, kissing you with a ferocity that was new to you but you kissed him back just as intensely, biting, running your tongue over his lips, over where they meet, just inside of them, tracing their outline with the tip of your tongue. You slide your hand into his boxer, gripping his erection, attempting to free it, and he helps you, pulling both his boxers and his pants halfway down his thighs.

“Take them off.” You whisper and he obeys taking a step back and swiftly pulling off the last of his clothes as you push aside your drenched panties and stick your fingers inside you, feeling all that wetness, gathering it. Yoongi’s eyes follow your digits as you pull them out, your arousal slick between your fingers and he looks up to your mouth, as though he expected you to slip them in there. Instead, you gesture him to come closer with them and when he does you wrap your hand around his erection, the wetness of your fingers letting you stroke it with a little ease as you feel his breath get heavier.

“Can’t wait to put this in my mouth.” You coo into his ear, attempting to slide off the stool but he pins you by your thighs, not letting you move.

“Not tonight.” Yoongi refusing a blow job? He groans as you run your thumb over his tip. “I want to fuck you right now-”

“Then fuck me.”

Holding you in place with his hands under your knees, he wastes no time - no teasing your slit with his tip, not even pushing himself in you slowly to allow you to adjust his thickness, not even bothering to fully remove your panties, he just pushes them aside and he thrusts himself in with one swift move and fuck, the feeling of his bare cock in you is so foreign but unbelievably gratifying. You can feel it inside you, down to the last detail, your walls clenching, aching for some movement. But Yoongi just wraps your legs around his waist and buries his face in the crook of your neck, hands digging into your thighs, surely bruising them.

“Yoongi, move.” You moan into his ear, entwining your arms around his neck. “Please.”

And he does, picking up the pace, giving it to you so hard, your nails find themselves raking his back. He kisses you along your shoulder, not letting you hear the soft grunts he couldn’t help but let out. You though, wince every time he thrusts into you, body sore from your fixed position.

“It hurts.” When he doesn’t stop, you slide your fingers into his hair, and tug his head back, letting him see you and realize you were hurting. You sense how it takes every bit of his energy to halt and mutter. “I’ve been sitting for far too long.”

“Bedroom?” He asks, almost short of breath. When you shake your head he swiftly pulls you down from the bar stool, giving you  immediate relief.

“Are you okay?” You nod but he doesn’t seem convinced. “We can find a bedroom-”

He goes speechless the moment you turn around, gripping the edges of the counter and slightly bend over. You just wanted a change in position, you weren’t really thinking about the effect it might have on him.

Not when all I could think of was having you bent over that counter with your panties around your ankles.

“Is this what you imagined?” You try to peer over your shoulder.  “In the bar earlier today?”

He’s still silent. You can’t really see him well but you know he’s watching as you touch yourself, eager for him to shove himself back in there.  

“No.” He murmurs.

You feel his hands on the elastic of your underwear, pulling it down to where he said he pictured it, before he makes his way back up, kissing and biting softly along the inside of your thigh, dropping one last kiss on the skin of your lower waist before he confesses in your ear in a low voice,

“This is so much better, you have no idea.”

Your proud smile falters the moment he digs his fingers into your hips definitely making bruises, and rams himself inside you, making your head dip down in pleasure as you bite back a moan.

“Don’t hold back.” He speedens his movements in and out, the new angle letting him snap his hips against yours faster and deeper. “I want to hear you.”

So you let him. Parting your lips you let him hear what he does to you, moaning his name and it drives him crazy because you feel him getting more aggressive, not hesitating at all. His hand wanders up, pressing into your skin wherever it could, grabbing your breast almost painfully before reaching your wrist, tapping it.

“Let go.” He growls, and the moment you obey he harshly pushes you forward, right up against the counter, till every bit of the skin of your upper body is against the cold surface, giving him the ability to pound into you harder almost as though he had no intentions of holding back.

“Shit,” You try to raise yourself but he leans over and pins you with his hand on the nape of your neck, restricting you against the surface, your cheek still against the coldness. “Fuck,” You moan shamelessly. “I forgot how good you fucked me Yoongi.”

No cocky response to that? It’s like he doesn’t care anymore, nothing but an occasional grunt or two leaving him unwittingly, his breath the most audible thing from him. You wish you could see him fucking you like this. Sex with Yoongi never was gentle love making but it also wasn’t this sort of rough fucking. You hated to admit how much you liked it. Even more so when he takes both your hands and holds them firmly against your lower back with his single hand, and starts to lose his rhythm, thrusts getting sloppy.

“Fuck, I’m going to come.” You feel his lips on your shoulder, trying not to sink his teeth into your skin. “Where do you want me to?”

Like you could respond to that with your mouth so dry and you were approaching your high too.

“Fucking hell Y/n, you need to tell me, shit I’m so close-”

“Inside, inside.” You whimper, breathlessly. “Come inside me Yoongi.”

And before you even finish your sentence he groans, shooting his load with a few thrusts, the warmth filling you up as you clench around him, desperate to hold on to the sensation of him inside you to tip over the edge once more.

“Stop. I’m going to get hard again if you do that.”

You sense him move back, slowly sliding out of you as you feel his cum leaking down, threatening to dribble down your thighs. Turning around you look at him, eyes savoring the sight of completely fucked out Yoongi before you as you get down on your knees slowly, taking his cum covered cock in your mouth, sucking him clean, that alluring taste of him making you want more and more. Yoongi lifts your chin with a finger under it, pulling you back as he looks down at you.

“If I get hard again, I can’t promise I won’t break you. So don’t try, Y/n.”

Fuck.

Normally you wouldn’t have laughed at that, but being deprived of your orgasm makes you gutsy.

You chuckle, standing up, licking your lips. “Speaking of promises, someone said I’ll be coming more than once tonight.”

His eyebrows furrow as the realization hits him and honestly, it surprised you just as much as it surprised him. Min Yoongi just fucked you with the most minimal foreplay, absolutely no teasing, and the man who had always made it his mission to make you orgasm first was standing here with his cum all up inside you before you had the chance to. It clearly hurts his ego because you can see the determination in his eyes to change things.

Pushing you back onto the stool, he gets on his knees instead and you gasp, seeing his head between your legs like that. Yoongi, who is so repelled by the idea of tasting himself that he wouldn’t even kiss you after you blow him was here, latching his mouth around your cum filled cunt, delving his tongue inside you. You are already so sensitive from his cock inside you earlier and it doesn’t help that he looks so hot buried between your legs like that, meeting your eyes, you can feel that tightening sensation rise in you again. Desperate, you catch yourself almost grinding against his tongue till he finds the need to stop you, taking one of your legs over his shoulder making you reach for support from the counter behind.

“Fuck y-yes.” You whimper, his mouth sucking on your cunt so hard and he brings his hand up to your clit, rubbing on it hard and fast and it takes less than a minute for you reach your orgasm, vision fading to black as you rake your fingers through his hair softly. He runs his tongue along the folds on last time and your look down at as he drops a kiss on the inside of your thigh.

As he stands up you slowly adjust yourself, rolling your neck to relieve yourself, pulling the hair tie, freeing your hair. Yeah furniture sex is great, but your body was surely going to hurt like a bitch in a few hours.

Yoongi holds you gently by the elbow, planting a brief kiss on your lips. “Are you okay?”

“You should ask me this question tomorrow because that is when I’ll know.” You laugh.

“I will.” He nods, picking your clothes from the floor handing it to you. You take it, trying to avoid his concerned gaze.

“Uh, I should go pee.” You hold your clothes against your chest, suddenly embarrassed about how much you were exposing to him.  

“The washroom is probably down the hall.”

He moves to the side giving you way and you leave with a small thankful smile, hurrying with small steps, eyes searching around the house. When you push the bathroom door upon finding it, you are greeted by a full size mirror making you jump reflexively. “Ah fuck….”

You’re a mess.

You knew you were probably looking like one, but you didn’t know to what extent. You bite your lip looking at the purple marks stark against your shoulders and the inside of your thigh. Yoongi doesn’t usually mark you. Simply because you didn’t allow him to, at least not the neck. You told him that was off limits because you worked at a hospital and you obviously couldn’t go to work looking like that, it wasn’t appropriate. You did say though, that you didn’t mind anywhere else but he never seemed interested in that proposition because he never even tried to. But today looking at those marks, the pride in your chest does a happy backflip. Yoongi really lost control today.

When you clean yourself up and come out, you don’t know why you are surprised to see him still there. Maybe because every time after the both of you slept together, either he had to rush or you had to, there was never an opportunity to so much as even look at each other, forget saying something.

But here he was, with just his pants back on, shirt still lying discarded on the floor as he makes himself busy cleaning the surface of the table with a wet tissue, much like how he was clearing his station a few hours ago.

You sink into the couch nearby and watch him take his time, running here and there, scrubbing the surface clean, once with a wet tissue, then with a dry tissue, scrounging around febreze, spraying it around the place, sniffing it carefully in the air. You smile at his antics, shaking your head.

“Alright, clean here.” He grabs his shirt from the floor and pulls it over his head. “Oh yeah, sanitizer.” Your habits really did grow onto him. You did not know why and what kind of role you played in Yoongi’s life but the last 3 weeks taught you something. For some reason, you don’t know what exactly but Yoongi was important to you.

As he approaches the couch, hand reaching out for his backpack next to you, you hold him by the wrist, stopping him.

“Don’t do that to me again.” You stare at how beautiful his hand looks in yours, like its meant to be. “The last three weeks were……difficult.”

“You think 21 days of not fucking you were easy for me?”  He scoffs. “The regular 5 days itself are ridiculously hard.”

“Difficult because I was worried, not because I was horny.” You laugh as Yoongi sinks into the couch next to you, rolling his head over, giving you his gummy smile.

This was the reason.

That’s when you finally, finally realize.

You realize that you laughed after almost 3 weeks now. After days of being upset and angry and irritable, just one night with Min Yoongi and you were normal again.

You were laughing ever since things cleared between the both of you.

You were laughing ever since you realized he was okay.

You were laughing because he was laughing.

You were laughing because of Min Yoongi.

Oh.

Oh no.

“I’m sorry though, I really am.” He looks away because he’s ashamed and you are relieved he can’t see the conflict you are going through. “I thought I’ll figure it all out and then talk to you about it but….I should have said something.”

You gulp air in the silence, not paying attention to his sincere apology, your realization evoking hundreds of thoughts in you head, the most important one being-

“What happens to us now?” You whisper.

“What do you mean?”

“My brother doesn’t need tutoring anymore, we can’t exactly…” This was the part of the night you were dreading, the part that decides it all. “How will we keep this going?”

“We’ll figure it out.” Yoongi nods slowly. His words, calm down your racing heart. “If you don’t want it to end then…..”

“Of course I don’t.” You answer certainly.

“Then we’ll find a way, I’m sure we can.” He then slowly smiles smugly, as though he realized something. “Maybe I can get my agent to find us a new house like this every week.”

You raise your eyebrow, letting out a laugh once again but slowly nod your head. “So we are going to continue breaking into houses like this?”

“It could be our thing.” He grins.

Our.

“Or would you rather the hospital instead? Like you suggested?”

It takes you a moment but when you remember it, you laugh. “Oh god, you heard that.”

“Mhmm.” Yoongi nods, “It made me think about doing it in my workplace.”

Not when all I could think of was having you bent over that counter with your panties around your ankles.

“Someday, when I have a place of my own, maybe after closing hours.” He smirks and you immediately find yourself picturing it already.

“Speaking of the bar,” You remember that man as you turn toward Yoongi, sitting sideways. “There was a bartender there who knew my name.”

“Who knew your name?” Yoongi frowns before realizing, “Hoseok?”

“I think that’s what his name tag read?”

“Probably him, I can’t think of anyone else who knows.”

“You told him about us?” Your eyes widen.

“What? No,” He adds slowly. “He saw your name flashing on my phone screen a couple of times.”

“Oh.” The panic ebbs a little. “Oh so you saved my contact as Y/n?”

“Yeah.” He nods like it was obvious before squinting at you. “Why? What did you save mine as?”

The Agreement.

“MYG” You lie confidently.

Why did you lie? Because you thought is might hurt his feelings? Why did that matter? You know why.

“Though…..” He speaks, still thinking. “Would that be such a bad idea? Telling people about us?”

You nervously laugh. "W-Why did you think of that all of a sudden?”

Why Yoongi?

“You were quite terrified when you thought I told Hoseok about us.”

“No I mean…..” You swallow not knowing what to say. “You said so yourself, we don’t mean enough to each other to share so much.”

“That’s not what I meant-”

“What will we even tell people? What are we Yoongi?” You smile sadly. “We are just an agreement. Something that started with two rules and that will end with one sentence.”

Say I’m wrong Yoongi. Say we could be more.

“You’re right, We are just an agreement. ” He nods. “What would we even tell people?”

You : That I am falling for this man. Yoongi : That I’ve long fallen for this woman.

But both things were left unsaid, only a strange silence in the space between you two, sad smiles exchanged in the place of those feelings.

#yoongi smut #btswriterscollective #btsbookclub #btsguild #yoongi angst #bts smut #bts angst #unfamiliar #jiminwreckedme

[itsbenedict]

I didn’t post about everything I played this year, so here’s my opinions on the stuff I played that I didn’t make a rec post for:

Raging Loop 

Raging Loop is one of them twisty meta Zero Escape-y branching-path visual novels where an ensemble cast is trapped in a mysterious circumstance where people are dying gruesomely, and you have to find out what’s happening and stop it by looping a bunch. 

I can’t wholeheartedly recommend it, because... it tries to have its cake and eat it too with the supernatural elements. Clearly magic is real and has important impacts on the scenario, but then other parts are trickery you’re supposed to see through, and it’s entirely uninterested in cluing you in to how that trickery was accomplished. Not exactly a fair play mystery, in that regard- you have to kind of just be along for the ride, rather than try to figure it out.

That said, it’s a good ride- pretty strong character writing, and the central conceit of the Werewolf/Mafia-style murder scenario creates really interesting drama. It’s more concerned with making itself feel clever than letting the player feel clever, but it’s still well-paced and gripping and has a pretty decent resolution.

Detective Grimoire

I recommended Tangle Tower, the sequel, pretty strongly- and this one, while obviously a little rougher around the edges with the art and mechanics (the suspicion tracker system is a total dud; I didn’t even realize it existed until I realized I was missing an achievement for using it), it’s still pretty darn good. Really fun character designs and animations, fully-voiced, and a solid whodunit backing it all. Plus- while the two are more or less self-contained, the continuity threads with Tangle Tower raised some really interesting questions.

Contradiction - the all-video murder mystery

This one was pretty fun, largely on the strength of the actors. The main mechanic of interrogating people on evidence and using their own statements against each other was some good stuff, too. Definitely had that Phoenix Wright quality to the deductions, and Jenks is a really fun character. (Had a few points where progression was just linked to standing in a certain previously-abandoned area of the map where a clue was suddenly there for no reason, there- good thing it had a hint system.)

As a mystery, it could use a little work- most of what you end up finding out is sequel bait (for a sequel that never actually came together, unfortunately), and the actual whodunit is just sort of hiding in the cracks of all that. And... cornering the culprit just sort of happens out of nowhere once you’ve got your hands on the right piece of evidence, without much fanfare. You’re following up on leads like usual, you find a little lie in someone’s testimony, and then- oh, shit, they’re just confessing everything! Unlike all the previous times you questioned them and they were super evasive like everyone else! And then the game is over. 

All in all, it’s pretty meaty and entertaining and I’d recommend it, but unfortunately the creators have moved on to other things, so there’s not going to be any follow-up on the stuff it left unresolved.

Ikenfell

Ikenfell is a tightly-designed RPG about kids at a magic school, with Paper Mario-style action command mechanics and a battle system that makes a big deal out of careful positioning and movement, which was really enjoyable. The difficulty’s a little high (I recommend always always always speccing into max damage because killing things before they kill you is worth more than any amount of defense, speed doesn’t work, and healing is cheap), but I found it really satisfying.

There’s... something... off? About... I don’t know how to put it, it’s... doing that “yes, everyone is queer and mentally ill, deal with it” thing, which, sure, okay. But for a lot of them it’s such a background thing, like... half the playable cast is unambiguously nonbinary, but like... I don’t know if it’s trying to make some statement on how there are no rules to being NB and you can 100% perform a particular binary gender presentation but still count, or if they wrote the whole story and then changed the pronouns of some of the characters for Representation Points, or what. Probably the former? I dunno, it just feels weird. Maybe I’m just not woke enough to Get It.

(unrelatedly: why the heck is the official art they use everywhere so... off-model? none of them look like they do in-game- they look like the creator commissioned someone to draw a group shot with one reference image each and didn’t tell them anything about the characters. how much you wanna bet they commissioned a friend and it came out wrong but they were too polite to say “sorry, no, this is wrong, can you do it over?”)

Trails of Cold Steel IV

Hoo boy. It’s... not great, and it’s not great in a pretty predictable way for an even-numbered entry in the Trails series. It happens every time- first there’s a game in a new engine with new characters and a new world to explore, and it’s really nice and does interesting things... and then it ends on a cliffhanger, and then there’s a sequel game in the same engine with the same characters and the same world, reusing as many assets as possible. Also the League Of Generically Evil Anime Supervillains is there causing trouble for reasons they refuse to explain, and the plot is a storm of magicbabble and macguffin-chasing that makes little to no sense. 

Cold Steel IV is that for Cold Steel III, full stop. Welcome back to all the same places you visited last game, except this time there’s some stupid magic apocalypse happening (not that it stops you from taking the time to do random sidequests constantly, of course). The whole “oh, the evil curse mind controls people and that’s why they do stupid bullshit that’s in no one’s interest” plot point is leaned on super hard, and it’s just a big yawn the whole way through.

It’s still really fun, though, because the battle system remains really well-designed. (The same battle system that was just as fun in Cold Steel III, mind you, but it hasn’t gotten old.) And- though they’re struggling to square it with the dumb mind control apocalypse plot, the NPC dialogue continues to make the world feel believable and lived-in. They don’t slack on the parts that make Trails good- it’s just the parts that make Trails bad are making themselves more evident than ever.

did finally get to date Towa though so that’s a win

One Step From Eden

OSFE is... uh. It’s fucking hard is what it is. It’s sort of a deckbuilding roguelike, and there’s this combat that takes place on a grid, and- wait, it’s like Mega Man Battle Network, it’s exactly like Mega Man Battle Network. Man, I forgot about that, but the mechanical influence is extremely obvious. It’s MMBN meets Slay the Spire.

Except it’s super duper hard as hell, because unlike MMBN you can’t pause and swap out chips or anything- everything is just always happening so much, all at once, everywhere, and you have no recourse but to git gud and learn all the enemy patterns and the behavior of your own spells and develop the twitch reflexes necessary to not fucking die from all the shit that’s on the screen always.

(What’s the story? Uhhhh, there was some kind of magic apocalypse, and some anime girls are trying to reach a city for some reason that doesn’t really get explained ever. The game doesn’t really care to build its world at all- it’s all mechanics plus a little token character dialogue that doesn’t say much.)

The point is it’s really frickin’ hard but I am an epic pro gamer and I got ALL THE ACHIEVEMENTS, MOTHERFUCKER. If you’ve played it, I expect you to be really god damn impressed with me, okay???

A Short Hike

This one was really relaxing! It’s a platformer where you explore an Animal Crossing-y island of cartoon animal people, collecting mobility upgrades- but like, mainly it’s about straight chillin’. The flight controls are fun and there’s lots of little secrets to find and it’s just a nice time that doesn’t drag on too long. Not too much to say about this one.

Pokémon Sword

Ehhhhh.

I’m not here for the hot takes about how Dexit is good actually. Development hell happened, they had to make cuts for time, I get it. It’s disappointing and makes the game a little bit worse, but it’s not the end of the world.

Apart from that... perfectly serviceable? The Wild Area could’ve used a little more technical polish (as could most things in the game, really) but was a step in the right direction, giving the player a wider array of early-game team-building options than ever before. No HMs is good. Story and characters were kind of nothing, but that’s par for the course. “At least this time they’re not shoehorning in some kind of stupid evil-team-wants-legendary-pokemon-to-destroy-the-world apocalypse plot”, I thought to myself before they managed to shoehorn one in at the last minute with zero buildup- but, hey, beats wasting half the game on it.

It’s nothing special and it’s missing a lot of polish, but its problems are mainly due to being rushed, and presumably next gen they’ll be able to reuse a lot of the models and animations (maybe even improve the animations so they’re not so boring??? a man can dream) and make something interesting. SwSh seem like they were testing the waters for something else, and not taking too many chances in the meantime. 

(yo why would you sell all these cosmetic items and then turn them all off during gym battles, though) 

Hades

Hades is- oh, who am I kidding? Everyone knows Hades, it’s the game of the year, greatest thing since sliced bread, Supergiant are heroes, yada yada yada. I’ve played almost 300 hours of it and I’ve completed everything except all the Resources Director levels (currently a Sigma Wraith), it’s extremely fun and you don’t need me to tell you that.

Petal Crash

It was that thing the Paranatural creator helped on? It’s, uh. It’s a block-sliding puzzle game thing, sort of in a Puyo Puyo vein. It has fun character designs and some good dialogue, like you’d expect from Zack’s involvement, but it didn’t really leave an impression otherwise (besides how got dang infuriating some of its Turn Trial puzzles can be.) The story is... kinda heartwarming, kinda didactic, kinda childish, not especially deep or interesting. Hard for it to be, when it’s told through little bits of fluffy character dialogue that exist to set up a puzzle battle as quickly as possible. Not super recommended unless you really really like block-sliding puzzles.

Hollow Knight

Man, why’d I sleep on this for so long? It’s a metroidvania platformer with heavy Dark Souls inspiration, in terms of tone and difficulty and death mechanics and environmental storytelling. And it’s... apart from all that, just really good as a game, with tight controls and juicy movement and great animation. Progression is linked as much to mastery as it is to upgrades collected- I found myself in lategame areas facing down things that would’ve killed me ten times over at the start- not because I had the best gear, but because I’d learned the game’s language and understood how to move in ways that wouldn’t get me killed.

(Usually. Sometimes I’d walk into a room and sit on a bench and suddenly there’d be a boss fight and I’d get slaughtered. Ain’t that just the way it goes?)

Anyway, on top of all that it’s just charming as hell, with a really unique and well-realized world full of little bug people. I love how, like, your character is clearly some kind of eldritch abomination, but it’s small and cute and so everyone (besides enemies that attack you on sight because they’re possessed by some kinda evil mold) is like “awww, who’s this little guy? want some help, little guy?”

(except Zote, who is just an ass hole. i love him.)

#game rec #also some game non recs #long post

[dayseternal-blog]

i think im running out of naruhina fluff/smut. T-T. Can you help me out? hihi

 🔍

you think you can hide behind anonymous 🧐  I’m quite certain I know who this is haha 😘

And for you, dearest anon, have three completely unfinished, barely started wips (EVIL CACKLES BECAUSE THESE GO NOWHERE)

But actually, if any of these one-shot ideas catch your interest, please let me know and maybe I’ll actually try to finish one of them?

Smutty Soulmate AU, where you meet your soulmate in your dreams each night upon turning 20.

When her alarm jars her from sleep, she’s always only left with a feeling and flashes of color.  Today...she desperately tries to focus, to reach back, to remember…

Excitement.  Red.  Dark.

Her heart beats faster for reasons unknown to her, and there’s no point in trying any harder to slide the experiences of the soul into her brain.  After pointless meditation sessions, longer naps, and all manners of effort with dream diaries and online tips, she’s been resigned to the fact that only her other half can unlock that translation of dreams to memories.  She has yet to meet her soulmate in person.

Ever since her 20th birthday a few months ago, since that nerve wracking night of meeting her soulmate for the first time, going out has been a secret manhunt.  Eyes peeled to every single passersby over the age of 20.  Any one of them could be the person she’s spent the last 200 or so nights with.

So she dresses carefully for a day out with Sakura, Tenten, and Ino.  They’ll be going to the restaurant where Sakura’s fiance works his part-time job.  For all she knows, her soulmate might be there, too.

A guy?  A girl?  Her age?  Much older?  She has no idea what she’ll say to her soulmate, either.  But she imagines that when she sees them, it’ll be like a homecoming.  Planning is unnecessary, right?  When it’s someone you actually see every night?  If they didn’t like her, she can’t imagine why she would wake up every morning with so much residual happiness and longing.

-------------------------------------THAT’S IT @bunny-hoodlum

Ghost-Hunting (Obake Hunt) Comedy Modern AU, Naruto & co. visit a college at night for some scares that take an unexpected turn...

A shadowed driveway leads up the mountain toward the private college.

“Is this it?” Sasuke asks, peering out the car window.

“Yeah, turn here,” Ino instructs.  

“Okay, but why is the place even open at this time of night,” Sakura states, arms crossed with a skeptical expression as Sasuke drives the minivan through the gates, up the grand driveway.  The dorms for the college were built at a separate location down the main thoroughfare.

Ino shrugs.  “They have all kinds of events that go on at night.  I don’t know.”

“At least we know we’re not trespassing if the school’s open.”  Hinata’s soft voice comes over the back seat.  

“I still can’t believe we actually talked you into coming with us!” Ino teases.

Sakura laughs, “We’re having a bad influence on her!”

Hinata shakes her head.  “Actually, I’m amazed that Naruto-kun is here,” she shyly replies.

Sasuke lets out a quiet laugh.  “Doesn’t mean he won’t shit himself if we find a ghost.” 

“Okay!, no!, I won’t shit myself, alright?” he immediately defends.  “...I might just scream a little, but I won’t poop my pants…”  He’s already in a protective stance, arms crossed, back hunched a little.  

Everyone laughs at him, but Hinata takes his hand, smiling half-amusedly, half to comfort him.  “I’ll protect you, Naruto-kun.”

That only makes everyone laugh harder as Naruto sinks into himself in embarrassment.

Despite Ino’s school being open, the parking lot is somewhat empty save for a few cars.  The buildings are magnificent in design, echoing back to an era when arched entryways and stucco were favored over walls of glass.  The hum of cicadas pierce through the still, late summer air.  

The small group of friends silently follow Ino back toward the driveway of the school with only yellowed street lamps lighting the dark sidewalks.  They cross into the street, stopping right in the middle at the fancy traffic meridian.  It’s an odd decorative aspect of the driveway they passed on the way up.  It’s right in the middle of the street, separating the in and out lanes, somewhat built-up and rounded with a grassy patch and flowering bushes planted high on top.  It really only serves to make the school look expensive.

Ino smiles, then whispers, “Put your hand here on the wall.”

“Why?” Sakura asks, also in a whisper.  

“Just feel it.”  

They do, all of them placing their hands on the wall, waiting for something to happen.

“You see how the plaster is kind of rough over there?” she asks.

They nod, their fingers dragging over the rushed job.

“...This is an ancient burial ground,” Ino explains in a hushed tone.

Their hands spring off of the wall, their fingers wide in stress at what they were just touching.

“Ino, what the fuck?!” Naruto hisses, barely containing his volume, his legs already carrying him away from the meridian and onto the side of the street. 

Sakura stares at her hand wide-eyed.  “Oh my gosh, we’re all cursed,” she laments.  She can practically feel the spiritual energy twisting around her fingers. 

Ino snickers.  “That’s what my course major senpais did to me.”

Sasuke and Hinata are silently trailing after Naruto with abject horror on their faces.  Hinata fists her hand uncomfortably against her skirt.  

Once they’re all gathered safely away from the meridian, Ino continues to explain.  “When they were constructing, they found the remains of the ancient natives.”

“So they just built that random thing in the middle of the street to house the bones and then continued on their merry way?” Naruto asks for clarification.

Ino nods.  “After they found them, they built that wall around the burial ground, and apparently they were in a hurry to cover it back up.  They just made the driveway go around it.”

They stand there, staring at the burial ground, picturing the bones just on the other side of the wall they touched, below the grass and bushes.  

“Did you have to make us touch it, though,” Hinata asks, regretfully, with a really sad frown.

“The spirits of the ancient warriors are going to find me and kill me in the dead of the night,” Naruto states, as if it’s already fact.

Ino brushes his paranoia off.  “We’ll, I’m still here, aren’t I?”  

“Note to all of us--don’t do anything Ino tells us to do,” Sasuke says.

Ino gives him a very evil smile.  “That’s not all there is to this place.”

“Why...why am I doing this…” Naruto asks to no one in particular.

She leads them deeper into the center of the school, where a large tree spreads its thick limbs over a beautiful cobbled courtyard.  A simple fountain beneath the tree spouts water, and pennies shine beneath the surface of the circular pool.  The gurgle of the water as it falls is relaxing, serene in the quiet of the night.

“Wow, this is nice,” Sakura says, looking around at the manicured gardens surrounding the courtyard.  

Ino nods.  “A girl hung herself here.”

They turn their attention to the blonde.  Suddenly, the peace of the courtyard feels like an ill omen.

She tilts her head at the large tree.  “They say that when this used to be a mental hospital, a girl got away from her caretakers.  She was found hanging from this tree.”  

They frown at the branches, wondering which one the girl chose.

Ino gestures to steps that lead to an academic building.  “They said that at night, you could see her ghost walking and talking to herself in the corridors, always bringing herself to this tree.  Someone suggested to the school that they build this fountain here to give rest to her spirit.”

“So no one sees her ghost anymore?” Sakura asks. 

Ino shrugs.  “I guess we’ll find out…”

“What?”  Naruto scrunches a face of distaste.

“Let’s go,” Ino invites.  

“Go where…” he whines quietly.

Ino takes the disturbed group down the steps to the building.  “Hm, I wonder if it’s open…”  She pulls the handle.

The door opens.

“Whyyyy is it open…” Naruto groans.

“But actually, though, why,” Sakura states.

“Maybe the teachers are still here?” Hinata suggests.

Ino laughs.  “Psh, what college professor cares that much about their job?”  She holds the door open, inviting them into the building.  “Welcome to the language arts hall.”  

The corridor lights are all on, assuring them that the building is, indeed, open.

They enter the hallway.  Naruto lags behind.  When the door shuts, he opens it again.  “I’m just making sure…”  He tests the handle a couple more times before closing it.  Then he tests it once more for good measure.

“You satisfied?” Sasuke asks.

“I’m just making sure,” he repeats.  

Hinata frowns, imagining the door locking them in while they’re inside the building.  

Naruto’s paranoia is only making things worse.

Ino starts ahead of them, and Naruto has to rush to catch up.  “Wait for me!”

“SHHHH!!” Sakura scolds, finger to her lips.

They stand there, noticing how her shush seems to echo in the hallway.

“This place is really creepy,” Hinata comments quietly.

Ino shrugs.  “Only at night.  I had classes in this building in my first year.” 

“So this place used to be part of the mental hospital?” Sasuke asks.  

“Yeah,” Ino affirms.  She brings them to a classroom.  “You see how there’s this little window that you can use to look inside?”  

They nod, taking turns peeking into one of the dark classrooms.  It’s a normal room with normal desks.

“All of the rooms have this hallway window, you see?  It was so that the nurses could check on the patients.”

“Oh gods,” Naruto mutters.

-------------------------------------THAT’S IT

College Ballet AU, Naruto sees a different side of his quietly reserved friend.

It wasn’t a trick. 

Winter had dragged its sharp claws across the ground as long as it could, but finally, finally, three seasonal false-starts and numerous wilted, early-blooming daffodils later, 

Spring had finally decided to stay for good.

Trees bloomed pastel pinks instead of icy white.  New hopefuls popped out of the wet dirt, ready to face the sun.  Birds were suddenly a real thing again.  

Students strolled across the college campus in shorts and light sweaters, eager to shed the winter coats they had worn for six straight months.

And most importantly…

“The forecast is in the high 50s all week!” Ino announced as she pranced into the room, swinging her dance bag to the floor.

“Oh!!  Remember last spring we had class outside?” Sakura asked, turning her attention to their ballet instructor.

“Can we have class outside, Kurenai?” Ino pleaded, eyes wide in hope.

“Hm, the weather is nice today.  I suppose it is a shame to stay indoors on an afternoon like this,” she considered aloud.

Hinata listened with alarm.  She had never danced outside before, never in her 14 years of dancing.  Yes, she had danced on stage before, had performed in front of many strangers before, but still...  Everyone will see us, she worried.  

“I didn’t bring my speakers today, though,” Kurenai continued.

Before Hinata could feel any relief, Tenten pulled out her tech from her bag.  “You can bluetooth your phone to mine!”  

“Awesome, Tenten!” Sakura exclaimed.

“Oh, please, Kurenai?  Can we have class outside?” the other girls begged.

Hinata already knew her fate.  She was going to have to wear her body-conforming leotard and tights in front of the entire student body.  Nevermind the fact that the last time she had gone barefoot on grass was in elementary school.

They all picked up their belongings and made the quick trip to the center lawn.

As she predicted, many students who were already finished with their classes for the day were enjoying the afternoon weather, laying out in the grass reading or playing frisbee.  

And here they were, in their leotards and tights, about to have their whole ballet practice for all to see.  

“There’s so many people,” she whispered in embarrassment to Sakura.  

The pinkette looked at Hinata in confusion, then sympathy.  “Don’t worry.  Just relax and enjoy the sunshine!  It’s a lot of fun to dance outside.  It feels like…”  Sakura glanced up in thought.  “...Like freedom.  Or like...nature!”

Hinata took a deep breath and nodded.  She slipped off her sandals and lined up with everyone to begin their barre exercises...without a barre.  She spread her toes open to first position and settled her arms and hands into en bas.  

Already she could see curious onlookers watching them, and she could only thank the god above that they were having class in a corner of the field, and not front and center.  

Kurenai glanced over her dancers, noting their prepared positions.  She rattled off the instructions for their plie routine before setting up the speaker and scrolling through her phone’s music menu.

Familiar piano music rose into the air.  

More students glanced around.

Hinata tried not to think that all of their eyes were on her.  Because she knew, logically, that they weren’t all watching only her, but her heart just hadn’t been prepared for this sudden public display.

Eventually, with the right side completed and the combination repeated on the left side, Hinata began to feel less tense.

The students lazing on the lawn returned to their own devices, and only passersby watched as they headed to their destinations.  

She fell into the muscle memory of the exercises, and her focus turned inward on the flow of her arms with the music, of the dart of her toes with the beat, and the alignment of her body.  

It was like Sakura said.  There was a certain freedom she had never felt before in dancing barefoot in the grass under the Spring sun, turning, leaping, and reaching into the fresh air.  

#anon #wips #naruhina fanfiction #witness how quickly i lose interest

[bugabash]

Cursed Past - Chapter 2

When the past is changed the only people who can help Adrien and Marinette defeat the new villain are themselves, just not from their time. The seasoned superheroes will need to teach their younger selves everything they know before the time runs out or else life as they know it will cease to exist. Love is blossoming, trust is strengthened, and the true power of their miraculouses will be revealed. 

AO3

Chapter 1

Marinette sat on the coffee table, looking at the young girl asleep on the couch in front of her. Her younger self looked so fragile, and so… young. Her long hair was filthy, half still in her high pony, bloody and soot ridden making it almost black. Her long eyelashes lay on her freckled cheeks, one which was covered with a waterproof dressing, she had tried her best to stitch it up so there wouldn’t be a scar. Most of the young girl’s torso was bandaged up, her wounds stitched up and her burns treated, she wore a sports bra over the bandages, keeping her modesty at least. Her trousers were singed but she was lucky to have no injuries to her legs, from what Adrien had said, his younger self wasn’t doing much better.

What happened to these kids? She had to stitch up what looked like a slice only a very sharp sword could make. She had never seen a miraculous holder with such a deadly weapon. If this new villain could cause this much harm to these kids who have been Ladybug and Chat Noir for well over 4 years now, then he must be extremely powerful. And that terrified her more than anything.

Bunnix wanted them to help, but how? Were they meant to train them? Fight their battles for them? They hadn’t fought any akumas in years, let alone a miraculous holder this strong. And how long did they have until they needed to go back and fight this guy?  

This was going to be impossible, she thought with a groan.

She was dragged from her thoughts when she felt a blanket being placed around her, looking up she saw Adrien standing there, looking over at her younger self.

“Shit… She looks even worse in the sunlight.” He said softly, handing Marinette a cup of coffee, sitting next to her, his elbows resting on his knees. Younger Adrien was still out cold, and Alix had detransformed and passed out on the other couch. It was almost 11 o’clock in the morning now and the married couple had already changed into normal clothes, done a medical supply run and Marinette had made some pastries for everyone. “What are we going to do, Mari?” Adrien asked softly, looking over at her.

She swallowed thickly, looking back at him, eyebrows furrowed in worry, “I… I don’t know.” She sighed, looking back at Marinette, sipping her coffee. “What I don’t get is what Alix wants us to do. I mean, yeah, we could train them, but how long do we have?”

“I don’t know, but something about all of this gives me a bad feeling.” Adrien replied sombrely, his eyes darkening.

Marinette looked over at him and rested a hand on his knee, resting her head on his shoulder. “I know,” she said softly as he wrapped an arm around her, “but whatever happens, as long as we have each other we will be okay.”

He chuckled, “life is always good with you, bugaboo.” He smirked down at her.

She pouted, “don’t call me bugaboo.” He chuckled again and captured her lips in a gentle kiss, making her smile and sigh in happiness, his kiss made her knees weak and made her inner teenage girl squeal still to this day.  

He pulled away and kissed her forehead, looking back at her younger self. “Do you think… do you think it’s my father?” He asked softly, his eyes softening, dropping his arm and looking down at his hands. “I mean, it is something he would do, you know, messing up everyone’s lives.”

“It could, but… it just doesn’t seem like something he would do. It seems… too evil for him.” Marinette tapped her chin in thought, “the wounds on her are… serious. Whoever did this wield a sword, a sharp one at that. Don’t get me wrong he’s a bad guy, but he wouldn’t… kill people. Lila was more the killing type.” She frowned, “Or…”

“Or it could be the person we are all thinking of.” Adrien replied darkly, his hair falling over his eyes as he looked at the floor, his tone empty and his eyes dark. “The one person who actually is capable of this kind of death and destruction.”

“Adrien, we don’t know for sure. And you know that, we can’t speculate and get upset.” Marinette replied.

“Marinette, you know just as well as I do who can slice open Ladybug like that!” He exclaimed, standing up and pointing at the injured teen.

“Adrien, calm down. You’re going to wake them.” She replied, standing up and grabbing his arm, the blanket falling to the floor, leading him away and pulling him through to the hallway and into the  kitchen. “If you start freaking out and getting angry then you will freak those kids out.” She said sternly, turning to him and crossing her arms over her chest much like she used to do when she would scold Chat Noir.

“Calm down? Marinette my psychotic cousin who is almost my identical twin could have the moth miraculous again and seems to have gone back to the past to kill everyone! Oh, and there is no Chat Noir or Adrien Agreste in that time, so he could impersonate me!” He yelled back at her, “there is nothing that could make this any worse! Oh wait!” He feigned a shrug, “oh that’s right! The fucking fox and peacock miraculous are gone! So who knows the shit they are causing!”

“Adrien!” Marinette scolded, dropping her arms and balling her hands into fists. He stared at her in anger, it wasn’t directed towards her, she knew it but she felt like he was blaming her. “If you are saying this is my fault -”

“No, I am not saying that,” He interrupted, sighing and pressing the bridge of his nose in frustration, “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I don’t blame you, m’lady.” He sighed and walked over to her, taking her hands and kissing her knuckles, not opening his eyes. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I know no one could have done anything to stop this.”

She took his hands, as he dropped his head against her knuckles, his shoulders trembling softly. “Hey, it’s ok minou, I understand.” She said gently, stroking his cheek and lifting his chin, “you silly kitty,” she smiled softly. He looked into her bluebell eyes and eventually smiled small, “we will figure this out, right now we need to stay calm.” Adrien nodded in response, dropping his head back onto their joint hand.

Marinette just stroked his hair softly before red and black whizzed in front of her eyes. Plagg and Tikki looked at Adrien curiously, Plagg looked more concerned.

“Kid, are you alright?” His kwami asked, buzzing under the young mans face, “do you want some camembert?”

“No, Plagg, I don’t want your stinky cheese!” He exclaimed, jumping back and holding his nose with his fingers. “You stupid cat with that smelly stuff.”

“Your loss!” Plagg replied, tossing his cheese up and catching it with a satisfied moan.

“The other kwamis are resting at the moment in the miraculous box.” Tikki spoke up, resting on Adrien’s shoulder, nuzzling his cheek in comfort.

“So, what are we doing with the runaways anyway?” Plagg asked, rummaging through the fridge on the hunt for more cheese.

“They aren’t runaways, and you know that.” Tikki squeaked, glaring at Plagg.

“Sugarcube, don’t give me those eyes, you know you love me and my creamy cheesy centre.” Plagg chuckled, flying over to Marinette and resting on her head, munching on more cheese.

Tikki rolled her eyes and flew in between them, “you two are masters, Marinette you are even the guardian, you know more about the miraculouses than anyone!” Tikki explained, “if you are going to stop this villain especially as he has 2 other miraculous holders helping him then you will need them to be the best ladybug and chat noir they can be!”

“What if we don’t have time?” Adrien asked, speaking Marinette’s thoughts. “It’s a lot of training! It took us years, and we will have to do it in, what, a few months? Plus they need to heal! Even with Marinette using her healing on them it will take time.”

“Adrien is right, I haven’t healed anyone since after the last battle.” Marinette said, “and the kind of training we will need to do… well let’s just say our actual jobs will kind of get in the way.” That’s when she gasped, “Work! Oh no no no!” She started pacing, “my project! It’s due in a few weeks! How am I going to finish it and train them!” This couldn’t be happening, she needed this win! She worked as a designer at the fashion line formerly known as Gabriel, since Adrien took over it was renamed Agreste. She always felt like she needed to prove herself even more being the wife of the CEO and owner of the company, she never accepted special treatment and made her way up the fashion food chain under her maiden name. She couldn’t let this slip, or she would never hear the end of it.

“I can work something out.” Adrien said, placing his hands on her shoulders and making her stop pacing, looking into her eyes.

“That is special treatment, and you know it, Adrien!” She said pouting before she groaned, she knew what she had to do, she just hated it. “I will try and work around it, hell I did more in high school!”

“There is another thing,” Tikki spoke up, nervously looking down at her hands, “I spoke to the other Plagg and Tikki. The new villain… He isn’t… new.” Marinette and Adrien slowly looked at her, fear covering their faces, Adrien’s eyes darkening. “They saw who took the miraculouses.” She looked at Plagg who looked sombre. “It’s Felix. He’s back, and he seems to be a lot stronger. Even stronger than Hawkmoth and The Painted Lady put together. He is older, stronger and on a war path.”

Adrien stiffened, his arms dropping from Marinette’s shoulders, “you’re certain?” He asked in a scary tone making Marinette back off slightly. “How did he even get the miraculous?”

Tikki looked away, “I-”

Plagg zoomed in front of Adrien’s face, getting between him and Tikki. “You know how, kid.”

Adrien looked at them with wide eyes, before he pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sunk into it, rubbing his hands over his face. “How?”

“He must have broken in, the only time I can think he could have done it was-“ Tikki spoke up.

“The gala.” Adrien said softly, looking over at Marinette, “The fucking gala that was put up by an anonymous buyer.”

Marinette looked down at her hands, feeling like everything was her fault, Adrien had been suspicious about that gala, but she made them go. “Adrien…”

“It’s fine, for now we need to be on alert, we will need to do more patrols, we don’t know that he wont come back to our time. We will train them, I’ll organize any problems at the office, and we will get through this.” Adrien stated, his eyes never leaving the floor.

“Adrien…” Marinette looked over at Adrien, reaching out to stroke his back but he stood up before she could and walked out of the kitchen and over to the back door, calling his transformation as plagg was dragged away and into the ring, and pole vaulting off into Paris. Marinette knew exactly why he was upset, this was possibly the worst news after having two bloody versions of themselves showing up out of the blue.

Marinette sighed and looked back at her kwami, she was hoping it would be Gabriel, hell she was wishing it would be her father in law, he would be easy to defeat, they know him like the back of their hands. But this was bad.

“Felix…” She whispered, rubbing her face with a groan, “why did it have to be Felix.” Groaning she dropped her head in defeat. “I hope Adrien is ok,” She said, looking over at Tikki who flew over and snuggled up to her cheek.

oOo

Chat ended up on top of a building, looking down at the abandoned mansion that used to be his home, well his prison more like. It was closed off to the public for years now, too unstable after the battle to resell, and with all the underground construction his father had done it was impossible to do anything to it. He hated this place, nothing good ever came out of it at the end. Only heartbreak, pain, and, well finding out your father terrorised all of Paris and all your friends for years can be a kick in the teeth to say the least. He crouched down, resting his chin on his crossed arms, glaring as his ears twitched, always listening. He wanted to burn the place down, burn it to the ground and watch every last bad memory disintegrate with it. He wanted it to burn.

He stood up and vaulted over and through the window to his old bedroom room with practiced ease. He looked around at what remained of his teenage room, glass crunched under his steel toed boots, looking around at the destruction. The climbing wall was rubble around where basketball and skating area used to be, his basketball hoop broken in half and lying haphazardly on the floor and the ramps just a pile of rotten wood. His bed was rotten as well, water rot must have set in with the giant hole in the roof above it. The spiral stairs were in tatters, half of it in rubble on the floor and his library was completely missing, the giant hole replacing it. He couldn’t even recognise half of it anymore.

The rest of his room was covered in rubble and his old clothes strewn across the floor.  One thing that caught his eye was his old computer monitors, covered in soot and dust, the keyboard broken on the floor, the mouse nowhere to be seen. He walked over to it, looking at the main monitor and remembering when Ladybug was in here, smiling at the photo of his mom. He smiled at the memory. Any memory with either of them in it was a happy one. He wiped the monitor screen, leaving a hand mark, his anger and hurt bubbling to the surface finally like a dam breaking.

“You did this.” He whispered, clenching his fist. “You ruined everything!” He picked up the monitor and threw it across the room with a roar, panting as he watched it hit the wall and crash to the floor, the sound echoing through the mansion.

A flash of lightning lit up his face followed by a bone shattering clap of thunder, rain starting to fall slow but getting heavier.  

“Why!?” He screamed at no one, “why did you do this? Why father? To torture me more? To ruin my childhood more?” He kicked his table, grabbing it with one hand and throwing it across the room like it weighed nothing. “Why couldn’t you love me? You kept me from people! Forced me to hurt people without even realising it! You never fucking loved me!” Tears stung his eyes, throwing the chair he spent so many nights sitting on studying to make his father proud at the broken piano, the clangs bringing him out of his anger. Another flash and clap lit up the room again as the light disappeared even more, Adrien’s hair now soaked, his suit keeping the chill out. He slowly turned and looked at the piano, blowing the rain water out of his mouth.

He slowly walked over to it, tears falling down his face hidden in the rain. That was his mother’s piano, memories of sitting on her lap, his small hands over hers as she played, smiling up at her beautiful face, so full of love and understanding. He dropped to his knees, looking at the wrecked piano in front of him. He wiped his eyes, not able to take his eyes off the bloody fingerprints covering the now grey keys, forever staining them, no amount of rain would get those off. It was tainted now, the good memories stained by his own blood, from what his father did to him.

“Adrien…” He heard a soft whisper behind him, causing him to jump up and release his claws, the green glow from them lighting up his contorted, pain ridden face, rain streaking down his face and his hair soaked. But when he saw who it was his claws retracted and he collapsed to his knees, loving arms catching him and pulling him into her chest, cradling him softly. “It’s ok, mon cœur! You are safe! You are loved, I will not ever let anything happen to you again. I’m here now.” Soft hands stroked his hair as he sobbed, rocking him softly. “Maman is here now.”

oOo

Adrien woke up groggily, his head was throbbing, and everything hurt. He opened his eyes hesitantly, wincing at the pain in his arm. As he adjusted to the soft light coming through the sky light. Blinking he noticed it had begun to rain outside, the soft pitter patter soothing him somehow. His mind was adjusting to everything, trying to find his thoughts so that he could figure out where and when he was. That’s when he remembered everything. Gasping and sitting straight up, regretting it immediately and grabbing his shoulder in agony, yelling in pain. He looked down at the bandages on him, grimacing at the sight of a bit of blood coming through.

Dammit! He blinked, his vision still blurry, that’s when he realised his eye was still swollen shut, his hand going to feel the hot, swollen skin. Hell, he was really beaten up. He touched the tender cut on his lip, wincing at not just that pain but the throbbing in his throat. Oh yeah, this is what it feels like after you have been strangled. He thought with a groan.

“Plagg?” He croaked, hardly any voice coming out, looking around for the small cat kwami. Plagg zoomed through the wall and hugged Adriens cheek.

“Oh Adrien! Thank God!” He exclaimed, “don’t scare me like that again!” He said crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Adrien. “Who is going to get me the cheese I like!” He cried, fishing out a corner of camembert and eating it whole.

“Augh, Plagg!” Adrien waved his hand, “anyone can guess the cheese you like just from how you smell.” Plagg floated onto the pillow purring happily.

Adrien looked around at the room, sitting up more comfortably, leaning on his good arm while holding his side with the other. It was a very spacious room and was beautifully decorated like the room he had seen earlier that day. But this room was a lot more simple than the bedroom he had been before. The bed he had slept in was large, with dark navy blue bedding on it with silk white sheets under the duvet, with a fluffy throw covering the foot of the bed. A carpet stood out prominently on the hardwood floor, recognising it as the one from his old room surprisingly, or one identical to it. Lifting his eyes, he saw a chest of drawers with ragdolls of all the old miraculous holders and their akumatised friends in the distance, he recognised them from Marinette’s room a few years ago. It stood with a standing mirror next to it, medals hanging on the corner. He recognised them straight away.

Swinging his legs off the bed he winced again, taking a deep breath and standing up. He groaned and stagger into the wall. Shit, something didn’t feel right.

“I wouldn’t do that,” He spun around to see Marinette running over to him, she was in plain dark blue jeans with a baggy off shoulder pink sweater, red straps from what he thought was a vest standing out on her pale shoulders. “You’re bleeding, sit back down!” She exclaimed, leading him back to the bed, opening the bedside drawer and pulling out a first aid kit.

“Wow, you really do keep those everywhere, huh?” He asked with a raised brow, wincing as she pulled his top off and started unbandaging him. He looked over at the wall, tried to ignore the pain as she started examining him.

“You need to be more careful; you’ve torn your stitches.” She said, her eyes never leaving her handy work as she started the first aid. “Sorry, I don’t have the morphine in here, and you need only a few.” Adrien nodded, taking a deep breath, trying his best to ignore the dull pain, thankful for the little morphine still in his body.

“How is La-uh… Marinette?” Adrien asked finally, looking down at her, gulping nervously.

“It’s ok, it must be weird knowing her real identity.” Marinette replied, smiling up at him softly, even as an adult she was tiny.

“It’s… quite over whelming.” Adrien admitted, “I never thought of her… you, as Ladybug.” He looked her sheepishly.

“It’s okay, I never thought of you as the Alley cat I was partnered with,” she replied laughing softly, “it’s okay to be a bit in shock.”

“Adrien told me about you guys finding out about each other.” Adrien replied.

Marinette giggled at that, “ah, I’m sure he did,” She started bandaging up his chest and shoulder, “he put his paw in it in that one.” She looked up at him, “but look at us now.”

Adrien nodded, thinking about all they had. A home, a family, friends, they seemed happier than ever. “Can… Can I ask you something?” Marinette nodded, “why did you get with me? Or my older… self…”

Marinette raised an eyebrow and giggled, “Speak to younger me, and maybe she will tell you.” She looked at him and sighed, “Adrien, I’m not your Marinette.” She said resting a hand on his arm, his heart beating fast. “I’m my Adrien’s Marinette, we have different pasts, and different futures. I am just here to make sure your futures happen and so that my future doesn’t become non-existent.” This comforted Adrien somehow. “Speak to her, I know how chat felt about ladybug, and it’s a lot knowing she is just Marinette - ”

“Just Marinette? Marinette is so much better than Ladybug!” He exclaimed, Marinette just smiling back at him.

“Exactly, now make sure she knows that.” She said standing up and turning to face him, Tikki settled on her shoulder. “No shirt for you until Adrien checks those wounds, he is more precise when it comes to physical wounds.”

“Marinette?” he piped up, “where is he?” He asked, something in his gut making him ask that.

Marinette stood up and froze, looking back at him, “he… needed some air. Don’t worry, he will be back soon.” And with that she left, leaving Adrien to his thoughts.

Adrien blinked, something making him uneasy, “Plagg? Is there something I need to know?”

“Kid, you are in the best hands, Marinette in this time is the guardian, she will know what is best for all miraculous holders just like Master fu.” Plagg reassured him.

“Okay, I need to see my Marinette.” He said, his memories of this morning making him cringe. He stood up, wincing and heading out of the room, Plagg resting on his head.

Now that he had a clearer head he looked around and noticed just how big this house was as he          stepped out of the spare room. He stepped out into the corridor, noticing another door opposite his, he guessed it was another room. He turned and looked down the corridor that turned into a bridge to the doors across the ways, walking forward onto the walkway he blinked, almost in shock. How had he not noticed it before, giant two storey windows covered the back wall with glass double French doors framed in the centre on the bottom floor.

The rain trickling down the glass, the sound like a soft hum in the background. He noticed the garden outside, beautiful and well looked after, but he also noticed a small building with no windows and covered in vines, almost like it was trying to be hidden. He shook his head and started limping down the stairs, they were hard, polished wood, glass banister on the one side and the wall on the other.

He skimmed his hand on the stone banister as he padded down, looking around until his eyes stopped on a canvas on the wall. It was an oil painting of the Eiffel Tower in the background, orange and brown autumn trees with street lights dancing in between them, but the thing that caught his eye was the black umbrella with two people hidden behind it as they stood on a stone bridge. The woman was in a red dress with her dark blunette hair down to her waist just peeking out from under the umbrella. The man was in a black suit, their faces were hidden but he could tell they were kissing or embracing each other. He stopped midway and examined it, his heart skipping a beat. It was enchanting, seeing the two people, feeling the love they have like no other. It was like he was under a spell. He felt like he had experienced this in another life. It reminded him of a memory, a distant memory of him giving Marinette something… his umbrella.

Was this… the miraculous connection Adrien spoke about? The love coming off the picture made his heart speed up. His green eyes were locked on the painting, feeling his injuries tingle slightly. He shook his head, making a mental note to add that to the list of questions. Turning, he started down the stairs again. Stepping down into the entrance hall and he felt at home immediately, unlike his home back in his time.

Looking around it wasn’t sterile and white like his mansion, the floor was chocolate brown hard wood floors, the walls were a comforting cream colour, and a long rug ran from the front door through the large hallway. One big archway to the left lead to the lounge where he had taken Marinette before, while another swinging door to the right, under the stairs lead to their kitchen.

The front door was a large, dark hard wood with patterns carved into it, with two slim windows on either side with cream curtains pulled back from them, but what stood out were the several dead bolts and other locks on the door, and that there was no mail slot. Weird.

He headed into the lounge, smiling when he saw Marinette asleep on the couch, the fireplace blazing softly in the background. He walked over and sat down on the floor by her head, stroking some hair from her pale face, hoping she wouldn’t wake up. She needed the rest. He still couldn’t believe the girl he had loved for all these years was Marinette. One of his best friends. He needed to snap out of it, the thoughts too much for him.

He looked around at the lounge to distract himself, it was even bigger than he had thought last night, two large dark blue sofas were placed perfectly, two recliner chairs placed nicely, one more used than the other with a green hoodie on it, the flat screen tv hanging over the fireplace, the walls a soft brown colour and the windows covered the one wall again, looking onto the garden. Behind the Main sofa was a larger area, a homely dining room table sat perfectly, a wall of books surrounding the other two walls. He saw so many books about fashion, nothing perfect in the library and all mismatched, knowing it was Marinette’s more than his. He felt the soft carpet under his hands, feeling comforted by how at home everything made him feel.

Was this what a family home was meant to feel like? He had seen his friends’ houses before, and had wished for what they had, but seeing this home, his home, made him have hope that one day this could be his.

Marinette walked in with a plate of pastries and placed it on the coffee table, placing a can of diet coke next to it.

“Here you go, Adrien, you need to eat.” She said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and smiling gently. She sat down on less used recliner armchair and pulled her phone out, she looked like she was anxious about something as she typed away and put it next to her.

“Everything okay?” Adrien asked as he grabbed a pastry, taking a bite. Oh wow! These were incredible!

“I haven’t heard from Adrien in a few hours.” She stated, looking down at her hands, “I’m starting to get worried, usually he would check in with me.” She sighed, looking at her phone again. “I think I may need to go find him soon.”

“Why did he leave anyway?” Adrien asked, his brows furrowed.

“He… We think we know who the villain is.” Marinette said, avoiding looking at him, “and it… it’s hard for him. It’s his family, he just thinks they’re cursed. Last time we fought him it… almost killed us.” She looked at nothing, “Adrien lost something in the last battle…” She wore a look that made his hair stand up. “Adrien… He…” she sighed, dropping her head, “he lost a part of himself in that battle. He had lost so much already, after his father-”

“What? His father?” Adrien sat up, looking over at Marinette, “What happened to my father?”

Marinette looked up in shock, blinking, “you-you don’t know?”

“Know what?” He asked, pushing up on his hands, “what happened to my father?”

She opened her mouth to talk but was interrupted by the back French doors blowing open, making all of them jump. Chat noir stalked in, closing the door and detransforming before Adrien could get a proper look at him. He walked in, a serious look on his face, his blonde hair messy and wet, his green eyes dark. He was dressed in blue jeans, a black short sleeve shirt, and wore black converse. He walked in and looked at everyone, eyes falling on his wife.

“Are you okay? Has anything happened?” He asked, walking over to Marinette as she stood up and jumped on him, his arms enveloping her in a big hug. Adrien could feel their love, it radiated throughout the room and lifted the mood. That was until Marinette spoke.

“Where the hell were you?” She exclaimed, pulling away and pushing his chest, “you can’t just leave! You know that you can’t do that!” She had tears in her eyes, “you could have been dead, or attacked and I wouldn’t have known! You turned your tracker off too! I couldn’t find you!” She pushed him again, tears streaming down her face. “Look at them!” she pointed at the two teenagers, one unconscious and the other severely injured and looking confused, “what would I do if you were attacked! How would I DEFEND them both if we were attacked!?” He looked back at her speechless, obviously as shocked as his younger self was.

“I-“ He stammered.

“No! You don’t get to make any excuses, you stupid cat! We are in danger! I need my partner here! I need to know you have my back!” She was crying now, he wondered if she was scared and that’s why she was lashing out at Adrien. His older self just stared back at her, his eyes sad. “You can’t just leave me like that.”

He wrapped her up in his arms, whispering something that Adrien couldn’t hear, turning away from them and looking at his Marinette who was still fast asleep, only now her brows were burrowed and she looked like she was in pain.

“Marinette?” He questioned, the adults looking over too. “Marinette? Wake up!” She started whimpering, her legs twitching as if she were running. “Marinette!”  

oOo

“Ladybug!” His screams echoing her mind, she could feel his desperation in his voice, but she felt like she was floating, why was this a bad situation? Everything was going by her so quickly, what was happening? “No!” Why was he so upset? They were just flying, it’s ok, he would catch her like he always did. She trusted him. He looked so cute when he was worried, why did he look so cute? He was Adrien, that’s why, but also because he was chat. Her two favourite people in one.

Suddenly she wasn’t falling, a hard surface stopping her, but there wasn’t any pain, only arms around her. She blinked the blurriness away and looked up at Chat, tears were streaming down his cheeks, falling onto her face. She felt the wetness. He looked terrified. What was wrong? She felt happy, he was holding her like his princess, and she felt like she was in heaven in his arms. But as she smiled up at him, darkness started taking over slowly. “Chat… It’s ok. You caught me.” Darkness took over as she went limp in his arms, her long hair falling into a muddy puddle, soaked from the rain.

“Ladybug, no! Wake up!” Chat begged, how could she still hear him? She was trying to sleep. He collapsed to his knees as he cradled her close to his chest, sobbing softly and shaking her softly. “Please… Marinette… Don’t leave me alone…”

Leave him alone? He wasn’t alone, she was only sleeping, the silly cat. Where was the alley cat she loved?

Loved.

That’s a funny word. Did she love him? What was she saying, of course she did! She always loved Adrien, but knowing he was Chat Noir, that made everything better!

“Please… I need you.”

And with that Marinette woke up with a gasp, sitting straight up and taking in her surroundings. The first thing she saw was Adrien’s battered and bruised face before her, worry all over it and his eyes searching her face. Wasn’t she just dreaming of him? She couldn’t remember. Why was he here? And what happened to him? He was speaking but she still was trying to figure out what was going on. She looked around, taking in her bearings, Adrien pushing her back down softly, looking up at the raindrop lights that hang high above her. She still hadn’t gained her hearing back, her eyes looking back at Adrien.

He was still talking to her, stroking her cheek and trying to get her to hear him. But she just furrowed her brows and reached out, stroking his cheek, thumb running under his swollen black and purple eye, brushing some of the crusted blood off. He winced but had more of a shocked look on his face. What happened to him? She thought to herself, frowning as she felt a tingle, she turned her attention to her body, her eyes widening and her memory, hearing and pain coming back at once. Her hands flew to cover her face and she curled up in pain, groaning softly.

She felt large hands on her back and could finally hear his words, “Marinette! What’s wrong? Is it the pain? Talk to me, please!” She could hear the desperation in his voice even over the ringing in her ears. She winced as she felt a needle go into the top of her arm, but almost instantly the pain faded and her body, that she had no clue was tensed, relaxed. She was rolled onto her back by the big hands which stayed on her side as Adrien leant over her, she opened her eyes and moved her hands, meeting his eyes. Blush covered her face, his green eyes were solely focused on her, full of concern and never leaving her face.

Wait… Adrien…

Her eyes widening, she felt her mind go into over drive, “Adrien!?” She squeaked, covering her face again. Adrien was Chat Noir! Adrien!!! This couldn’t be real! He was Chat Noir! How could he be Chat Noir?

Adrien looked at her nervously, rubbing the back of his neck as he pushed off from over her and sat on the coffee table, “y-yeah, it’s me.” He stammered out, “it’s okay if you’re disappointed.” He said looking away. Disappointed? Why would she be disappointed it was him?

“N-no!” She exclaimed, peaking from behind her hands, “I’m not disappointed, I just… I didn’t expect it to be… you!”

He blinked, “Okay? Is that… bad?” Before she could answer she felt a shooting pain in her stomach, wincing and looking down she saw some blood spreading on her abdomen. “Marinette!” Adrien exclaimed, hands going to put pressure on her stomach, looking back at the adults who Marinette hadn’t even noticed. They jumped into action, running over with a first aid kit, cutting the bandage open, Adrien moved to where her head was, smiling down at her calmingly. “Hey, just look at me, it’s ok, it’s all going to be ok, m’lady.” He must have seen the panic in her eyes, so she just nodded, letting them patch her back up, just looking into Adrien’s eyes, letting him calm her with his jokes and comments, thankful for the pain killers.

oOo

“So what do we do now?” Marinette asked softly, she was finally sitting up, still pale but looking better. Her long blunette hair that was in a mess down her back, in desperate need for a brush, dark circles under her eyes, she was freshly bandaged up all over, a huge bruise covering her whole left side of her jaw, stitches across her cheek where her gash was under a plaster. She had a blanket around her, Adrien sitting close, his arm around her protectively, not letting anyone or anything close to her.

Marinette smiled at how protective he was of her younger self, it reminded her so much of her own husband who stood close, arms crossed over his chest, staring at the fireplace. Alix had woken up, sprawled out casually on the other couch playing on a tablet.

“Well, you will need training, but we can’t do any of that until you have both healed.” Adrien replied, looking over at them finally. “But, we also need to be careful about the past.” Adrien said, taking control much to Marinette’s relief. She wasn’t over being angry with him yet. Stupid cat. She huffed, Adrien side glancing her. “We can’t change anything in the future.”

“Well, I’m not sure that will be an issue, kitty.” Alix spoke up, everyone looking at her, “it seems that when Shadow Blanc went back in time he changed everything, he didn’t go back to our past necessarily, when I was there I noticed some… differences.” She sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the couch. “For one, Daddy Gabe is a free man.” This made Adrien stiffen, looking at his younger self.

“Wait, what? Gabriel is still free?” He asked, dropping his arm and clenching his fists. Marinette looked over at him, biting her lip, “How is that possible? We caught him when we were 17! How old are you two?”  

“Eighteen.”

“Nineteen. What does my father have to do with any of this?” The young boy looked utterly confused.

“If they are that age then why haven’t they stopped him yet?” Adrien asked Alix who shrugged, “Why haven’t you stopped Hawkmoth?” He turned to them now, his eyebrows furrowed.

The young boy broadened his chest and shoulder, almost in a defensive way, his brows furrowing. “We did!” He argued, “We stopped her! She is in jail!”

This made all three of the adults freeze and look at them. “Her?”

“Yeah,” younger Marinette spoke up softly, “we stopped Lila last year, finally. Master Fu took her miraculous and locked it away.” She looked up at Adrien who was still on the offense.

“Wait, Lila was Hawkmoth?” Alix asked, looking at the older two, “how is that possible? She didn’t get the miraculous until after Hawkmoth was in prison?”

“Can we go back to the part where you mentioned my father?” Adrien piped up, standing with his fists clenched. “What happened to my father?”

Marinette stepped forward, “Adrien, calm down. We don’t know your timeline, but…” She looked at her husband for help.

“He was Hawkmoth.” Adrien stated, looking down in disgust. “It was him, all along. All those years of akumas, all the lies and pain, it was all him.”

Marinette looked over at the young man, his eyes wide, colour draining from his face, “Adrien, we don’t know anything about your father, though.” She reassured him, “this is just the Hawkmoth from our past.” Adrien nodded, sitting back down slowly, his partner placing a hand on his thigh and looking up at him worriedly.

“Okay, so training?” Her younger self spoke up, the confidence back in her voice. “What will the training be?”

“We need to teach you to the way of the Miraculous.” Adrien said, walking over to the bookcase and pulling out an old book. He walked back and placed it in front of the young adults.

“But we know how to be Ladybug and Chat Noir?” Marinette questioned.

“Yes, you do, but you have powers that you need to unlock, you will be trained in the ways of the miraculous and unlock your full potential. Your powers will grow, and you two will become ying and yang, just like the black cat and ladybug miraculouses are meant to be. They are made from the same whole. Two sides of a coin.” Marinette described, opening the old spell book onto the page of Chat noir and Ladybug, Adrien’s eyes widening. “You two cannot work with out the other. Where there is destruction there is creation, where there is creation there is destruction.” She explained, gesturing with her hands.

“For you two to be the best team possible you will need to work like ying and yang.” Adrien looked at them seriously, “we had years to train, we built it over time, we had times we had to push extra hard, but it is possible. It will be extremely… taxing though.” Marinette shared a look with her husband, “mentally, spiritually and physically. Your bond will grow, and your powers will change with it.”

“How?” Marinette asked, her brows furrowed, the two looked very confused and slightly nervous.

Marinette chuckled softly, “it’ll be different for you, it’s different for each Ladybug and Chat Noir. But we can discuss this more once you two are healed up.” She smiled reassuringly at them. “For now though, you both need to rest and heal. I will help you with that, I cant fully heal you but I can help you along.” She explained.

“Wait, you can heal people? Without using your miraculous ladybugs?” Younger Marinette asked softly, furrowing her brows in confusion.

“Yeah she can, its one of her powers that she discovered, but it isn’t a miracle cure. It does have it’s… consequences.” Adrien replied to her question, looking away from them, darkness covering his face. Marinette knew why he seemed upset, it’s because he knew what it did to her to use it too much, he hated her using it but he knew just as she did that she had to use it.

“What kind of consequences?” The younger Adrien asked, Marinette looking back at the young adults, noticing the frown on his face.

“Don’t worry about that,” Marinette reassured softly, smiling small, “let me deal with that, we need to get you two out of the woods and on the road to a quick recovery so that we can start the physical part of your training.” Adrien sighed next to her and turned, walking out of the lounge through a door next to the bookcase, Plagg following close behind. Alix raised her eyebrow and looked over at Marinette for some kind of answer. Marinette sighed and shook her head at Alix.

The two youngsters were looking at the door in confusion until younger Marinette suddenly started shivering and winced in pain, her head dropping onto Adrien’s chest, her eyes closed and her eyebrows screwed up in pain. Younger Adrien’s expression changed to panic as he pulled her closer, stroking her cheek gently. “Marinette?” He asked in concern, eyes examining her paling face. “She is really warm!” Marinette rushed over and help her hand against her head, she was boiling and sweat was accumulating on her forehead.

“She’s burning up, we need to do this now.” Marinette stated simply, removing the blanket. “Adrien!” She called out to her disgruntled husband; she knew he wasn’t happy about this but she needed him now. “We need to do this now! I need your help!” As she finished talking Adrien stalked in, concern all over his face. “Take her to the spare room, we can let her rest after.” She said, motioning for the young boy to let go of her, which he did hesitantly as Adrien picked her up gently bridal style like she weighed nothing, rushing her to the spare room, Marinette behind him with Alix helping the younger boy get there.

 oOo

Adrien lay the small girl on the same bed he had put his younger self earlier that morning, she was pale, very pale. He looked over at his wife who was taking deep breaths. “Are you sure you can handle this?” He asked sternly, taking her hand as the younger Adrien was led in and went straight to his partners side, holding her hand and stroking her forehead.

“I have no choice.” She stated before Tikki flew over. “Tikki, spots on!” The familiar  red glow filled the room, fading and there stood is magnificent partner. She had changed as Ladybug over the years, long black like gloves went from the middle of her upper arms, one single red dot on each of the insides of her palms. Her yoyo hung the same around her waist like normal but a second one hung across the other side as her second weapon, her body more developed to when she first became ladybug, her hips wider, her strong muscles could be seen through the suit, and she filled the suit perfectly. Like her arms she now had black down her legs from midthigh down to her feet. The soles of her feet were still red. Her pigtails were long gone and her hair was a little short, curled around her ears slightly as it hung loose. She opened her eyes, Adrien seeing the look of determination on her face that made him first fall in love with her. He looked over at his younger self, who’s eyes were wide as he stared at her. He knew what was going through his head, when he remembers his young partner he is always in awe of her now.

Ladybug walked over and sat next to Marinette, “Marinette, I need you to stay still. This is going to hurt.” She warned, looking at the young boy next to her, “hold her down.” He nodded and held her arms down as Ladybug stood up, taking a deep breath. Adrien stroked his wife’s shoulder in reassurance, seeing her relax slightly. “Miracle heal!” She called out, her spots on her palms glowing red, she looked at Marinette before placing her hands on her stomach. Marinette’s eyes flew open and she let out a scream that made everyone wince and run to hold her down, everyone but Ladybug who had her eyes closed as she concentrated. This only lasted around 20 seconds and then Marinette relaxed and Ladybug stepped back as if she had been burnt. Adrien rushed to her and placed his hands on her shoulders stabilizing her.

Shit. He knew this was bad when he saw the pain on her face. “Keep Marinette rested, stay here.” He ordered as he scooped up his small wife as she detransformed. “Do not follow me.” He stated, heading out and into their bedroom. He lay her on their bed and pulled open her bedside table, pulling out a round medallion and sat on the bed. He placed it on her chest, watching it start to glow softly, Marinette was watching him with a small smile.

“Hey.” She said softly, placing a hand on his cheek, “you will get frown lines if you keep that face on.” She chuckled.

He snorted a laugh and kissed her palm. “You need to take care of yourself, you held on for too long.” He said with a defeated sigh, dropping forehead onto her stomach. “You know the rules.”

She chuckled softly, stroking his blonde hair, “I know, but you couldn’t feel how bad those wounds were. I had to help.”

“That’s the problem, Marinette, you will help at your own cost.” He replied.

“Adrien, it’s the right thing to do, and you know it.” Adrien just looked at her before sighing an dropping his head down again in defeat, her chuckling softly.

oOo

Adrien watched as Marinette lay staring at the ceiling as his older self whisked his wife away. He slowly let go of her arms and sat next to her, stroking her hair out of her face. She reached up and touched the bandage on her cheek, he wondered what she was doing. He watched as she pulled the bandage off, his brows furrowed. That was when he blinked and sat up more, his eyes widening.

“Marinette…” He breathed, his hand hovering over her cheek as the stitches that were in her once cut up cheek fell off her cheek and onto the bed next to her. How did that happen? She felt her now smooth skin and blinked. “How is that…” He breathed again. He then sat up and looked to her torso, eyes darting back to hers for a second. With gentle hands he reached down and tore the bandage with ease, pulling it back slowly to reveal her stomach looking a lot better, the wound was still there but again the stitches were out and laying on her stomach. He felt his breath getting faster, the wound looked just like a long thin minor cut now from right side of her ribs to her left hip bone, the burns were just pink marks decorating her stomach, all the other small cuts gone as well. He looked at her arms and saw not all but most of her wounds were gone, the ones that remained were there but not too serious.

“Damn. I knew she could do it but I have never seen her do it in person before, and to this level.” Alix piped up with an amazed chuckle, walking over and looking the young girl over.

“What do you mean?” Adrien asked as he pulled the fluffy blanket over Marinette, still in shock.

“after their last big fight,” Alix started, “Ladybug and Chat Noir were pretty banged up, well that’s an understatement, they were fucked up.” She explained walking around, looking at the room around her. “It was a few years back, their last major battle, hell maybe their last akuma battle all together since. Chat took a blast to the chest for Ladybug, he got a giant piece of fuck knows in his chest, she dragged him away and voila! New power. Never been heard of with any of the other ladybugs, heals him right then and there, pulls this thing out of his chest, totally insane!” She exclaimed, a huge grin on her face, “they had no clue what was going on, one minute he’s dying, next he’s sitting up, covered in blood from closed cuts! Insane right? Gets even more insane, his suit was ripped to shreds, and then it just… grew back!” Adrien and Marinette looked at each other with raised eyebrows. “But…” Alix’s smile faltered, “it comes at a price, so it’s never a good idea to use it in the middle of a fight…” she paused, “but they didn’t know that.”

Marinette grabbed onto Adrien’s arm, making him jump and look at her, she wanted help up so he hugged her under her arms and raised her gently, resting her on the pillows and pulling the blanket up again to cover her bra, sitting next to her with a wince. He looked back at Alix and then suddenly felt soft skin against his hand, he looked down and Marinette was holding onto his blood stained thumb, his cheeks flushed and he then looked over at her, she was looking at Alix, her cheeks red, but she also looked frightened.

“They went back up, Chat full of confidence and ready to jump in front of anything to protect his bug because he thought he was indestructible.” She flicked one of the medals, “he wasn’t.”

oOo

“Chat, you have to be more careful!” Ladybug screamed, coughing and fanning away the dust surrounding them, Chat had a slice down his arm and he was leant against the wall, holding it in pain, coughing too. She was furious, why did she feel so weak? “We don’t know if this is a one time thing! What if you get hit and I cant heal you! Huh?” She stormed over to him and smacked him across the shoulder, trying to wipe the dirt from her face to see better.

“Ladybug I’m fine, I know you can heal me, it’s my job to protect you!” He exclaimed, pushing up and bending his arm, watching as his suit grew over the wound again and the pain fading, that was his magic this time, not hers. “Look, this is a minor set back-”

“Minor fucking set back?” She screamed, pointing out the fact they were in a collapsed building, trapped. “You have used your cataclysm, I’ve used my lucky charm. 9 times each!” She started pacing, her head felt funny, why did her head feel funny? It must be the dust. It has to be. Chat look annoyed and just sighed, “Chat this is-” before she could say anything something crashed through the wall, hitting her in the back and slammed her down, pain was all she felt, not the three floors she went through before she hit the ground and skid on the dusty tile into the street. She heard ringing only, she couldn’t breathe, something was in her back, and she couldn’t see.

Light was what she saw first, then the ringing stopped, she couldn’t move. She needed to move, why couldn’t she move? Then her sense of feel came back, and it was a hand on her back, then pain as the pressure left her back, making her gasp and her vision to hit her like a tonne of bricks. She saw panic, people were running, dust falling to the ground, she also heard a weird groaning noise? She tried to focus and realised it was her. She was making that noise, like a dying whale.

“Marinette!” Chat? What was happening, why was he saying my real name? “I’m so sorry, please please, don’t leave me! Please, this is all my fault! Marinette!!!” His last scream woke her right up and she gasped, rolling onto her back and screaming in pain. Her palms suddenly lit up, and the pain started to get worse, then suddenly it faded enough for all of her senses to come back normally and the groaning stopped. Chat was crying, holding her black gloved hand, blood covering the once side of his face from a cut on his forehead. “I’m sorry… I had to… She… She was… She was going to kill you!” What was he talking about? That was when she looked to the right, there lay a dead body, blackened, the hair singed off… Lila. “She… I had to” He sobbed. He killed her. To save Marinette. He made the ultimate sacrifice. She suddenly noticed she was wet, lifting her hands she saw she was lying in blood. She was still injured?

“We need to get out of here…” Suddenly ladybugs flew all around them, fixing Paris around them and swirled around them, but didn’t touch them. They both looked around in confusion. “Get us out of here. Now.” She said, fear creeping in. Chat nodded, wiping his nose before he grabbed a flag from a now fixed pole nearby, strapping her in it securely to make sure she didn’t move unnecessarily. He hoisted her up and pole vaulted away.

Once he got to their shared apartment he laid her on the dining room table, his transformation falling as he ran to get water and towels, digging out the first aid kit. Marinette watched him, scared to move, even though her body was numb. He ran back and gave her a look, she gulped and let her transformation fall, blood soaking into the oak table. Plagg caught Tikki and flew away, Marinette grabbed the edges of the table and gritted her teeth. Adrien came back over, his face paling, tears still wet on his cheeks. “Marinette? Can you hear me?” She nodded, that was all he needed, he took the scissors from the med kit and cut her top and bra off down the middle and at her arms and pulled it off, lifting her softly and pulling it from under her back and when he looked at her chest he froze. She wondered why.

“What?” She whispered.

“Mari…” He gulped, “You… your…” He covered his mouth, his legs giving way as he collapsed against the wall, tears streaming down his face.

oOo

“You see… Her power works, she heals, but she doesn’t as well. She just takes them on.” Alix stated, looking over at them sadly.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #LadyNoir #ladybug #miraculous fanfic #marinette #tikki #plagg #adrien #adrien agreste #marinette dupain-cheng #time travel au #cursed past #soulmate au #bunnix #older adrien #older marinette #younger marinette #younger adrien #mlb fanfic #my writings #ladybug and chat noir #chat noir #cat noir

[gohyuck]

Love and War Act I - LDH

theater kid! hyuck with some enemies to lovers realness

word count: 3.2k

warnings: a lot of swearing and a lot of hatred, possible nsfw in future chapters

notes: in part based on this post

part of a series: yes, this is part 1

in which you really, really, really can’t stand lee donghyuck

Act I, Scene I: An Introduction of the Situation

You’ve never hated a musical more. 

In an effort to ‘generate student interest in the arts’, Neo Culture Tech’s very own Mr. Taeil Moon, head of the fine arts department at what can only be described as a STEM college preparatory school, had put word out that this year’s fall theater show would be an entirely student-produced musical. Whether it was to elevate NCT’s arts up to the level at which they’d have to get the same funding as the robotics team or whether it was to truly cultivate creativity, nobody was sure. Still, the play persisted. From the actual dialogue, to the songs and their composition, to the dances choreography, everything was to be a bona fide effort from students across the school, not just in the theater department. Before anyone could say anything, the band and orchestra students were forced to create and compose scores and songs while the choir kids had to write lyrics for their semester project. The dance team had to choreograph everything and the art students were told they’d be making the posters for the show.

All of this, of course, was to come after the actual play had been written by the students in the Theater IV: Theater Productions class. 

If only you’d stayed in Theater III. 

Regardless, every good story starts from the beginning. And at the start of this one, there was a group of 13 potential starring roles in the tragedy? Comedy? Romance? Of Mr. Moon’s Theater IV musical production.

The official Theater IV roster was - and is - as follows:

(Name) - (Nickname)

Julia Choi - (Lia)

Renjun Huang

Lucy Hwang - (Yeji)

Somi Jeon

Chaeryeong Lee

Donghyuck Lee - (Haechan)

Jeno Lee

Jaemin Na - (Nana)

Jisung Park

Joanne Shin - (Ryujin)

Hussey Shin - (Yuna)

Chenle Zhong

13 is a decent amount of people able to give input on a play - from characterization, to plot, to underlying themes, there’s a place for everyone. If all of you worked on it, it could’ve been done at the speed of light, with ample time for revision and practice. Playwrighting wouldn’t have been harrowing. In fact, the project seemed fun at the beginning, and it was something you were genuinely looking forward to. After all, you genuinely liked everyone in your class… or, at least, almost everyone. Still, with 11 other people besides you and him, you would have ample buffer for the brain damage you were sure he would inflict upon you simply due to proximity. 

You forgot entirely about Murphy’s Law.

Jeno, Renjun, Somi, and Chaeryeong were the first to opt out of writing the play, gently reminding Mr. Moon that they were tech theater students, and would much rather design and build the set. It didn’t take long after that for Jaemin, Ryujin, Jisung, and Yeji to choose choreographing with their dance teammates over being playwrights. Yuna was quick to state that she’d rather make the posters in her art classes, and both Lia and Chenle decided that writing lyrics in choir would take up enough of their time as it was. 

At the start there were 13. 

You were happy, looking forward to talking about settings with Somi and comedic effect necessities with Jaemin. You weren’t only in theater to act - you were in the program in order to satisfy your need to create. Creating an entire play from nothing made you more eager than anything.

That is, until 13 dwindled down to 2 with alarming speed. 

Act I, Scene II: The Devil Incarnate

“Her royal highness is finally here!” Donghyuck faux cheers as you walk into your English Literature class right before the bell rings. The smirk in his tone is not lost on you, though you do mentally revel in the fact that nobody laughs at his stupid declaration. His seat is to the right of yours, but that doesn’t keep him from angling away from the board just to prop his feet up onto your desk. You don’t grace him with a response, only rolling your eyes before shoving his sneaker-laden feet off your desk none too ceremoniously and dropping your backpack onto the floor beside you as you slide into your seat. 

“What,” He starts, evidently hellbent on annoying you at 8 in the morning. You don’t turn to look at him, though you can distinctly see his shit-eating grin out of the corner of your right eye. Donghyuck leans towards you, his face coming far too close to you for your own comfort. You hope he’ll get the hint from your silence and leave you alone, but he continues speaking, much to your chagrin. “No snarky response from our resident ice queen today? Is your tongue frozen solid, princess?”

“Call me princess one more time, and you won’t even have a tongue left,” You threaten, still facing forward in your adamant refusal to look Donghyuck Lee in the eyes. He lets out a short laugh and leans back, finally properly settling into his own seat, pleased at his success at pissing you off. Before either of you can try to insult the other again, Mr. Suh rushes into the room, his Staff ID askew around his neck and his glasses sliding down his nose. The door flies shut behind him, and you straighten your back. 

Class has officially started. 

“You were only three minutes late today, Johnny,” Beomgyu calls from the back as your teacher is getting himself settled, and you turn to see your classmate holding up his watch, mirth in his eyes. “It’s a new personal record.” 

As if cued, the rest of the class bursts into a round of applause, with Donghyuck whistling with his fingers beside you. Mr. Suh - better known simply as Johnny to his students, due to him being fresh out of his undergrad - can’t help but chuckle at your class’ antics, doing nothing but shaking his head and pushing his glasses up onto his face. 

“Alright, before I get called down to the front office again, let me fill out attendance,” Johnny says eventually, finally sitting down at his computer. While he starts calling out everyone’s names you rifle around in your backpack, searching for your copy of The Taming of the Shrew, the book you’re all currently reading in class. Though it has some… questionable moments and themes, you can’t help but love it - you daresay it’s your favorite required reading book yet. Just as you find it, Johnny says your name. 

“(Name),” He says, and you straighten yourself out, your copy of the Shakespearean play gripped firmly in your hand. “I’m h-” 

“She’s here. Didn’t you feel the frost when you came in?” Donghyuck beats you to it, and you finally whirl around to glare at him, raising the hand holding the book up high as if you’re about to beat him with it. 

“Donghyuck Lee, I fucking swear -”

“Alright, alright, alright,” Your teacher raises his voice, coming to stand between the two of your desks. “I’m going to ignore the swear word this time because Haechan’s being annoying -”

You lean back to meet Donghyuck’s eyes, sending him a smirk that directly contrasts his wince. 

“- But you know better than to let your emotions get the best of you on things like this.” Johnny finishes, his words now aimed at you. You sigh, lowering your book to rest on your desk and slouching back into your chair. 

“Now behave, you two, got it? Act like actual people for once.”

The snickers of your classmates behind you cause your face to go red, and your anger at Donghyuck flares up again alongside your urge to crawl into a hole and hibernate. Still, through a furrowed brow and clenched teeth, you nod your agreement.

“Yes, Johnny.” You say at the same time Donghyuck mutters a “Sorry, John.” Both of you slide down even further into your seats. 

Neither of you say anything to each other for the rest of class, though you make sure to send scathing glances his way whenever your eyes seem to meet. To his merit, he manages to flip you off effortlessly every time Johnny turns towards the board. By the time class ends and you’re packing up, the two of you are seething silently, anger emanating off of your persons. Donghyuck jostles you on purpose on your way out of the room, but before you can give him a piece of your mind out of Johnny’s earshot, he’s halfway down the hallway on the way to his next class. Still, you train all your angry thoughts in his general direction, praying he’ll trip and fall flat on his face, or something.

Jeno, who’s just walked out of the classroom next to yours, makes his way to fall into step beside you as he always does. He follows your red hot gaze towards Donghyuck, who’s currently leaning against a locker and talking to Renjun. 

“You shouldn’t let him bother you so much,” Jeno finally says, and you roll your eyes before looking up at your friend. “It gives you too much grief.”

“He shouldn’t be bothering me so much.” You counter, and a small smile crosses Jeno’s face as he shakes his head in both amusement and disbelief. 

“I guess you aren’t wrong.” He acquiesces as he pulls open the door to the chemistry classroom, letting you walk in before him. The two of you share a lab table and you pull his stool out along with your own as you orient yourself.  

“I still can’t believe you and him are friends,” You tell Jeno as he sits down beside you. “You’re so you and he’s so… him.”

“We have, like, 90% of our interests in common, (Name),” Jeno laughs, knocking your shoulder with him. “If the two of you stopped going at each others’ throats for even a moment, you might even learn to like each other.”

You can’t help the fake gagging noise you make at the suggestion, and your friend rolls his eyes at you, though not before laughing. As the rest of your classmates start filtering into the room, the two of you switch smoothly to another topic of conversation - “Can you believe Moon’s making us do all of the play stuff this year?” “I don’t know, Jeno, it seems kind of cool to me.” “I mean me too, but damn… imagine the hours I’ll be putting into set design this year.”-  all thoughts of the devil himself banished from your mind. 

Act I, Scene III: Murphy’s Law 

You’re almost at the door, deep in conversation with Hyunjin about a protest she’s planning when Mr. Jung calls your name, stopping you in your tracks. 

“Yes?” You ask after motioning for Hyunjin to go on to lunch without you. You haven’t done anything wrong that you can think of - not recently, you note, remembering the time you really had almost set Jeno on fire - so you can’t help but be confused about why he needs to talk to you. Before you can ask, your teacher holds out a slip of paper for you to take.

“The note Jaemin delivered earlier is for you. He said it isn’t urgent, so I figured I’d send you during lunch instead of during class.” 

You relax your shoulders almost instantly before taking the bright orange piece of cardstock from Mr. Jung’s grip. You head out of his room - though not before thanking him - and unfold the note immediately after walking into the hallway. 

Please come see me at your convenience! - Moon :)

♕ ♕ ♕

You get to the black box room before Mr. Moon does, causing you to lament not buying your lunch before coming to meet him. As you wait, you pull out your book, determined to at least do something with your time at the moment. Katherine and Petruchio are in the midst of hurling insults at each other when the sound of footsteps startles you out of your book, and you lay it down beside you just in time for Donghyuck to walk in and drop his backpack onto the floor by the door, his eyes trained on the phone in his hand. 

Wait.

Donghyuck?

“What the hell are you doing here?” Your tone is biting at best. He looks up from his screen in surprise, though his expression quickly morphs into one of clear disdain once he sees that it’s you who’s speaking. 

“Got a message from Moonie. What the fuck are you doing here?”

You hold up your orange slip, only just noticing the identical one hanging between two of his fingers. His eyes dart down to his own again before back up at you, seemingly still waiting for a response. 

“Same here.” You respond, and he sneers at you. Donghyuck looks like he’s about to say something - likely hurl an insult that’s completely unrelated to the situation - but, with spectacular timing, Mr. Moon walks in through the door, a large soda in one hand and a fast food bag in the other. Donghyuck finally sits down, his backpack still by the door. 

Your theatre director places his food on the desk in the corner of the room before leaning against it, placing his hands against the edge of the table for balance. He surveys the two of you, both of you on different sides of the room, for a moment.

“I guess you’re wondering why I’ve called you here,” Moon finally says, his words directed at you both. You nod while Donghyuck says a quiet “Yep.”, neither of you looking at one another. Moon nods himself before pushing himself off of his desk, reaching over to grab ahold of his rolling chair. 

“Come,” He looks at both of you, nodding towards the center of the room. “Bring your chairs in.”

You stare at your director for a moment before sighing, careful not to let Mr. Moon see you rolling your eyes. Reluctantly, you stand up, grabbing your chair and moving to sit in front of him. Donghyuck follows suit, managing to put as much distance as humanly possible between you while staying close enough that Mr. Moon won’t reprimand him. 

“You both know how your Theatre IV class is meant to be the ones writing the musical itself, right?” 

The two of you nod, and you can’t help but wonder what direction Moon might be going in. There’s thirteen people in your class - why is it just you two he’s called in?

“Out of everyone in the class, you two are the only ones that aren’t either tech theatre students or double dipping when it comes to fine arts.” Your director continues, his words coming out slower than usual. It almost feels as if he’s trying to force the two of you towards the conclusion rather than telling you what he means to himself. Still, you know your expression is one of confusion. Mr. Moon winces almost imperceptibly before sighing and leaning back, rolling back-and-forth ever so slightly with his chair. 

“When it comes to this year’s musical, students can only work with one of the departments, because having anyone work on two parts of it would be way too much work,” He finally says, leaning towards you and Donghyuck again. Silence falls over you as you furrow your brow, trying to figure out what Mr. Moon might mean. 

It hits both you and Donghyuck at the same time. 

“There’s no way I’m working with just him -”

“Moonie, c’mon, do you really hate me this much -”

“Stop.” Moon says, his voice rising easily in volume. He puts both of his hands up in emphasis, and you realize you’ve leaned further forward than you’d realize. You settle back into your seat, though not without returning the scowl Donghyuck is sending you. 

“If I didn’t think the two of you could do it together, I would’ve just written the damn thing myself,” Your director says, glancing sharply at both of you before continuing. “You’re my two best students - you both know this. I’ve seen you put your differences aside to act together on stage. This shouldn’t be any different than that.”

You stare at Mr. Moon for a long moment, weighing your options. You can say no, you know you can - though he’ll advise strongly against it, Moon will ultimately let you back out of the musical’s production if you ask - but your ego refuses to let you. That, and you’d been genuinely excited to work on it before, and you’d rather die than let Donghyuck, of all people, take something you care about from you. That, and you don’t trust him to write a good play worth performing. You’ll be damned if the fine arts department has to count on him in the end. Hell, you’ll write it by yourself if you have to.

“Fine,” You say, raising a hand up to rub your temples out. “But I’ll only play nice if he does, too.”

“You act like I’m the one who finds it difficult to interact normally with other people.” Donghyuck scoffs, and you shoot him a sharp glare. He returns it evenly for a beat too long before finally tearing his eyes away and hanging his head. You watch as he runs a hand through his hair and throws his head back, groaning loudly as he does so, almost as if it pains him to say his next words. When he finally looks forward at Moon again, he sighs before speaking.

“I’m in,” He declares, throwing you an unreadable look. “Let’s get this over with.”

Moon’s face lights up immediately, and, for a moment, you don’t regret what you’ve just agreed to.

“Brilliant!” He claps, standing up from his chair. “We can discuss it together as a group during our next class, but I’m glad we have this sorted out. Now,” He says, moving his chair back over to his desk before settling back down in it. “I have to eat lunch, and I’m guessing you both do too. Scram.”

You get up, placing your chair back from where you got it before gathering your things. Donghyuck avoids looking at you, and you return the courtesy. He gets to the door right before you do, stooping down to pick up his back. Both of you wave goodbye to your director before stepping out into the hallway. 

“When should we meet to talk about the planning and shit?” You ask, keeping your tone as steady as possible, though you know your eyes tell your feelings. Donghyuck rolls his eyes outright. 

“How about we figure that out in class? I’ve talked to you enough for the time being.”

You make a sound of disbelief, flipping him off as he turns to walk away from you. 

“You’re a grade A dickwad!” You call, staring at his back. 

“Whatever, you frigid bitch!” He yells back, not bothering to turn around and look at you. 

You sigh once he’s out of sight, dropping your head into one of your hands.

This is going to be a lot harder than Mr. Moon thinks it’ll be.

#haechan #haechan scenario #haechan scenarios #lee donghyuck #donghyuck #donghyuck scenarios #nct #nct dream #nct angst #nct fluff #nct dream angst #nct dream fluff #nct 127 #nct 127 angst #nct 127 fluff #haechan angst #haechan fluff #donghyuck angst #donghyuck fluff #nct dream smut #nct smut #nct 127 smut #haechan smut #donghyuck smut #haechan imagine #haechan imagines

[illustraice]

lead me out (on the moonlight floor) 

rating:  T word count: 7526 multiple chapters: 1/?

[ read on AO3 <3 ]

Chloe Bourgeois’ Capri Sun has a sheen to it. It probably reflects light on some poor freshman kid trying to navigate the hallways filtered with the fall breeze and the faint scent of student panic. She stays seated between the legs of the unbothered figure behind her and thinks that getting to class in time is, like, overrated and Alya Cesaire’s arms have to be comfortably occupied, thank you very much. If she had any time, Marinette would think it was moderately cute and a true testament to battling against The Wall of Heterosexuality, but because she doesn’t have any time between pushing her way through The Wave of Student Flesh and desperately clinging to her multiple binders, she starts to think it’s a bit of an inconvenience.

The Cesaire-Bourgeois Package Deal block a generous portion of the stair path; if the freshmen had any opposition to Françoise Dupont University’s ‘It’ Couple’s (of 5 months and 16 days, Chloe had announced in a lecture once) location of choice, they didn’t comment. Marinette scans the frantic narrow hallway and appraises her options; she’d very much like to get to Economics on time but there’s probably bad, weirdly homophobic, undertones to telling the Package Deal to please, get off the stairs and get to class. The two are glued to their spot, class time a weak thing to nudge their unwavering dedication to listen to whatever pop-indie playlist Cesaire has curated on her phone as they share the singular string of earpods. Marinette shuts her eyes for a few seconds, wishing Nino were here to pick up her courage off the ground to hand back to her so she can say something to the two about not blocking the stair path and making out in the next 5--or maybe 2?--minutes.

A trio of younger students scampers to the stairs, too careful to not bother the couple like if they were to make contact with even an inch of Cesaire’s varsity jacket, they would suffer a force of an electrical shock or something equally dangerous to the medical bill. Marinette wills herself to roll her eyes, hopes that whatever exasperation she has rolled with it. She’s near the duo enough to share a few words (maybe testimonies from other students about how much they want to get to class on time?), and slowly inhales preparing to speak when a smooth voice calls out behind her.

“Can you two get any more cliche?”

Somehow, through the blaring indie mess of a song--Hozier? A band Marinette doesn’t know?--Alya acknowledges the comment and offers a smile in the direction of the voice.

“Relaxation is key, Agreste.” she hums lazily. Between the confines of Alya’s arms, her girlfriend grunts intelligently.

By the time Marinette realises her conversational sacrifice is better off unrealised and makes her way farther up the stairs hurriedly, Chloe has put her earbud to the side and points a meticulously manicured finger accusingly.

“Find true love before you judge true love.” she preaches.

“What is that? Aristotle?” Adrien quips. “I think true love can find a way to stop blocking the stairs and scaring the freshmen.”

Chloe scrunches her nose. “Find true love on your own first to prove it.”

Adrien sighs and for the short time being, curses his previous determination 5 months ago to force his best friends on a date. Instead of resulting in moderate disaster material he’d hoped would happen to use as some kind of funny leverage they could all laugh at one day, they’d turn out to be ridiculously compatible despite their exteriors and made out after a mere 45 minutes of the date. They’d laugh in the face of his ulterior motives, howling at him when he’d found them in each other's arms sickeningly in love later. He’d yelled profanities that it wasn’t fair that it actually worked (“It was supposed to be a joke! God, come on!”) as they snickered, all three clustered on his bedroom floor drinking his dad’s whiskey from the inviting and playfully restricted liquor cabinet (they’d been careful to pick an unenticing bottle stored all the way back). But truthfully he was happy for them, earnestly and annoyingly so.

Even so, their habits needed to die; like getting caught in embarrassing places making out or purposefully making out in front of teachers with Homophobic Tendencies (Adrien was more than supportive of that one but he’d also run several arguments on why it may risk them not graduating. Alya had just shrugged and said yolo) and now, blocking crucial stairways in their ferocious display of PDA. He quickly glances up above the stairs and thinks about telepathically apologizing to everyone who has had to wade their way through the duo. A figure with pitch black hair almost stumbles up in a hurry. Adrien wonders how he could send along the message that he grants them a pass to yell at his friends as a sincere apology.

“Can you two just get up and go to class.” he finalises. He looks down at Chloe’s cheer uniform and muses to himself that the near neon yellow in it is the colour of Chloe’s life.

Students still scatter around the area but they’re beginning to disappear to their classes. He makes way for a row of students running to the stairs and they thank him, eyes wild communicating some kind of cryptic message he thinks he can decipher as ‘save us’. He takes several steps up and flicks at Alya’s bun, strays of her hair bouncing. She doesn’t protest and instead takes some form of an effort to take his advice but it’s quickly halted by a suave kiss to her lips.

‘5 more minutes.’ Alya’s lips barely mutter against her girlfriend’s. The proposed time frame seems to be unnegotiated.

Adrien jerks his head up to the ceiling and groans.

-

When three chattering students noisily stumble their way through her Economics class, Marinette takes no note of it. She’s a little too caught up in what pretentious shade of red the bodice of the dress she desperately trying--failing?--to design in her Studio Arts class is supposed to be so that it passes off as something Dior would create. A deep, lusting flame colour or perhaps, maroon? Maybe? Frighteningly so? She flicks her head up momentarily to glance at a wave of varsity jackets and a singular cheer uniform. The chatter of the room increases exponentially. Alya Cesaire makes a joke or two to the professor that somehow saves her and her friends’ asses. The professor rolls their eyes but they turn kind and indifferently forgiving like they always are to Cesaire’s charm. A row of girls in front of Marinette swoon a little and it takes a moment for her to realise it’s directed at Adrien Agreste’s smooth greeting, the smile on his face so easy it reminds Marinette of toothpaste commercials. Chloe takes a claim beside Alya’s seat, a Capri Sun in hand and a look of undiluted boredom in another. She crosses her legs, pouts a little at her girlfriend, a form of formally beckoning her over to sit down already.

Seats are taken. Because Marinette has a brain and two whole eyes, it has always registered to her that the three are easy--a pleasure perhaps--to look at. Agreste’s a model even; his status of that is as clear as day as it is as cemented on the school’s Wikipedia and his flashy Instagram bio. But the force of all three was indeed a ridiculously attractive sight and Marinette would take her time to appreciate it all (really, she would!) if the stress of completing her portfolio hadn’t kept her occupied every ticking minute of her time in school.

She sighs and eases her eyes on Adrien Agreste who practically swaggers his way to his seat, playfully bickering with Chloe the whole time without either caring for volume much to the class’ entertainment. His soft, somewhat curled, bundle of hair practically bounces like it just has its own individualistic way with gravity. A hand tucked in his varsity jacket pocket and another loosely on the strap of his bag, he laughs at one thing or another said by Alya and Marinette thinks it’s a nice sound. A casually beautiful entity, she concludes.

Marinette’s eyes wander aimlessly at the board but she feels a pair of eyes on her anyway. Adrien’s eyebrows furrow for a moment, a hint of recognition on his eyes as he takes the steps above like he’s willing a vision to be painted in his head. Before she can look to him, his head turns away and he quips at whatever incoming remark from Chloe he had his way. Huh.

By the time the chatter dies down enough, Marinette has already decided the brief moment had been a mere daydream, a wander of aimless eyes at her in coincidence just like her own. She picks up her pen and writes her notes, stifling a yawn. Maroon, she thinks, is an easier colour.

-

Chloe’s bedroom floor looks a little like what Adrien envisions as an entire Sephora store. He’s not all that sure what that actually looks like but between Chloe yelling out to find fifteen different shades of lipstick and Alya lazily stacking more than forty eyeshadows on each other in some cosmetic version of Jenga, he thinks he’s right. His wooden chopsticks point to the takeaway stir fry in his hand and he’s debating whether to try out that powder thing, see if it does something or other. The view beyond Chloe’s perfectly oversized balcony is easy to look at, sunset views and all, and he thinks he’d like it a lot if he could stay there instead of the proposed agenda of the upcoming night.

Alya is sprawled out in her girlfriend’s bed, amusing herself with a meme or two on her phone. That doesn’t really satisfy Chloe who whines a little when she steps out of her closet, a yellow high neck dress tight on her waist. Adrien scrunches his nose and thinks the other dress--whatever he remembers of it--was probably better.

“Why don’t I look hot?” Chloe mourns. She slumps on a chair nearby, glum and decidedly not hot.

“I liked the other dress better.” Adrien offers, staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t think he likes the stir fry either. God, they should’ve just gotten pizza but Adrien’s stomach had made some last minute ditch to stir fry just as they entered the pizza shop and he should’ve listened to Alya saying his stomach is probably making a mistake but it just seemed so good of an idea at the time.

Alya glances up from her phone and makes some kind of protesting sound. “You always look hot babe!”

“Yes, true.” Chloe agrees momentarily, ‘But I don’t look hot in any dresses tonight.”

“Just don’t wear a dress.” Adrien offers again. They should really be taking his advice, he thinks. He knows he’s not paying that much attention but they should!

“Adrien, get up,” Chloe says.

“No.”

Alya looks at him from the bed, targets his face to throw a pillow. It lands on the desired location perfectly and he thinks it’s probably a warning. “What are you not hungry for?” he hears Alya ask.

He shoves the pillow away, eyes still greeting the ceiling. “The stir fry is not good.”

“You know, where was this energy an hour ego before you dragged us to an extra twenty minute walk to get it?”

“I’d really like my stomach’s intuition not be insulted during these trying times.”

Chloe scoffs, “Yeah, yeah. But really, what’s wrong?”

Her voice had shifted to the softer tone Adrien knows she categorises as the tone only given when Chloe’s actually worried. Adrien almost thinks about lying, then thinks better of it. Chloe and Alya could probably perfectly retrace every single step he's taken in his life. It’s useless and his stir fry has probably gone cold. He sits up this time, the warmth of the carpet off his back. He contemplates first and realises he does not want to ruin the night, not even for himself.

“Don’t worry,” he says finally, quietly. Quiet enough for it to be a clear lie.

Alya and Chloe exchange looks. A brief silence passes, the type Adrien knows is a mutual agreement between all three to wait. It doesn’t have to be said now, the silence says. A beat later, Chloe continues mourning her temporary lack of hotness, whining to herself again as she re-enters the closet. Alya maintains her lazy protests against the statement, grabbing the stir fry away from Adrien for herself (“God, it doesn’t even taste that bad.”). Adrien grins, wills himself to look forward to his own party, thinking it’s better that way.

-

Marinette stares almost menacingly at the computer screen. Photoshop and her design glare back at her like it’s a contest that it’s winning. It’s only a sketch but Marinette starting to think that if she stares at it long enough, the dress itself will appear magically before her, having chosen for itself confidently what colour it’d like its own bodice to be.

Instead, it only leads to her wondering if her eyes are actually threatening to bulge out.

“Why are you having a staring contest with your own computer?”

Marinette doesn’t turn around. Nino’s voice is not enough to keep her from trying this whole make-the-dress-magically-appear concept she’s got going on. He will not distract her from this goal. He places a plate with pepperoni pizza on her desk, a likely and tempting distraction. She takes it anyway.

“Is maroon, like, a good colour?” she asks, taking a bite. Nino lands himself on her bed, his headphones dangling on his neck the way it’s practically glued to him. He chews a bit of his pizza in some kind of contemplation before he answers.

“Depends who’s asking.”

“The bodice of my design is asking.”

“Then no,” he answers.

Marinette does not like this answer. But she’s pretty sure she doesn’t like any of the answers. She’s also sure Nino’s just talking out of his ass, but she appreciates the input.

“Man, have you even went out of your room since school?” he asks. It’s a genuine question, Marinette knows there’s no trace of judgement on his lips. But she’s also feeling a little jaded from the hours she’s spent on the design like it’s her lifeline enough that she musters some kind of look of feigned offense.

“I take that as a no,” he says.

Instead of answering, Marinette dumps her face flat softly against the desk. She realises all too quickly that this action in of itself is an answer.

“Okay.” Nino pulls himself up swiftly, hands clasped together the way it always is when he has a plan, “You look like you’re in the middle of a mid-life crisis at 21 and it’s just way too early for that. Get up, get dressed, put your hair up or whatever. We’re going to a party.”

Marinette grumbles. The idea, like every Nino idea, is perfectly acceptable, logical and has more than enough, the right intentions. It’s the execution, Marinette knows, that falters. Like how in kindergarten, he’d tell his best friend as their mothers shopped in IKEA that it was cool--yes, very cool!--to play hide and seek beyond the safety of the children’s play area, hiding away from the watch of the employees. It was practically genius to 6-year-old Marinette. Running away from boring IKEA-themed adults? Acceptable! Hide-and-Seek, the most thrilling game of century in a big area with lots of spaces to hide? Logical! Marinette and Nino had been bored out of their minds, un-enticed by the disgrace of a ball pit? The right intentions! It had been 15 IKEA employees yelling out the two children’s names for an hour later as they giggled away that had caused the fiasco to turn out to seem like Not Such a Genius Idea. The aftermath of their mothers’ disapproving faces had been another reminder.

‘Nino.” Marinette begins, “There’s a pros and cons list already made for that idea and I hate to tell you this, but there’s not a lot of pros.”

Nino considers this for a moment like he hasn’t already made up his mind. “There’s not a lot of cons either.”

The list is empty, Marinette says in their comfortable silence. Just like my head right now.

“Stop this.” Nino urges, “You need to get out. My best friend needs to come to this stupid rich kid party with me, eat a bunch of rich kid snacks and drink rich kids’ booze and live in the moment instead of looking like she’s about to go MMA on her computer”

Marinette doesn’t hate the idea of a party. She isn’t even opposed to them at all. Even art kids like her need their fair share of big gulps of gross alcohol and badly executed dances. But she also knows the only party of actual prominence tonight is Adrien Agreste’s, the golden boy of the Golden Trio. She thinks she might not like to throw up in his mansion or take up any form of social interaction when the exciting topic of Maroon vs. Not Maroon is the only thing on her mind.

In the time she took to contemplate this, Nina had dug out a pair of her black jeans and a halter top. He throws the clothing at her and she knows he has hit his target when she feels the material on the back of her head.

Marinette sighs the heaviest of sighs and Nino rolls his eyes. “Mari, you’re not dying.”

“Sure am.”

Like some kind of protest, he blasts some random 90s hit over the speakers from his phone. Marinette looks up, eyes already hazy and takes another bite of the pizza. Sixpence None the Richer blares like it’s trying to actually etch itself to Marinette’s ears. Nino joins in the verse but he’s kind of shrieking the way Marinette knows he does when he’s purposely trying to piss off the Choir teachers. Marinette stifles a laugh, then immediately groans.

God, rich booze really better be good.

-

His party is Very Good, Adrien intelligently evaluates this to himself. He’s in the middle of the dancefloor that’s really just his oversized living room, red solo cup to his lips. He’s not exactly sure what he’s drinking but he is sure it’s primarily responsible for the bubble of misplaced happiness to his body. He’s just a little hazy and deliriously warm and what the fuck is he drinking again? He dances between great friends, good friends, friends and not-friends-but-will-be-friends. Many eyes light up to his face in recognition, he happily recalls. The joys of being the host, he sighs in what he hopes is content.

The mansion is packed the way Adrien likes it when it’s a party--his party. It’s to blare out the loneliness inside these walls, the thought trespasses his mind. He frowns at it and systematically tucks it away in the space of gulping down all of his whatever-it-is drink and chatting to whoever is on his right. The wide-eyed girl smiles at him, polite and yet eager. He recognises her as part of Chloe’s cheer squad and she looks quite pretty tucking her hair behind her ears. Yes, very pretty! Is that pink eyeshadow on her? Adrien thinks it might be purple. They talk for a spare few minutes, slowing their movements a little. Adrien’s not entirely following whatever it is they’re supposed to be talking about it, but he knows he’s flashing his Good Smile and she’s flashing her Good Smile. And they look very nice, even! Yes! Wait, he halts, wait what?

“Agreste, you dumbass.” Adrien registers the voice as one Alya Cesaire but he’s not as quick to register the pull from the back of his jacket.

He’s dragged without grace across the other side of the room where the bar is set up, the crowd had parted like the knowing red sea with people laughing at his demise. Adrien’s arms flail in some kind of attempt to pull away from Alya’s force but he quickly becomes aware it makes him look like he’s drowning horizontally on dry land.

“Hang on there Adrien!” he hears Rose squeak but he can tell she’s grinning.

When Alya arrives at her destination, he finds Chloe perched on the barstool, chuckling at him. “What are you doing flirting with one of my girls?”

He feels a little caught in some kind of invisible lie. “Am not!”

Unfortunately, his voice squeaks the way it always does when he’s in a (drunk!) childish fit of defense. His knees wobble and Adrien wonders when jelly became a substitute for his knees? Did he authorise that? Alya and Chloe’s laughs almost thunder throughout the room, probably threatening to break walls.

“You sound like a 3-year-old caught in a lie.” Chloe snorts. Almost as if embracing this proposed age, Adrien pouts and sticks out his tongue. It’s stained red from his whatever-it-is drink. Has he been drinking wine? God, what is he? Above thirty?

“Yeah, yeah. Not all of us wanna make out with our true love every 5 minutes.” he places his cup to the bar, motioning for the bartender to refill a drink. The man raises an eyebrow, asking what he’d like before Adrien says whatever is alright. In fact, he has been drinking whatever the whole night so he might as well continue. “Not all of us have found it either.”

“Don’t be so poetic in your own party.” Alya feigns disgust, “Call Aristotle or whatever. Make him do the labour. Your stuff is terrible.

“My stuff,” Adrien tries not to slur, “is very, very, very good.”

“He sounds very convincing.” Juleka nods as she approaches. She takes a sip of her drink and in an act Adrien can only recall as an angelic move, she places a hand on his shoulder to stop him from the very bad consequences of his Knee Wobbling Fiasco. “Hold on there, buddy. The night has barely started.”

“You’d think Adrien would make it as a good act for the Debate Club?” Rose giggles beside her.

Chloe smirks, ‘You should register him now whilst he thinks his material is very, very, very good.”

The warm round of laughter from the circle erupts from this and Adrien delivers several glares to Chloe that they both know are just empty threats. He likes that everyone is having a good time, likes the obnoxious blare of music over the speakers and the familiar touch of everyone around the room he’s known.

“Adrien!” a voice bellows from the crowd. Adrien’s reflexes are painfully slow thanks to his whatever booze but he turns his head to spot the familiar figure, headphones on his neck. Nino always makes it easy to recognise Nino that way.

“My man!” Adrien drunkenly skips towards Nino, lunges his body weight at him. Nino somehow manages to handle the force of his bear hug and laughs, his body vibrating with it.

“How have you been?”

Adrien does not answer this question. Instead, he cries, “Nino, what the hell! Where have you been, man! It’s been, like, days! Without you, man! Without you!”

The group behind them laugh at Adrien’s speech, but Adrien is having trouble comprehending why. It’s been 2 days without his good friend! 2 whole days! He hopes the misery seeps out of him so they can understand his pain. 2 whole days!

“Okay, I don’t know what you’re drinking but it’s either that good, or you’ve overestimated how much you can handle. Again.” Nino grins, tries to position Adrien to stand. Adrien falls back to his arms like his body is lifeless. Was it? It sorta felt like it was.

“I am very good.” Adrien announces. He’s not sure who at.

“Don’t listen to his dumb ass.” Chloe laughs, “Have a seat with us, Lahiffe.”

She motions at an open seat near the bar. Nino smiles but his eyes flicker back to the crowd. He glances to Adrien, pulls a look like he’s going to say something mildly serious.

Nino slows his speech as if to consider Adrien’s quickly deteriorating brain cells. Adrien’s honestly grateful for it. ‘Hey, I’ve actually got a friend I’ve dragged along I’d like you guys to meet. Hope you don’t mind the plus-one, Adrien.”

No, Adrien doesn’t mind at all! Absolutely not! He wishes he could say something intelligent like ‘Of course I don’t mind! I’m happy for my huge ass hollow mansion to be filled up to suppress a bad ache of my loneliness!’. Or maybe he shouldn’t. So Adrien just shakes his head violently.

Nino smiles as if it completes his resolve. He leans Adrien’s body back to Juleka’s sturdy arms.

“Great. I’ll be back!” he wades his way into the crowd, the heap of bodies like some kind of transcendent disco-themed sea. Adrien takes a sip of his new--and hopefully improved?--whatever-it-is drink, hates it, then takes another sip.

-

Marinette remembers the order. Stay here for a sec, Nino had said, I need to talk to someone. What she’s not as diligent about is following through with it. Like a bad juxtaposition, she thinks, sipping through this party’s Rich Beer in her hand. It’s warm and fuzzy despite the unorthodox taste it leaves, maybe that’s the intended effect of Rich Kid Expensive Beer? But anyway, this bad juxtaposition weighs in on her. She’s hit with a weird pang of guilt over Not Following through with Nino’s orders. It’s not Acceptable (she’s broken an order), nor Logical (why is she wandering around in the gigantic space of this mansion where she can easily get lost amongst its weird sea of too many bathrooms?), nor does it have good intentions (she’s only helplessly so interested in the paintings surrounding the quieter hallways in this half drunken state).

Well, it’s not bad intentions, she debates, but it’s not Great Intentions. Marinette settles to herself that it’s Marinette Intentions, like that’ll help her explain this very reason of wandering around so clearly tomorrow. Nino will probably say something like what the fuck and then he’ll Not Get Mad at her because he knows pretty paintings are pretty paintings and anyway, why the fuck does Adrien Agreste have so many paintings? He doesn’t even paint! Never even been to a Studio Arts class! Never even suffered over Colour Theory or Composition or bad oil paint stains that go on perfectly good shirts that never come off even after, like, years of the laundry! Never even contemplated the deep distinction between maroon and not maroon! Marinette huffs and she thinks it’s one of her angry huffs.

Marinette thinks she’s okay with maybe swimming back into the sea of bodies, finding a pretty thing to flirt with and make out with for no particular reason for the night before she’ll slink back home. She’ll call an Uber and drunkenly recall the events to an indifferent and kind therapist of an Uber driver. She thinks it’s okay, yes it’s okay. She looks sufficient tonight, her lips are very glossy, very kissable, very capable of speaking to her future Uber driver. Her eyelids are heaped with a mauve shade, and Nino’s choice combination of clothing turned out well because he’s spent 19 years enough with her to recall whatever she says is ugly and not ugly.

But Marinette stares a little listlessly at the near blank hallways of the mansion. It nearly amazes her that despite it feeling like the world’s population was at Agreste’ front door, his mansion still seemed to have room. She waits for the wave of resolution to settle to her body, ending at the tips of her toes as to signal her feet to start moving in the desired direction. But it never does. Marinette sips the weird beer and takes this as a sign to stay in the dim of the hallways. Her eyes linger back on the painting in front of her, encased in a golden frame like it was a cliche. The acrylic sea stares back at her like the challenge her computer screen had once presented only a few hours ago.

Okay, Adrien Agreste’s house paintings, two can play that game.

-

Adrien’s footsteps carry the weight of the world. He’s pretty sure that’s not how gravity is supposed to feel like but in this state, he doesn’t really think physics is a concept he can grasp altogether. He had thought mindless dancing would ease his mind, make his body feel light as he tiptoes through the crowd. He sways along with the heat of bodies and he thinks maybe next time he’d like to hire a live weatherman in one of these parties to announce the approximate amount of degrees which he thinks right about now is nearing a million?

He’s dizzy, blissed-out like it hasn’t only been two hours into the party. His mouth feels like it’s on fire and drier than a desert at the same time. He’d chat to anyone who’d even so much as give him half a second of eye contact. He compliments something of anyone’s outfit and they’d say something like great party or Adrien get some damn water and then he’d flash his big megawatt smile reserved for nights like this or in daylight walking in the halls of the university like he’s shooting a never-ending commercial. If Chloe and Alya were concerned, they’d decided to voice their concerns for a later date and let him have his drunken fun.

For some ungodly reason, his mind rewinds to today’s events. Find true love to judge true love. Chloe’s voice strikes thunders in the thick of his cluttered haze. He grimaces, a little fondly. It’s one of those lines Chloe says without any real depth to it but he’s pretty sure the true love part has some weight on her part. Adrien sweats a little (or a lot?), thinks about Kagami for what feels like only a quarter of a second and then suddenly, several million years. He hadn’t let the ground beneath them turn solid, she hadn’t done the same either. So they’d just float in midair, aware they had nothing to land back on just like how he wants to feel weightless in this bulk of a crowd.

He’d kiss her once, in something like one of these parties. She’d return the favour back and it’d seem like such a comfortable tangle of lips at the time. His hand on her hip seemed fair, chivalrous, one of those moments of obvious destiny like how princes in Disney movies had no hesitation once they’d found their princesses. Once their lips parted, it was only then that he could hear the good-natured rumble of cheers surrounding them. Chloe had rolled her eyes, muttered something like I can’t believe you took that long, Adrien and Adrien had agreed on the statement. He’d grin so wide, the muscles on his mouth were a little tired of him. But Kagami’s eyes had been wide and curious and her teeth showed in her loosened smile so Adrien concluded that it had been so very worth it.

But then Kagami had sat down on his couch weeks later, shifting like she was not so sure of the space. As if the air inside was slightly suffocating despite the huge expanse of his second living room. Before her lips had open to speak, her eyes had already performed flutters of apology. Adrien thinks its almost pity but he’d shoved that feeling deep into the back of his mind before it could pose itself as a hazard to his psyche. She says what Adrien recalls as a blur of words. Sentences Adrien had heard loud and clear because Kagami’s voice was fit for presidential speeches or whatever, but were awfully disjointed like an awkward farrago. She hadn’t been sure, hadn’t thought it out, didn’t think it could work out in the midst of their schedules and oh Adrien, it’s not your fault but mine.

Adrien hadn’t processed anything, instead, he’d just theorised that the walls inside had somehow shrunk to the size of his body, squeezing the air out of his lungs. But he’d say things like it’s okay (it wasn’t), he’d thought the same (he hadn’t) and that he hopes they’d remain good friends. They did, in fact, remain good friends. Threateningly so. Then before he could blink twice, she’d jetted off to some lucrative fencing championship for the next 6 months like her life had been strictly scheduled to break his heart for one minute and be whisked away the next. The news of the breakup had circled ruthlessly throughout the entire student body within a matter of hours and Chloe had taken it upon herself to act as his publicist, telling everyone to leave him alone and yes, he’s going through a breakup-themed Spotify playlist, yes, he’d really like his privacy respected at the moment and no Nathaniel, he can’t share his Spotify playlist publicly go make your own

Alya, Chloe and him had raided the liquor cabinet that night like they would die the next day. Alya had ordered an obscene amount of pizza and Chinese takeaway. He wasn’t sure what the end goal was but between giant gulps of noodles, ice cream and diet coke (kind of disgusting), he concluded his friends had hoped he could also gulp away the sadness along with it. Well, he succeeded nonetheless. The next day he’d skipped along a path after classes, looked up to fervour of the orange-tinted sky and hadn’t thought back to Kagami’s eyes like he had been doing for weeks.

Kagami had been stored in the attic of Adrien’s mind, dusted and intentionally forgotten for some nice 4 months. But now she’s being unceremoniously summoned from the attic, in the midst of his dance floor and onto the pits of his mind’s living room. He holds a breath, a little more than worried that if he thinks about her any longer, she might also physically manifest in his actual living room which he honestly doesn’t think is a very good idea at the moment because he might involuntarily throw up on her.

Adrien thinks he can hear Alya’s voice faintly calling his name which is a miracle amongst the thunder of Ariana Grande over the speakers and fifty billion voices all at once. Without much thought to it, his lips linger back to his drink. The liquid burns down his throat like its matching the heat of the room. Ah yes, a billion degrees and perhaps more. He’d like to not think about Kagami at the moment, or any moments really. But once she’s out Adrien’s psychological attic, he finds it hard to stuff her back somewhere else. So he ignores Alya’s siren calls, twists his body the opposite direction and allows his feet to lead him to the better comforts of his bedroom. He stumbles on his way and knows he looks a bit like an idiot but he thinks his destination will make it worth it. Yes, well, it has to.

-

This room was too big. Much, much too big. Marinette doesn’t like being all too judgemental of anything. She likes to think that’s a result of her and Nino’s friendship and how Nino's face doesn’t really alter to the news of Marinette not sleeping for 48 hours doing designs. Instead, he’ll do something like quietly pull a blanket to her soulless body sprawled on her couch and confiscate the coffee away for three days. She likes to return the favour of understanding, not just to Nino but everyone else. But this room, she thinks, is far beyond the reach of her understanding. Marinette stares at the glass chandelier perched along with the high ceiling and doesn’t think she’d like to calculate if it alone could pay her entire school tuition.

She’d wandered aimlessly throughout the endless hallways, the voices of the crowd echoing behind her now mere whispers in the face of her indifference. She blames the alcohol but then again, she always does and really that wasn’t fair to the paintings which were the real cause of her spiralling away. If Marinette were sober, she thinks she might not enter strangers’ bedroom and judge them for their ridiculous size. But she wasn’t and now she freely saunters around like this room and her are more than familiar with each other. The king-sized bed, she notes, looks like something straight from a home decor magazine. Office space is set up opposite to the bed and it must undeniably have been occupying someone’s stress because papers cover the whole of the area without arrangement. Marinette can hear the faint boom of Top 40 music from outside and she thinks the sound resonates with the thunder of ocean tides crashing and falling much like the rise and fall of her own breath when she spots the easel perched near the bedroom balcony. Curious, Marinette strides like her body is actually co-operating with her. Placing her bottle on a table nearby, she inspects like she’s meant to be doing it.

The canvas is blank but the supplies were neatly arranged along the table. The space feels frozen in time, like someone had paused just as they were to begin and never quite gotten to resume. Clumsily left on the paint tray are different shades of oil paints, untouched and lonely. Cleaned brushes are nearby like they’re new and upon closer inspection, Marinette realises they are. Marinette inhales, breaths in the familiar scent of turpentine she’d recognised from years of sitting in a Studio Arts classroom next to Nathaniel. She’s no painter, not like she was before, but she’s more than proficient in traditional painting because of the required classes. Marinette sits on the stool and feels invited in it despite the clear lack of welcome of the entire room.

And because of the sudden invitation, in some swift movement she doesn’t at all recall, she picks up a brush, ruthlessly dabs it into the bright flush of a red and smears it across it the innocent canvas without regal.

“Fuck.” she says out loud as soon as the paint meets the canvas. Oh shit.

Oh shit, shit, shit. The mournful scarlet streak is right in front of her, bright as day in evidence and though its a colour, Marinette can’t help but think it’s screaming. The panic bubbles like champagne in her stomach but suddenly, just as champagne does, it settles into a fuzzy ease. Marinette laughs loud to herself. Fuck it.

Marinette ditches her reflex to set the brush down and instead dabs a little of the red back into the canvas, marks the colour again in another direction like it has a purpose. The more the hair of the brush streaks the colour along, the more the colour sings to Marinette’s face instead of its shrill screech. Over time, the colours bloom until Marinette hears the canvas perform a complete melody enough that it rivals the roar of waves outside.

- 

The thud is enough to knock Marinette out of her paint splatter of a state, she turns her head to the direction of the door and hears a muffle or two of a deep voice. The panic settles back into her body and unfortunately, she realises, it’s panic alone and there’s no champagne mixed in. Several thuds ensue by the time Marinette has scrambled to her feet; brush, paint and melody are long forgotten as she drops it to the table.

An escape route, yes, she needs an escape route. Yes, now. What about her drink? Oh God, her booze. Marinette furrows an eyebrow, seizes her bottle from the table and mindlessly gulps down the rest of the bottle’s content. Yes! Beer! Alcohol! Wait? No! She doesn’t have time for this shit! Marinette looks again to the enormous chandelier, sincerely wishing the billion carat diamond form of it all would just fall on her head, knocking her out. Instead, she scans the ground, grimaces as she ducks down low undignified and crawls to the bottom of the Instyle-looking king-sized bed. She’s thinking if the chandelier does actually plan on killing her, the bed might just be her salvation.

The door opens wide and the volume from outside adjusts to something loud and obnoxious. Marinette spots the Nike shoes thudding its way across the room and simultaneously calculates the price of the medical bill she’ll have to face if her heart doesn’t stop drumming violently against her chest. The figure paces around the room like it’s just as curious as she once was. A moment passes before the sound of the creak from the bottom of the bed rings in Marinette’s ears as the person lands on top. Her throat threatens to squeak out a sound in surprise before she suppresses it.

Marinette thinks if she wasn’t the one in her position, she might find all of this awfully funny. But because she’s the one in her position, Marinette eyes the opened door. She wonders if maybe, just maybe, she could just crawl, go into some kind of lizard mode that her 3-year-old self had prepared her for anyway. The fact that she’s drunk is making the plan sound a lot like a Nino Plan and the fact that it sounds like a Nino Plan has Marinette itching to execute it as not badly as possible. She waits for a prolonged five minutes before she dares to move a muscle. Four minutes later, she hears the faint sound of snoring and is fucking grateful for it.

She executes the plan, wills herself to crawl her way through the spotless carpet in silence. Arms extending out as she slithers her way, the noise outside gets louder with every inch closer to the door. By the time she reaches it, her body moves at the pace of a ghost as she heaves herself up in excruciating slow motion. Marinette doesn’t take a chance, doesn’t turn her head in the case she might make some unintended noise. Instead, she takes a slow breath in, treads lightly back outside and hears the echo of the waves from the narrow hallways.

- 

Nino reprimands her in the Uber. He also kind of does it in the dancefloor when he’d found her and nearly knocked several bottles over as he trudged his way over her drunken ass screaming the lyrics to Selena Gomez. He’d said something like what the fuck Marinette and she’d wailed out the second verse of Selena Gomez’ song in response. It’s a bad Selena Gomez themed haze from then on and Marinette does not remember anything beyond the audible thump of her own body in the back of the Uber whilst she makes out Nino apologising profusely to the driver. She bawls a little at this.

“No!” she hiccups, once or twice, “Wheeeere are we goiiiing?”

Nino turns his head from the passenger seat and Marinette thinks he’s going to say something disapproving again but he just chuckles. “We’re going home.”

Marinette thinks she does not like to be laughed at. “Nooooooo.”

God! She hadn’t even been kissed! Hadn’t even made out with anyone! Marinette places a light finger to her lips and mourns the lack of a kiss to her lips. That was so illegal! “I am very kissable!”

Nino just laughs again, “Find anyone to be very kissable with?”

Marinette narrows her eyebrows. Huh. Did she? She doesn’t recall a single kissable lip on her. A goddamned shame. God, what had she been doing? She was very kissable, damnit! What the hell was she doing not being kissed?

Marinette’s mind wanders to important things like puff pastries and croissants. She was over this night, she hadn’t been kissed and if she had been, it must've have been so bland her mind just threw the damn memory away. So Marinette hums a tune in blissful peace, wonders what she might do tomorrow about her maroon vs. re-

“Stop the car, I’m going to throw up.” Marinette chokes out. From the rearview mirror, the Uber driver just sort of sighs like he might throw up too.

The flash of red lingers its way back into Marinette’s mind at the speed of lightning or thunder or motorcycles or something dangerous and clearly over the speed limit. A Lamborghini probably. The blank canvas and how not very blank it was in its state in Adrien Agreste’s house. In the midst of her alcohol scented mist, the image of the painting taunts her. The hour of painting had seemed so far away like it was months ago and oh God, Marinette was going to go to prison for trespassing or something. She’ll go to prison and wear a bad shade of orange like it’s some kind of sick punishment for the array of colours she’d slashed mercilessly across the canvas.

“Oh my god.” she whispers to herself. “Shit.”

The car reluctantly stops near the side of the road. Marinette yanks open the car door, ducks her head down low and does, indeed, throw up.

#miraculous ladybug #adrienette #cholya #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #mlb #ml fic #illuarts #hey !! i wrote after like not writing for 239483 years #i'll continue this probs #cholya...........yah #illuwrites #man nino is done with everyone's shit

[capnjay21]

A House is Never Still 4/6

Five years ago, Emma Swan disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Killian Jones’ disappearance, well, not so mysterious – given the denizens of Storybrooke all but blamed him for her murder. Drawn back to town by a series of strange events, he soon realises the story of what really happened the night she vanished is beginning to unravel, and what’s more: it isn’t over.

A/N: and here is chapter four! thank you so much for all the support so far, this chapter actually has one of my favourite sequences I’ve written for this fic. but I’m not telling which it is!

again, heaps and piles and many fancy vases full of gratitude for @hollyethecurious​ for creating this amazing aesthetic, without which this fic would not exist.

Rating: T

Warnings: mentions of suicide, canonical character death, and some Spooky Business™.

starting a tiny taglist since I got a request for one, so I am ~tentatively~ tagging a handful of people I think might want to read this - NO obligation to, and feel free to drop me a message to say hell nah if you would prefer! I won’t be offended in any way, shape or form! 

@snowbellewells​ @carpedzem​ @kmomof4​ @optomisticgirl​

AO3 | one | two | three

-/-

4 – an unearthly hand

Present Day

The clouds parted for the first time since Killian’s return to Storybrooke on the day he brought Regina to Brooke House, lifting the feeling of grey that had cast its blanket over the town. For days, it had warmed itself in open doorways, prowled after townsfolk around street corners and crept beneath windowsills, and Killian was relieved to be granted something of a reprieve from the fog of autumn in New England.

The house stood, as it had the day before, in the north woods just a brisk, ten-minute walk away from the well-trodden track of the White Pine trail. He didn’t need the faded pieces of string to guide his path to the house anymore, and it had become so present in his impression of the town that he had forgotten that Brooke House, as it looked at that moment, had not always been there.

Regina had stopped twenty paces from the door, expression unreadable but for her parted lips.

It seemed almost unusual to see it in the sparkling sunlight of the morning, like something had been taken right out of it. Here it was white brick and rotted wood and barren, where at night it positively brimmed with something far more than any one person could comprehend. Even at a shell of its normal, terrible self, Regina had taken a little time to process.  

“It really is here,” she had said finally. “How about that.”

She said how about that the same way you would say it if you found out an old classmate had gone on to become a movie star, or you discovered your local grocery store was lifting its embargo on branded products.

Not like a house that was sometimes there, sometimes not there, was today, decidedly, there.

It had been a bit more of a laborious journey than he was used to, but Killian’s Chevelle could only take them so far and he had a lot of equipment to bring with him today, cramming everything he could as delicately as possible into his rucksack. Regina, too, had brought a duffle bag full of materials, and Killian could spot the heavy corner of her book of shadows poking out from within, begging to be noticed. The previous times he had visited Brooke House he hadn’t been properly prepared, but this time around Killian was determined to leave the house with something he could quantify, rather than just the deep, sick dread that had left with him every other night.

He had entered the house ahead of her, the novelty of its return long since worn away, and moved into the living room just to the right of the hallway. It was far brighter in the light of day, the long, Victorian windows allowing a brilliant glow from the outside, and Killian could now even spot a few holes near the top of the front wall where the mortar had crumbled away, as dapples of sunlight trickled directly in from above painting yellow specks on the floorboards. Even still, he was not entirely comfortable being there. He walked twice around the edge of the room, every unexpected creak making his heart lurch uncomfortably into his mouth, and even once whispered Emma’s name out into the dust.

Nothing stirred.

Today it was bricks, and rotted wood, and bare.

He was just setting his camera atop its tripod when Regina finally entered, the heels of her boots clicking loudly on the old wood.

“It’s like walking back into high school,” she commented drily, clearly taking in the discarded scarf, the Apollo chocolate bar wrapper. “Is that my Ouija board?”

She looked almost indignant, as if Brooke House were an old friend who had borrowed a CD and never bothered to return it, but Killian wanted her attention focused elsewhere.

“Here, come and feel this.”

He led her by the hand (amid protests) to the centre of the room, a ring of dust slightly newer than the rest just barely visible on the floor. It was the place he had been standing the night prior, when Emma had dug her nails sharply into the back of his jacket.

“Palms out. Doesn’t it feel colder here than the rest of the room?”

Regina looked unconvinced. “Maybe a little.”

“It is,” Killian insisted. “I’m sure of it. Stay right there.” He darted back to his rucksack and pulled out two identical aluminium rods, bent at a right angle six inches from one of the ends. When he returned, he held them out to Regina so she could hold the shorter end, and although she pursed her lips in displeasure, obligingly she took them. “Hold them loosely, like this.” He adjusted her grip to match.

Regina looked unamused. “And what, in God’s name, are these?” She arched an eyebrow. “I better not get struck by lightning.”

Killian returned to where he had been squatting by the camera, tilting the tripod so it could capture the spot Regina was standing in. On the infrared display, she was a warm scarlet and gold storm.

“They’re dowsing rods.”

“You’re joking.”

“Couldn’t be more serious. Hold them steady – like that.” Regina reluctantly obliged. “Tell me if they move.”

Killian had experienced limited success with dowsing in the past – it had been shown to him by a farmer in Iowa who had used it to find buried metals and ores underneath the ground, and admittedly actually had a lot to show for the results. Killian himself had been sceptical, and given how intermittent his own successes were, there was no way to tell if they could be attributed to any real sense of divination or sheer blind luck. Still, he wanted to throw everything in his arsenal at Brooke House.

“I don’t have to tell you about the ideomotor response, do I?” Regina said flatly. “Unconscious involuntary movement. Dowsing is bullshit.”

“Says the woman brewing potions in her living room,” Killian shot back. “I mean it – even if it’s a little, tell me if they move.”

Satisfied with the positioning of the camera, he plugged in his tablet and left it set to record before returning to his rucksack. After some deliberation, he reached for the electro-magnetic field reader he had tried to cushion in the bag with a thick scarf. It was blocky and old, and looked like something that had been lifted from a 60s Star Trek set, but it had become one his most valued instruments over the years.

Regina had been craning her neck to see what he was holding, and once she realised, she let out a noise of frustration.

“Killian, if you wanted an EMF reader I would’ve brought mine – at least it’s not a hundred years old. And that’s clearly a single axis meter.” Single axis meters were notoriously more difficult to use than a tri-axis, as they required significant coordination in order to measure the information recorded across all three axis ,while also trying to move the instrument to gather more data; a tri-axis allowed for much more detailed data acquisition. You could only point Killian’s meter at one thing at a time, slowly, whereas Regina’s could probably handle something far more intricate.

Even so, Killian had far more faith in his own device.

“Believe me,” he informed her, “this is better.”

He could practically hear her rolling her eyes.

“Where did you get all this stuff anyway?”

“Ebay, mostly.”

She scoffed. “You look like a quack.”

Killian laughed. Quack was probably the most positive way Regina had ever described him. “And you’re listening to a quack,” he pointed out, “so what does that make you?” He glanced over to see her still standing where he had left her, holding the two dowsing rods outstretched. It didn’t look like they had moved. “Let me know if they cross.”

He was just tweaking with the settings on the EMF reader when Regina carried on.

“Where’s David today, anyway?”

She said ‘where’s David today’ as if she were enquiring which films her old school friend had starred in, or when branded products would be making their way onto the shelves at her local supermarket. Mild disinterest and a characteristic neutrality. She didn’t fool Killian for a second.

She carried on. “I was sure we’d be joined by the witless wonder in no time.”

Killian had sent David just one text message last night, a simple I’m sorry. David had read it, and not replied. He had to remind himself it was better off this way.

“He’s… busy.”

Regina looked surprised. “It’s been three days. How have you already fallen out with him?”

Killian tried to make his shrug as blithe as possible. “It’s a gift, I suppose.” He could just add David Nolan to the long list of people in Storybrooke who really didn’t want him to be there. Deciding finally that the dowsing rods weren’t getting anything from the cold spot, or perhaps weren’t getting anything from Regina, he crossed back over to her and swapped them for the EMF reader. This was something Regina was far more familiar with, and immediately began spinning slowly in place even as she wrinkled her nose disdainfully at the antiquated design.

“And, why, exactly, are we here?”

“We’re looking for Emma.”

Help me, Killian. Let me out. Please.

He had thought it over constantly over the last day. Maybe those words hadn’t just been spoken by that dark, terrible spectre of the house. Maybe that had been a little of Emma, their Emma, bleeding through. He had to find out for sure if there was anything but darkness left, and these were the only ways he knew to look for ghosts.

“We’re looking for Emma,” Regina repeated, in a strange tone.

It gave him pause, so he turned to look at her. She looked unfairly doubtful, and it made irritation flare within him. “The house is here, isn’t it? Where it wasn’t before. It stands to reason she could be here too. David saw her. So did Ruby. You said it yourself, something is changing. Why can’t it be her?”

He’d seen her, he wanted to say. But something held him back. Something private and longing and scared beyond his wits.

“Why can’t it be her?” he repeated, a little more forcefully when she didn’t immediately reply.

Regina bit her lip, as if trying to work out how best to proceed. She took a few steps forward, the wood underneath her boots creaking loudly.

“You and I both know… Emma wasn’t the only thing there that night. In the dark.”

Black lightning. Her wrist stained red, angry welts erupting across her forearm. Eyes as dark as obsidian.

Killian – Killian, don’t –!

A wave of nausea rose within him.

“Is it wise for us to start messing with stuff we don’t understand – again?” To her credit she looked like the suggestion made her almost as miserable as it did him, but her nature dictated she give voice to the thoughts that cut everybody to the quick. “I mean, what if this is something else, just taking the shape of Emma? And appealing to those made most vulnerable by the sight of her?”

So good of you to come and see me.

First David, then him. After all, Mary Margaret hadn’t reported any ghostly sightings, and neither had Regina – and she had practically drenched herself in the supernatural.

Killian shook his head, clutching the dowsing rods tightly.

“But what if it is Emma?” he said finally. The crux of the thing was that he could never ignore her, no matter how sensible the suggestion that he do so. He knew he looked weak, that the confidence he had projected toward Regina since returning to town had crumbled and he must look stupid next to her now, seventeen again and blithering and hopeful beside her world-worn pragmatism. “We have to try.”

He begged her, pleaded with her silently to support him.

Regina was quiet for a long moment, and the EMF reader let out a low zinging noise from where she was pointing it. After a while she sighed.

“Alright,” she said briskly, and Killian visibly sagged with relief. “But I’m going to need much more sage.”

-/-

October 24th – Five Years Ago

“Killian, it’s creepy here,” whined Mary Margaret. “When can we go?”

Emma watched as Killian laughed from where he sat across the room, drawing something onto the floorboards in thick, black marker.

“I’m sorry, Mary Margaret. Just indulge me a little longer.”

Brooke House wasn’t nearly as scary the second time Emma had visited it. They had come virtually straight from school, the sky starting to fade from bright blue to soft pink, but while Emma still didn’t exactly relish the idea of being there after dark, it had lost something of its harshness from the last time she’d been there. Somehow, by bringing Regina and Mary Margaret too, expanding their nervous trio out into a confident fivesome, it took power away from the old walls of the house. Regina had laughed when they showed her the spinning wheel, kicking it into an aggressively fast spin while they all gaped and cried for her to stop. Mary Margaret had removed the sheet from one of the armchairs in the sitting room, declared it looked comfortable enough to sleep in and confidently sat herself down – only for a large spider to creep out of the seams of the cushion, and crawl onto the edge of her dress.

Her shriek had nearly brought them all to tears, and Emma hadn’t been able to move or breathe for laughter for at least ten minutes.

Ever since Killian had asked them all to come to the house, and David had taken great pleasure in informing them it was probably haunted, Regina had been saying she would bring something to match the occasion, and she did not disappoint. Currently she, David and Mary Margaret sat on the floor (the latter with her skirts bunched up around her, casting nervous, fearful glances around for anymore creepy crawlies) surrounding what Regina had called a Ouija board. Emma recognised it only as something she’d once seen on television.

It was an old, polished wood surface ornately decorated, with all the letters of the alphabet and the numbers 0-9 beautifully calligraphed across the top. The symbol of the sun had been drawn in one corner, and a crescent moon in the other. The board came with a planchette, a triangular pointer with a glass circle in the centre to allow you to see the characters underneath. The idea, as Regina explained, was that spirits were supposed to speak through the board, by directing the planchette around its surface to spell out words and wishes.

All three held the tip of a finger on the pointer, and Emma watched with mild interest as it inched across the board. It was all bullshit anyway, but it did add to the atmosphere.

“Mary Margaret, you’re moving the pointer,” Regina scowled.

“I am not,” she replied, affronted. “David’s moving it!”

“I’m not! I swear I’m not!”

Regina brushed her hair from her face impatiently. “At least wait until we’ve asked it a question.”

“Where’d you get the creepy board, anyway?” Emma asked.

“My mom was keeping in in the attic, I found it last year when I was looking for Christmas decorations. She was so pissed when I brought it down, made me put it straight back. I always knew she was a bit nuts.” Regina grinned smugly. “So obviously I had to get it out again now the occasion called for it.”

David cleared his throat loudly, drawing their attention back to the board. “Let’s start.” He raised his voice, projecting it around the room and inserting as much grandiose as he could muster. “Are we alone in this house?” The planchette slid across the board, and David sounded out the letters it landed on. “N… O. It said no.”

“David, you’re clearly moving it.”

“I’m not!”

Leaving them to bicker, Emma turned her attention back to Killian. He had finished what he had been drawing on the floor, and was now scattering salt in a circle around it. Completely entranced in his work, his attention flickered between the salt in his hand and a few battered pieces of paper he had lain flat against the floor. Emma recognised one of them as the one etched with doodles and a few scribbles that they had found in Liam’s toolbox. Somehow, that only increased her feeling of unease.

“Hey,” she said, after crossing the room to sit beside him, hugging her knees to her chest. She was careful not to let her trainers disturb the circle he had made. She also wondered if Archie knew where all the salt at the group home had gone. “You okay?”

He had joked around with them while they let the others explore the house, but had soon retreated to his work. Which, Emma now realised, was a five-pointed star drawn on the floorboards in thick black marker, with each tip touching the edge of the salt circle.

“Yeah,” he replied, flashing her a smile. “I’m almost done.”

Emma bit her lip. “Remind me what it is you’re hoping to achieve? Do you really expect to, uh… summon some kind of ghost?” The look he gave her was unimpressed, but Emma shrugged. He hadn’t exactly given them a lot of clues. “What? I was there with Belle, remember? ‘Do you believe in magic?’”

Emma most certainly did not believe in magic.

The five-pointed star and the circle of salt were telling her something else about Killian, though.

“All I want is to understand. To just – get in his head, I don’t know. He was working on this house for weeks, but it looks like all he did was start peeling off the wallpaper. And why did he go and see Belle? Why did he –?”

Drive his car into a ravine? Emma couldn’t count the number of times Killian must have asked himself that.

He shook his head.

“It has to have something to do with this house. And look, these were in his toolbox.” Killian stepped carefully over his handiwork so he could crouch beside her, showing her the piece of paper, curling at the edges. “He drew the pentagram, right there.” He pointed out an image identical to the one Killian had just drawn on the floor. “I was doing a little research into the symbolism, and a lot of Satanic cults use it for, uh, stuff.” He trailed off unconvincingly, and Emma tried not to look the equal parts amused and creeped out that she felt.

“And like he’s done here, I’ll light a candle at each point. The notes he’s actually written are brief so I just had to interpret as best I can – ‘salt circle’ and ‘curvy dagger’. Did you bring your fishing knife like I asked?”

Emma leant forward so she could reach into the back pocket of her jeans to retrieve it. She held it close to her chest for a moment, thinking about all the comfort it had given her back when she was a kid – in a world where she could control so little, she had liked how powerful it made her feel. The first time she had showed it to Killian was when they were fourteen, and his eyes had grown so round that she hadn’t been able to stop herself from giggling.

After a moment of hesitation, she handed it over.

Another of David’s noisy questions out into the room drew their focus.

“Will I become rich and famous one day? Oh – Y… E… S.” He smirked triumphantly. “Well, better start sucking up to me now guys.”

Mary Margaret laughed. “It’s for talking to spirits, stupid, not predicting the future.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Regina purred. “Will David get a smack if he keeps moving the pointer? Yeah?”

There was a loud thump as she swatted him on the arm.

“Looks like it tells the future just fine.”

“Regina!”

They joined in the laughter with the others, the indignant surprise on David’s face just too funny to ignore; he protested loudly at all attempts of maltreatment, and started entreating the spirits in the house to retaliate on his behalf.

“They think this is a joke,” Emma said quietly, careful to keep her voice low so the others wouldn’t hear her. “Please don’t let it get to you when… if this goes nowhere.”

Killian had started wandering down a dangerous rabbit hole – she just didn’t want him to get hurt.

“Don’t worry,” he assured her, as he started placing candles at the five corners of the star. “Summoning an evil spirit? I have my expectations really low.”

“E…M…M… Emma, it’s spelt your name!” Mary Margaret squeaked.

Emma rolled her eyes, growing more tired by the minute of the game Regina had started. “Cut it out.”

“C…O…M…E.”

David narrowed his eyes at Regina suspiciously. “You’re moving it, right?”

Regina glowered back. “No, you are.”

“Guys,” Killian called over, “I’m ready.”

They left the Ouija board where it was, planchette resting atop the E, and came over to join them in the centre of the room. Killian directed each of them to sit at a point on the star, David and Mary Margaret giggling to each other but trying to keep a straight face, before he followed the line of the circle with some matches, lighting each candle. David jokingly blew on his, causing the flame to flicker wildly, and Emma shot him a warning look.

She only wanted them to take it seriously for a few minutes, just for Killian.

“What exactly are we trying to do?” Regina asked, looking bored as she played at dabbing the tip of the flame with her finger.

Emma had been about to bark a rebuke, but Killian beat her do it with an indulgent grin.

“We’re trying to get results.”

“I think I saw this ritual on an episode of Ghost Hunters,” Mary Margaret whispered excitedly. “See, the wife had murdered the husband, but they found a second body buried under the…” She seemed to sense the atmosphere starting to shift to something a little more sombre, and let her sentence trail off.

Killian stepped outside the circle to take his place at the final point of the star, placing the knife carefully in his lap once he was settled. Then they waited.

For a beat, nothing happened at all. The candles flickered in place, they exchanged uncertain looks. The shadows inside the sitting room had grown longer the closer the sun inched behind the trees, and it made the dappled light from the star in front of them look a little more ominous now that daylight was fading.

Regina huffed loudly. “Now what?”

“Erm,” Killian scratched the back of his neck, “I don’t really know.”

“Maybe we should hold hands?” David suggested quickly.

Emma felt that suggestion was probably more to do with the hand he would be holding than wanting to increase their chances of success – and she knew Killian agreed from the amused glance he sent her, but they consented all the same. Mary Margaret blushed as she slipped her hand into David’s.

Killian’s hand in Emma’s was warm, and a little clammy. It didn’t feel like it had the day of her birthday, when he had walked her back to the Nolan house from Granny’s. They had held hands the entire way, continuing to talk with enough forced nonchalance that they both knew the other was also clearly trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal, hiding their smiles with glances out into the road. Then, it had made her feel dizzy with possibility, the gentle move of his thumb on the back of her hand sending her stomach spinning with delight.

This afternoon it didn’t thrill her the same way. She could feel how nervous he was in the slight tremor of his hand, and as she glanced at Regina on his other side she could tell the other girl could feel it too. Whether it was a sense of compassion for him or a desire to just get it over with, Regina slipped smoothly into control.

“We’re talking to the spirit in this house,” Regina said clearly, firmly, looking up into the ceiling. “Are you there?”

They all waited with bated breath.

“Can you hear us?”

All at once Emma was struck by the old, kind face of Belle Gold, wide eyed and fearful.

He found – he found a house, in the woods – and he thought it might make him strong.

Something thumped inside her chest. Like static from a radio, she could hear something crackling at her ear, but every time she turned her head toward the sound it disappeared. Twice she cleared her throat to try and speak but no sound came out. She knew, she knew, but she didn’t know how she knew, and Killian had turned to look at her, concerned, as her hand tightened on his.

“The knife,” she blurted out, and he raised an eyebrow. “It should be in the middle.”

Killian didn’t question her, merely stared at her curiously as he let go of Regina’s hand to slide the knife into the centre of the circle. It clattered against the floorboards before rolling to a stop in the middle.

But it felt – wrong.

“Wrong,” Mary Margaret echoed. Her eyes were closed.

David, too, had shut his eyes, and after Killian had once again completed the circle, Emma did the same. Regina didn’t speak again. Emma sensed she felt the same as she did; they had asked whatever they meant to ask, and it would be cheap to do so again. Only for show. Outside was nothing but stillness, not a sound to drown them out – in fact she had only become conscious of noise in the absence of it, and she now wished she had been playing closer attention to what it was that had stopped dead when they formed the circle.

They had been heard.

“I’m here,” Killian whispered quietly, so quietly Emma couldn’t be sure she hadn’t imagined it. “Find me.”

It had grown colder, gooseflesh beginning to erupt along her arm. Everything began to feel much farther away, as if her ears had popped, and a faint buzzing replaced the quiet that had blanketed them before. Oxygen was taking longer to reach her lungs, like the pressure in the air had changed. She could feel hair rising from the back of her neck and the thought suddenly entered her mind with a shuddering fear that she was about to be struck by lightning.

A rumble sounded from above, the rumble of something trapped beating against impossibly old doors.

The wardrobe.

It was all – wrong.

Come.

Listen.

Static zinged through her grip on Killian’s hand, and they both yelped and broke apart.

“What?” David spoke first, but the other three were all giving them baffled looks. Both Killian and Emma nursed their injured hands with matching grimaces. “What happened?”

“Electric shock,” Killian answered, shaking his hand out. “Bloody hell, ouch.”

“It’s the weather,” Regina offered. “I saw the forecast earlier. It always gets like this right before a storm.” Finally tired of the whole affair, she blew out her candle with an air of finality. “I think we can safely say this house is not haunted.”

Emma was willing her racing pulse to slow, trying to process what the fuck had just happened, but everyone else seemed to be carrying on as if nothing had occurred at all. David was helping Mary Margaret brush cobwebs from her hair while she asked if he wanted to come over to the Blanchard’s for dinner. Regina stood up and began to pack up the Ouija board. Killian stared at the flickering wick of his candle, looking despondent and a little frustrated. All like nothing in the world had taken place.

“Wait,” Emma said, looking around them all at confusion. “Are we really not going to talk about what just happened?”

They all turned to stare at her.

Killian was the first to reply. “What do you mean?”

“The – you know. It went quiet. The, uh, atmosphere.” She realised with frustration that it was amazingly difficult to describe, that breathlessness. The sense of standing on the edge and peering out into the dark. “You said it,” Emma pointed at Mary Margaret, remembering now that the girl had spoken. “You said ‘wrong’.”

Mary Margaret frowned. “No I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.” When Mary Margaret again shook her head, Emma grew indignant. “You did!” She hadn’t goddamn imagined it, so why was the other girl bothering to deny it?

“Emma, she didn’t say anything,” David said cautiously. “Nobody said anything until you guys did.”

When she opened her mouth to retort Killian put a hand on her arm. It made her hesitate long enough for them all to brush past the moment.

“This place is creepy,” Mary Margaret declared, “and I’ve got to get home. David, are you coming?”

As Mary Margaret collected her stuff, David looked torn. Emma merely smiled at him weakly, but nodded her head – he should go. She was just… she was overtired. She probably shouldn’t have stayed up so late the night before studying for their calculus test on Monday. And she was letting the feeling of that house, of Killian’s hopefulness in that house get to her, and she’d let herself get carried right along by something else altogether.

They finished helping Regina pack the board away, but Emma stayed behind to help Killian clear up, promising to see the others at school the next day, and David that night once he got back to Ruth’s. The pair of them worked mostly in silence, using the old bucket and sponge Liam had left and a bottle of water to wipe the black marker away from the floorboards. Even amongst the disrepair of the house, it felt dishonest to leave the markings on the floor.

Or perhaps they just didn’t want to leave any permanent evidence of their being there.

“I believe you,” Killian said quietly. “I didn’t hear her, but I believe you. I think these things have to affect all of us differently.”

And by ‘these things’, he meant the supernatural. Ghosts. The movement of the planchette across Regina’s spirit board.

Things Emma definitely, categorically did not believe in.

Right?

She dismissed him. “You only think I heard something because you want me to have heard something.” It wasn’t true belief in her, it wasn’t because he knew her to be honest or trusted her. It was because something else was what he had come here for, and her ramblings had been his only glimpse of it.

Killian’s wanting, longing, was palpable in his every hopeful inhale.

“That’s unfair.”

Emma chose not to reply.

“What else did you feel? In the circle?”

“Killian, stop.” She made sure her voice was firm. “You promised not to let this get to you. We tried, okay? Nothing happened.”

They had been heard.

“But you said –”

“I didn’t hear anything, alright? Just forget it.” She stalked over to the window and picked up her rucksack. If she said it forcefully enough to him, she could make it just as true to herself. “Do you want to grab some dinner somewhere?”

She knew she sounded irritated, and Kilian didn’t respond, just watched her from the centre of the room. He was not impressed with her brushing him off, clearly wanted to continue down that line of questioning, and was waiting until she felt ready to talk about it. Suddenly irritated with his saintly level of patience, Emma huffed.

“Fine. Stay here by yourself. See if I care.”

Without waiting to see if he would reply, Emma barged out of the front door and stomped down the rotted steps without another word.

-/-

But she couldn’t sleep that night.

Every time she shut her eyes, drifted near enough to something dreamless, images so vivid they felt more real than the bed she lay in assaulted her. Killian’s disappointed expression from the centre of the room, expectant, waiting. The scrape of the pointer across the board. The knife, lying still in the middle of their circle. Firelight flickering. Regina blowing out her candle with a whoosh that seemed to extend for minutes at a time.

The nothing she had felt as she sat and breathed in the circle. That terrible, absence of anything.

She had realised too late that she had left her fishing knife in Brooke House. It was altogether likely that Killian had picked it up, and after a quiet dinner with Ruth she considered going around to the group home to retrieve it from him. Instead, a wave of annoyance had risen in her. If Killian had picked it up, he should have brought it round to her. And after the brief spat they’d had before she left the house, she decided, really, he should be the one putting effort in for her. Her resolve had strengthened, and she had announced to Ruth that she would be going to bed early.

She had lain awake for a few hours, ears pricked for any noise downstairs. David had come home a little later than expected, had spoken with Ruth for a long time before retreating to his own room. Ruth had stayed in the living room for a while, likely catching up on a few chapters of the novel she had been reading, before Emma heard the creak of the stair indicating she, too, had gone to bed. Killian had not come round. Still the night wore on, and Emma found herself no closer to sleep.

Downstairs the refrigerator hummed, and the electric heater on the landing rumbled, with the occasional clank she had grown used to. On her first night, all the odd sounds of the Nolan house had unnerved her. Much like tonight she had stayed awake for hours, worried she would never be able to sleep, certain the Nolan’s would want to send her back before too long, missing Killian terribly. The further her anxiety had skyrocketed, the more restless she became.

Tonight the noises included the sliding pointer, the squeak of Killian’s pen on the floorboards, Mary Margaret’s quiet whisper, wrong.

In Brooke House, something clattered in the attic. The wardrobe doors bumped and groaned.

Emma’s eyes flew open.

Something was trying to get out.

Her heart began to thump wildly.

Come.

Listen.

She threw back the duvet and reached for her trainers.

Which was the last thing she could remember before she found herself stood in front of Brooke House.

Emma stumbled backwards, as if she were just now falling back into her own body and her knees felt weak with the strain of it, and dry leaves crunched underfoot. She was wearing her trainers. She was also still wearing her pyjama shirt and shorts, but had thrown a hoodie and a coat on over the top. Her legs were bare, and cold. In one hand she held a torch and the other was clenched into a fist at her side.

Why had she come here?

Something loud crashed inside the house, a shadow darted across the upstairs window.

Yes, Emma remembered now. She had come for her knife.

She always felt safer with that knife.

Climbing the front steps, slowly, her shoes sounded more muffled than usual. Before she had a chance to touch it the front door creaked open, beckoning her to step inside. She felt foggy, all – all lost, and what time was it, anyway? A dazed search of her pockets told her she hadn’t brought her cell phone. Why had she left without it? Why couldn’t she remember?

The by now familiar creak sounded from the landing. Emma was halfway up the staircase before she remembered setting her foot on the first step.

For a moment she felt Killian’s hand resting on the small of her back again, ready to steady her if she lost her balance, and she began to lean backwards into it – before it vanished and she had to jerk herself forward to avoid toppling down the stairs. Her hand was so tight on the banister that her knuckles had turned white. Right, Killian wasn’t there. Killian was at home, asleep.

Emma was in Brooke House.

The second floor was lit with tendrils of moonlight, dirty white and shapeless, crawling up the walls and stretching across the floor. The creak sounded again, and Emma gently opened the door to the room with the spinning wheel. As expected, the spinning wheel lay turning slowly on its axis by the soft press of the pedal underneath, except this time a man sat there, steadily feeding in pieces of straw until they came out as spun gold twine, which then pooled into a basket at the end. His face was obscured by the shadow of the windowsill, but he raised a hand in greeting before returning to his work.

She shook her head to try and confirm what she was seeing, and realised with a start that the door to the spinning wheel room was closed, and her hand was still poised above the handle. Had she opened it at all? She couldn’t remember. The old wood of the spinning wheel groaned behind the door and, firmly this time, Emma swung the door open inwardly. The wheel spun slowly – but on its own. Gone was the man, the spun gold, the straw. Only the empty dark and the dancing moonlight remained.

An odd noise jerked her attention away from the wheel, just as the light from her torch winked out. Now concerned, Emma smacked it against her palm a few times to try and knock the device back into working, but it did not respond. The sound came again, and to her ears it seemed like –

No, there it was again. She was sure.

It was a giggle.

High-pitched and delighted, something was laughing at her.

“Who’s there?” she said. Or did she?

She might have said: “I’m coming.”

Uncertain which she had said and which she had not said, Emma reached the end of the corridor and stood on her tiptoes so she could begin to scrabble with the door to the attic. The metal ring which would allow her to pull it down was just out of reach, but after she asked politely the panel dislodged from the ceiling by itself, and with it came the ladder. She rose one cautious step at a time, up into the black, and tried to remember why she was there.

Her knife, yes. She was coming for her knife. She had been just thirteen when she took it, lifting it from a set of tools a dockworker had left abandoned while he helped unload a seiner, and it had made Emma feel so dangerous to be holding it that she had immediately cradled it with both hands before making her escape. The blade was deadly sharp, far sharper than any knife she had seen in the group home or otherwise, and she had cut her hand while examining it later.

It had reminded her of herself. All along she had been afraid that one day someone might fall on her, and get hurt on all her sharp edges.

Another banner year, right?

What?

We’ve all got ghosts here.

As she reached the top her pulse began to race, and her heart turned her head and waited for her body to catch up. She ignored the desk, the vials, the shattered glass on the floor; like a string had been tied to the centre of her chest, made of hope and sadness and something wild, it propelled her forward to the darkest corner of the room. There, tucked into the downward slant of the roof, stood the wardrobe. It rattled in place, as if someone were stood behind and shaking it back and forth, and she could feel it.

She could feel it wanting, could feel it longing for her, and she longed for it right back. Breathless and exhilarated, she crossed the room in three short steps and knelt before it, hands reaching for the ornate handles on the doors. Darker swirls of colour spun out from the handles and almost seemed to move, curling delicately around her fingers.

Yes, they whispered, come.

Listen.

Emma tugged open the doors.

Which was the last thing she could remember before she found herself in her bed at the Nolan house, blinking against the hazy light of morning.

Once realisation struck Emma bolted upright, glancing wildly about her room. Her trainers were tucked against her dresser, her coat hung on the back of her door. There were leaves in her hair. Once she registered it was morning she scrambled for the clock at her bedside, which read 6.03am. Almost time to wake up for school.

Had she – had she dreamed it? The house?

It was already beginning to turn foggy and fade, the corners curling in on themselves with greater speed the more she tried to remember, like clutching at the tendrils of a dream that was vanishing out of sight. Everything was as it was.

Except for the knife.

Emma blinked, realising her left hand had been curled around the hilt of a very strange, very ornate knife – no. Dagger.

The hilt was black as pitch, and cool to touch, but the blade was what interested her the most. It’s edge was curved, as if it were blurring in and out of sight in the nature of a mirage, and was ornately patterned with twisting black shapes reaching all the way to its desperately sharp point. It was heavy, and unlike anything Emma had ever seen before.

But perhaps what intrigued her the most was the name emblazoned across it, written in an almost medieval cursive.

Weighty in both heft and emotional damage, Emma could scarcely believe it. What did it mean?

For written on it was a name she recognised. One they were all familiar with.

Liam Jones.

-/-

2nd May 2015 – Seven Months Later

David was the last to arrive by a couple of minutes. Although the air that night was cool, the day had been hot, and he was still dressed in the same t-shirt and shorts he had been wearing earlier. Killian couldn’t be more grateful for the drop in temperature – he could remember a time he had been a fan of the immortal summer, of scorching afternoons and ice cold drinks, it made him think of fly fishing in the lake in the middle of Memorial Park or setting off cheap fireworks by the docks that fizzled and burnt with the whole year’s lost potential. Last year he and Emma had borrowed Archie’s car and driven all the way to Portland, just so they could track down a lobster restaurant a traveller stopping in at Granny’s had told them about. They spent the entire afternoon searching until, tired and hungry, they’d picked up a few sandwiches from a convenience store and perched at the edge of the harbour, watching the boats roll in, and roll away again.

The whole day had been a bust. Killian couldn’t remember it being anything but perfect.

As the days stretched and he found himself looking for her amongst the sun-soaked streets of Storybrooke, summer became just one more thing he wanted no part of anymore.

“Is this going to take long?”

Mary Margaret’s voice jogged him back to the present, and Killian quickly jerked his head around to check nobody else was nearby. They had met at their usual spot, just a little ways into the north woods. Far enough that they would go unnoticed by any stray observer near the edge of the forest, but near enough that the distant sound of cars zooming past on the street could still be heard. Most of them were reluctant to venture any farther in now, if it could be avoided. Especially after dark.

Regina scoffed. “Why, are we keeping you from something?”

“My mom doesn’t like me being out late anymore,” Mary Margaret replied defensively. “I had to sneak out my window.”

“Well, our apologies for the inconvenience.” Unsurprisingly, Regina did not sound that sorry at all.  

“Would you just stop?” David groused.

“Guys, please,” Killian interjected, wanting to cut them off before they could start getting too snippy. He turned his attention to Regina. “By the way, are you alright? I hear Humbert gave you a hard time yesterday.”

Regina had been collected from the school gates by Sheriff Humbert, in full view of everyone. He liked them to be observed when he decided to bring them in for another interview; it was one of his favourite tactics.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” she shrugged. “It was the same questions as always.”

Why were you out in the woods? When did you see her last?

Is there anything you’re not telling us?

Smooth, long exhale.

Nothing, Sheriff Humbert.

“Good,” Killian answered, nodding slowly. “That’s good. And you, Mary Margaret? Did you get a chance to look for the house this week?”

They had been taking it in turns for the last few months, always making sure that they weren’t spotted together heading down the White Pine Trail, to investigate the place Brooke House had once stood. Ever since the first time they had been caught by Sheriff Humbert there, they had realised the man had started watching their every move in the weeks that followed Emma’s disappearance. Killian, especially, had scarcely been able to get away with taking an unusual route home from school without the sheriff picking up on it. The more time marched forward the less observed they felt, but they still stuck to the same precautions just to be sure.

It had been seven months since Emma had disappeared. Graham Humbert never let him forget it.

And with Emma, Brooke House had also vanished. Nothing stood at the end of the orange string trail Killian had once left anymore, only silence and torment.

Finding it again had to be their best chance at finding her. It was just that these days, finding felt a lot more like waiting.

Mary Margaret hadn’t answered him, so Killian flicked his eyes over. He could see her eyes were averted, jaw clenched. One of her shoes kept stringing up a restless beat on the floor for a few seconds at a time.

“Mary Margaret?”

She let out an almost irritated sigh. “No, Killian, I have not gone looking for the damn house.”

Killian blinked. “And what’s with the tone?”

“I have to study,” she burst, “I have AP tests in two weeks, and if I don’t pass I probably won’t be able to go to college. And instead, I’m disobeying my parents, standing in the middle of the woods and thinking about how much I don’t know about environmental science.”

Regina looked the way Killian felt; completely dumbfounded. “You’re thinking about exams right now?”

“It’s not just exams, Regina,” Mary Margaret insisted. “It’s my life. I want to make something of it one day, and I suggest you do the same.”

Something still had settled between them, as if Mary Margaret had started to lift the lid on something they had sworn to keep closed, and even the night around them was stiffening with anticipation. It was sacred ground on which their harsh words steered them, and it was impossible to discern where the line could be drawn between how to move forward, and how to avoid moving backward. At times they seemed to be the same thing, but somehow it was impossible to think of them the same way.

Emma had wanted to pass her exams too. Desperately, in fact. It had been so important to her that she be able to push off into the rest of her life in better straits than how she had been brought into it, and to that end she had often stayed up long into the night studying at the group home so she could avoid the noise and the steady stream of interruptions that came during the day. It was that which had prompted her to accept Ruth’s offering of a fostering, even after deciding long ago never to hand her heart out again to somebody she was sure would just return it later.

Killian had encouraged her; he had hoped she might find more at the Nolan house than a quiet place to work, and she had. She had found David, and with David came Mary Margaret, and Regina had fallen in as easily with them as she had with Killian and Emma years earlier. They had been a haphazard band, and for a year everything was warm and gold.

That was over now, and they had begun to splinter.

Killian – Killian, don’t –!

He heard her, always. Always, always.

“What about Emma?”

It was David who spoke, and he looked stricken to have even needed to say the words.

What about Emma? Was holding onto this, meeting clandestinely in the middle of the night to yet again swap how little progress they had made in getting her back – was this moving forward? Or was this trying so desperately not to move backward that they couldn’t keep their focus on anything ahead? Brooke House was never there when they looked for it. But Killian didn’t care about school, anyway. He’d had enough credits to graduate at the end of his junior year, before all of this. Every AP class he’d taken he had since dropped. Archie had barely been able to convince him to go to school for much of the year.

It didn’t matter to Killian, not a whisper; but was it okay for this to matter to someone else?

“Emma is gone,” Mary Margaret said, quietly. As if scared that they might hear her and yet desperate for them to. “And it’s…” She sucked in a sharp breath before continuing. “It’s devastating. But it’s – it’s been seven months. We have nothing. And more importantly, the police have nothing.” Killian could tell from a subtle movement in her fist that she was trembling. With fright, anger, sadness. Who could know for sure? “Finding Emma, if she can be found, should be up to them.”

Killian felt as if he’d been slapped. “How can you say that?”

“It’s their job, isn’t it?” she bit back. “And the more I think about that night… the more we feed into that – that hysteria, or – or whatever we thought we saw – the less help we’re being to them. The police, I mean.”

Killian felt his temper rising. He knew what he had seen – they had all seen it, although for reasons Killian couldn’t fathom, it had become a matter of spirited debate between Mary Margaret and David, and he and Regina.

“We never should have lied,” Mary Margaret continued firmly. “We should have told them everything from the start, about the house, about all of it.”

“They would have told us we were crazy,” Regina pointed out. “Hell, I would have called you crazy if I hadn’t seen it myself.”

“But at least I wouldn’t feel like this!” Mary Margaret’s voice cracked on the last syllable, and the bite in her expression had crumpled. She was all melancholy, draped in it like an old cloak, where in their group she had always been warmth. Everything was twisted now, like none of it could ever be light again. “Like I have this weight, poised above my head, and I’m just waiting for it to – to fall and crush me. And it hurts.” She clutched at her throat, eyes wide and sad. “And I’m breathless, and scared. All the time. And sometimes – sometimes I don’t realise I’ve forgotten that it’s there, but then I look up –”

David had taken a few steps closer to her, and put his arm around her shoulders. She curled into it and buried her face into his chest for a few moments, shaking, while he murmured something neither Killian nor Regina could hear. They couldn’t find the words to interject.

After a few long moments she gathered herself, her fist clenching into David’s shirt.

“It’s this lie,” she said fiercely, speaking into the solidness of David’s form, sounding as wretched as she looked. “And this feeling that if – if we’d just told the truth then they would have found something, and they would have found her.”

The accusation was softly cushioned, and gently aimed, but Killian felt it with the keen force of any blow.

“They wouldn’t have found her,” he answered evenly. They couldn’t. “It’s up to us.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “Of course you would say that.”

Killian’s temper flared. “Excuse me?”

“It clearly doesn’t bother you, Killian, but I’m just saying – if I could do this again I wouldn’t lie.”

I wouldn’t tell the lie you told me to tell.

The lie he had told them tell to protect them.

Humbert’s hard expression flashed in front of him.

Your friends say she was with you when she went missing. That you were the last one to see her.

“I wouldn’t either,” David added quietly.

Disbelief marred everything, it made everything black as tar – was this really what it was all coming to? Rounding on him?

“And what would you have told them?” Killian shot back. When David grimaced he pressed on. “No, really, I’m interested to know what you would have told the sheriff about the haunted house and the magic dagger.”

“Stop that,” Mary Margaret snapped, “it’s not magic.”

“Then how the bloody hell do you explain it? Explain this?”

With intent, Killian reached into his jacket and pulled out the dagger. Its curving edges glittered dangerously in the dim light, and in a movement so quick he might have imagined it he thought he saw Regina reach out a hand to take it, before snatching it back. The intricate pattern engraved onto the blade was one he had memorised from long nights spent staring at its edges, begging for it to reveal its secrets. The inky black writing crafted beautifully on top spoke of everything they had lost – the truth they all knew, and the only tangible proof that forces greater than themselves were at work.

The name carved across it was clear: Emma Swan.

Like a spell, it brought with it an almost supernatural quiet. Mary Margaret had begun to weep silently, and she shrugged away from David’s touch this time. Regina watched but did not speak. David couldn’t bear to do more than glance at the dagger, a pained expression on his face clear before he turned to look out into the forest.

“This is how we know she’s still out there,” Killian insisted fiercely. “We can’t give up now. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

For a little while, the only noise was Mary Margaret, trying to suppress a gasp or wiping her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. After some time, she sank down to perch on a nearby log and Regina joined her, threading their fingers together tightly. In the distance Killian could hear the rumble of the road, the sound of an engine increasing in volume before skittering away. Although reluctantly, he slipped the dagger back into the inside pocket of his jacket, and the blade was cool against his chest even through the fabric of his shirt. A cold comfort, but a comfort all the same.

“The truth is,” Mary Margaret began quietly, staring at the mossy ground at their feet. “I want to grieve. I loved Emma. I want to treasure her memory… I want the chance to miss her.” She lifted misty eyes and looked at each of them in turn. “But it’s impossible around all of you. For you she’s still here. But I want to keep moving forward.” She brushed a hand across a tear-stained cheek. “Will you – will you let me do that?”

With quiet strength, she dug the stake into the earth. Beneath it, they cracked.

She stood. There wasn’t anything else to say.

She looked impossibly guilty, and Killian searched for something to say that would deliver her from that, but all of it felt brittle and fake. The honest truth was that he loved her and wanted nothing but her happiness, but he might never forgive her if she walked out of that clearing now.

Mary Margaret looked to all of them, but it was Killian’s gaze she sought most eagerly. He couldn’t give it, staring stonily at the ground instead.

“I’ll… I’ll see you.”

She didn’t say at school, since he wouldn’t be going anyway and they both knew it. Recklessly, he thought that without it there might not be another excuse for their paths to cross. If she wanted to keep moving forward and leave all this in the past, then Killian would not be going with her. Dry leaves crunched as she departed, slowly receding until the only sound was the breeze whistling by.

“I’m not giving up. No way.”

It was Regina who had spoken, and Killian felt a wave of unreserved tenderness for her.

Her face softened, and she stepped over to lay a gentle hand on his arm.

“She’ll come around.”

She wouldn’t, but it was easier to pretend.

After Regina had gone Killian sat on the damp earth underneath him, leaning his head back to stare through the canopy. The trees had clustered together here, dark shapes towering over through which he could spot the stars winking in and out.

David shifted from where he stood. “Are you okay?”

Killian let out a long breath, one that he felt like he had been holding onto for a number of days. His chest felt tight, and he could feel a familiar tugging sensation behind his nose as the stars started to swim before him.

“Belle died. Yesterday.”

David let out a soft expletive. “I’m so sorry, Killian.”

“It was peaceful,” he nodded to himself, like it made everything fine. “In her sleep.”

Belle had been a great source of comfort for him. She talked in circles and remembered very little, but she remembered Liam and often asked after Emma, and had lived a deep and fulfilling life she loved to tell him about. It did her good to talk, the nuns had said, which was why they let him come. Every character in all of her stories was long gone now, but it didn’t cause her any pain. She spoke only of the joy in having known them and the colours with which they had brushed her soul. It didn’t matter how lonely it looked now, or how sad everyone else thought she must be to be alone; she had assured him many times that she was lucky, and wanted for little else.

He wanted desperately to feel like that, even if only for a heartbeat.

Sometimes, she had said with a smile, the best books have the dustiest jackets.

“It just feels like everything is slipping away.”

Mary Margaret, Belle. Liam. Emma. Everything he touched was dust.

Don’t tell me – it’s hot cocoa, with cinnamon, and you’re about to hand it over.

A hot tear spilled down his cheek and he angrily swiped it away.

He cleared his throat loudly, mostly to try and cover the sudden rush of emotion, but he knew that David had seen it. “Sometimes I can’t help but think… maybe it’s all in my head, you know? The more I think about that night the hazier it gets.” Like trying to remember a dream after you’d woken from it, every single day more details faded into nothing. “I just hear her.” That final, startled scream. It would never leave him, he just knew it. “All I can hear is her.”

Killian – Killian, don’t –!

“Me too,” David admitted quietly. “I hear it too.”

“I’m leaving,” he said suddenly, and with the confession came a twinge of relief, and he forgave himself a little more for it. “Right after graduation. I have to find an answer, and there isn’t one here.”

He’d go as far as needed, for as long as it took. He’d walk the stretch of the Earth if he had to.

For a moment David looked crestfallen, but he mastered it quickly. “I understand,” he said. And he might think he did – but David would never be looked at the way Storybrooke looked at Killian. In their eyes he would never be blameless, not the way the David Nolan was. Emma was his sister; she was just Killian’s victim.

“I’d go too,” David continued, “but my mom… it’s just hard, you know? I feel like there’s so much she doesn’t know. And I couldn’t…”

“I know,” Killian assured him, “it’s alright. I wouldn’t ask you to come.” It was something he would rather do alone.

A few moments of stillness passed, before David let out a low whistle.

“So. Right after graduation, huh?”

Killian nodded. June twenty-third, 18:00.

There was a bus to Augusta that he had promised he would not miss.

-/-

Present Day

As night fell, Killian again returned to Brooke House.

He had already spent much of the day there with Regina, taking readings, burning herbs and mumbling variations on familiar incantations from her book of shadows. There were a few key vocabularic differences, but the intention behind a few spells seemed similar to some he had seen from the coven in Pennsylvania. Just once they had let him sit in on a cleansing ceremony, a practice of healing for the soul, and he could recognise some of the actions as Regina guided him through a ritual for cleansing the air in the house. Smudging, she called it. But by the time they had departed in late afternoon, visibly nothing had changed within the house.

After grabbing a quick bite at Granny’s Killian had spent the remainder of early evening categorically working through all the other data he had been able to gather over the course of the day; and not one instrument had indicated anything outside of the realms of a normal abandoned house. In fact, most of the anomalous readings one could expect from a long period of constant use (a sudden spike in electromagnetic radiation, a noise in static on a recorder where there had been none aloud) were completely non-existent. Brooke House was as silent as the dead other than the sounds he and Regina made. It were as if they were measuring nothing at all.

No doubt, that was its intention.

He expected much to be different in the dark.

Again, he left the dagger rolled up in his scarf in his car, not wanting to bring it any closer to Emma – or to whatever Emma was. They were clearly linked, the spectre of the house and the dagger, and he had to believe that somewhere buried in there was his Emma. She retained the same memories, even if she warped them for her use. She recognised him. It was her name on the dagger.

He had taken the dagger to three different psychometrists over the years, seeking insight. Each one had only been able to tell him that its origin was evil, that its master was lost.

Even Killian could have surmised that much.

“Emma?” he called, as he stepped over the threshold. Only creaks of old wood answered back.

He lingered briefly in the sitting room, checking his old tape recorder that he had left running, tucked under the sheet of one of the armchairs as gently as possible. He wanted to avoid the possibility of muffling any sound while also trying to prevent its detection from any nefarious spirits that chose not to make a sound while he and Regina were there. All he needed was some kind of proof that something in the house moved when it was left to its own devices. In the morning he would return for it and listen for any erroneous sound.

As if reading his thoughts, an audible thump came from above him. He headed back out into the hall. For now, Killian decided to pocket the recorder and return it after he’d come to say what he meant to.

Again Killian called Emma’s name, mounting the stairs slowly. Once he reached the top he spotted the flash of white fabric trailing along the floor, disappearing into one of the rooms on the landing. Aside from the room with the spinning wheel that never faltered, Killian hadn’t spent much time in the other two rooms. One was a bedroom and the other a study, boasting only a desk and a wall lined with ancient, brittle bookcases, the tomes atop them turned grey with age with faded and illegible titles. It was into the study that he had seen her go, so Killian opened the door cautiously so as not to startle her away.

The bottom shelf of the bookcase nearest the door had collapsed, the books falling into a haphazard clump onto the floor. A dust cloud still lingered so he imagined it couldn’t have happened too long ago; he wondered if that was the noise he had heard from downstairs.

Emma stood with her back to him, the rustle of pages the only indication that she was moving. Then, without warning, she swung her right arm back and hurtled the book against the wall. The binding tore with a snap, and in pieces it clattered down onto the ground. Killian, reluctant to become a target for one of those heavy missiles, cleared his throat to announce himself, but quickly tucked the tape recorder subtly into one of the bookcases as he did so. He didn’t want her to catch it on him.

Emma turned, her jade eyes sharp in the gloom. As always, they cut right through him.

“Have you decided?” she said, her voice as heavy as stone.

Killian didn’t answer immediately, but tried to look at her more critically. What was he seeing? Just what he wanted to see, or something more?

Regina’s warning repeated itself over and over. What if this is something else, just taking the shape of Emma? And appealing to those made most vulnerable by the sight of her?

“Why didn’t you show yourself to Regina?”

They had been at Brooke House all day, there was ample opportunity. Not a creature had stirred out of place, as if the house had been holding its breath and waiting for them to leave. That meant one of two things – Emma did not think Regina could help with what she wanted, or there was nothing of Emma to show.

Emma lifted a shoulder in a half shrug and turned back to the bookcase. She picked up another book, and began lazily flipping through its contents.

That, too, found itself tossed to the edge of the room.

“I didn’t feel like it.” She reached for another.

“Come here,” he said, before he felt he’d truly made the decision. “Let me look at you.”

She turned slowly to stare at him; it was clear in her expression that she was unaccustomed to receiving orders, and was flirting with the idea of being furious, or going along with it. Keeping her eyes locked on his she discarded her final book, letting it flutter onto the floor, and started to walk towards him. It felt distinctly like being stalked by a predator, and he resisted the urge to step back when she came to a stop in front of him, looking up.

Instead he steeled his resolve, and lifted his thumb and forefinger to her chin. Her skin was glacial to the touch, pale and smooth. Like marble.

Applying a little pressure, Killian turned her head first to one side, then to the other. She allowed him, her eyes continuing to follow him intently. Up close, she looked human. With a little more colour in her cheeks she would look just like he remembered her. Would it even be possible, he wondered, for him to conjure up something so near to perfection? Was he capable? Could he really have imagined this?

“I’m so sorry,” he sighed sadly, brushing his fingers along her jaw, stilling them when they reached the tip of her neck.

Emma tensed underneath him. “What for?”

The list was unending.

“All of it.”

Something flickered across her expression, but it had moved too quickly for him to notice it. A blackened petal dropped from the circlet around her head, and became tangled in her hair. Without thinking, Killian gently tugged it loose.

“You don’t need to be sorry.”

A cold hand came to rest over his. Then, to his surprise, she lifted herself onto her tiptoes and leaned forward. Too shocked to move, Killian froze in place as she reached him. Like the rest of her, her lips were icy to touch, and moved gently against his like the purl of the ocean against the sand. His eyes stayed open but he could see hers had fluttered closed – she looked unarmed. Gentle. Like a girl.

She pulled back because he did not know how to keep her, and he could feel now that he was trembling. He was cold, his heart ached with grief, and he was furious.

That was a kiss that he had been saving, and she had taken it.

He opened his mouth to rattle off a rebuke, but something in her manner had changed. Her brows had knitted a little closer together, her lips parted – even her eyes looked as if they might have dulled from their usual startling shade.

Recognition fluttered across her features. She blinked slowly. “Killian?”

Killian’s heart began to hammer against his ribcage. Hope stuttered to life with every beat, but he tried to remain cautious. Something was different, he was sure of it, and now he wished he had been paying closer attention to her before so he might able to more clearly see now what had changed.

He watched her warily. “Emma?”

It happened in painfully slow motion. Her eyes glazed over, she turned herself away, something that had been out of alignment clicked back into place. In an almost unnatural way her head tilted, and began to stare at him with those new, wide eyes.

Her lips curled in a snarl. “That’s enough of that.”

A rush of air blew past him and she was gone, but Killian, exhilarated and almost breathless, couldn’t let her go.

“Wait, I –” He caught her in the hallway, her hand resting on the door to the spinning wheel room. She whirled around to face him expectantly, eyes ablaze. “I’ll do it. I’ll help you.”

The corner of her mouth curved upwards, a smirk rising into place.

Killian swallowed. He’d been at her mercy since the moment he laid eyes on her.

“Just… tell me what you need me to do.”

#jay writes #a house is never still #cs role reversal #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #cs au #cs halloweek #gonna go ahead and still tag those #killian jones #emma swan #I hope you guys like this! #also those on the taglist must feel free to tell me to jog on #hahaha

[belacoded]

I finally got this prompt finished, and I gotta say, I had a lot of fun writing it! I am sorry it took so long, though, I don’t have as much time as I would like.

So, without further ado, here is “You're the bastard who keeps parking right in front of my house so I retaliated by keying your car and you caught me, with Destiel.” For @slightly-mad-hatter

Read here or on ao3

~*~

Living in a middle- to lower-class neighborhood definitely had its drawbacks, and, at the moment, Castiel was positive that the biggest one was the lack of any proper driveways, forcing him and his neighbors to park along the side of the street.

All he wanted to do was park his car so he could go inside and sleep after a long day of classes, and then dealing with his insufferable coworkers and even worse customers, but someone was parked in the space in front of his house.

Again.

Castiel had had enough of it. Didn’t these people have their own house to park in front of? It was bad enough that his family was so big that most of his siblings had to park in the yard, but now that he was the oldest and one of the only ones still living at home that could drive, one of his neighbors just had to take the only space left. Not only that, but Castiel knew exactly who it was that had parked in his space: Dean Winchester, the bane of Castiel’s existence.

You see, Dean and Cas were both seniors in the local high school, Sioux Falls High, and while the two had classes together and occasionally had to talk to each other, they never really had much contact with each other outside of classes. Dean was popular and somehow made his way into an assortment of friend groups: the jocks, the nerds, the punks, the gays, the band geeks… he was friends with basically the entire school.

Don’t get him wrong, though, Castiel was the same way. He just tended to avoid talking to certain people when Dean was there because something about that boy just…

The point is, Castiel didn’t like Dean. And now, Dean had finally given him a somewhat-legitimate excuse to act on his dislike for the other boy.

Not wanting to waste any time, Cas pulled beaten-up car alongside Dean’s, parked it, and got out with his keys in hand, his thoughts running a mile a minute. He walked around the car to the driver’s side of Dean’s car and pressed his key into the door, dragging it across the side and leaving a long, satisfying mark in the paint.

And then the door to the backseat opened and none other than Dean Winchester climbed out of the car, fury written all over his face.

“Did you just do what I think you just did?” Dean asked, his voice deeper and fiercer than Castiel had ever heard it in class.

There was no denying it, the evidence of Castiel’s actions was clearly there as a mark in Dean’s car and the keys still gripped in Cas’ hand.

“Yep,” Castiel said, feeling much more confident than he probably should. Cas wasn’t weak by any means, but he also wasn’t the quarterback, the number one wrestler in the state, and a lacrosse player. Dean, on the other hand, was, which meant he could probably take Cas down without a second thought.

Dean locked his jaw and crossed his arms over his chest before inspecting the damage Cas had done. He ran a finger along the clear line and then opened the door to the backseat again.

“Whatever,” Dean said as he climbed back into the backseat.

Cas was beyond shocked. If he knew one thing about Dean Winchester it was that you do not under any circumstances harm his car or there would be hell to pay.

Maybe the long day had set off Castiel's desire to get into a fight, but he wasn't quite sure why he decided not to drop it and knocked on the window to Dean's car.

Through the window Castiel could clearly see Dean roll his eyes as he sat back up and opened the door again to face Castiel from his seat.

“What?” Dean asked, clearly annoyed.

“Why are you sleeping in your car?” Cas ended up asking rather than progressing the fight. This is why he hated Dean: the boy made his emotions switch so quickly Cas could barely keep track of them.

Dean narrowed his eyes at Castiel. “Why did you key my car?” he asked in retaliation.

“You parked in my spot,” Cas said easily, then he repeated, “Why are you sleeping in your car?”

“This isn’t your spot, we don’t have spots. I don’t recall anyone having to pay for a designated parking space and I sure as hell don’t recall seeing your name on it,” said Dean, still avoiding the question.

“It’s in front of my house, therefore, my parking space. Why are you sleeping in your car?”

“God, Cas, why do you even care?” Dean asked with a roll of his eyes, but Castiel was having none of Dean’s deflections and just continued to stare at him expectantly. “It’s because it’s easier to just sleep out here than it is to try sneaking inside in the middle of the night and risk waking my parents.”

“It’s nine o’clock on a Friday night, and you’re sleeping in your car because you don’t want to sneak in in the middle of the night?”

Dean rolled his eyes—again, it was starting to become a regular occurrence in this conversation—and flipped Castiel off. “Yep. Now leave me alone, I’d like to get some sleep.”

With that, Dean shut his car door again and laid back down. He didn’t open the door again, even when Cas knocked, so Cas was forced to park in his yard, but he supposed that was his punishment for keying Dean Winchester’s precious car.

~*~

“I’ve changed my mind.”

Cas’ eyes widened in shock and a hint of fear when he looked up from finishing his AP Calc homework last minute to find Dean standing in front of his desk with his arms crossed over his chest.

“What?” Cas asked, even though he was pretty sure he knew exactly what Dean was talking about.

“I’ve changed my mind. I wasn’t thinking clearly last night. I want you to pay to fix my car,” Dean said.

Cas rolled his eyes, for some reason once again determined to get into a fight. “You already said I don’t have to do anything. I feel like you shouldn’t be able to change your mind like that.”

“This isn’t some drama show, Castiel, just give me the money for my car and I’ll call it even,” said Dean.

“No, no. I specifically remember you saying it was ‘whatever’ and I still don’t think you should be able to change your mind about that kinda thing. It would be like calling someone innocent and then later deciding you ‘changed your mind’—” Cas put air quotes around the words “—and declare them guilty. It doesn’t work like that. So, no, I’m not paying.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at Cas, his jaw clenched, then turned and stalked off to his own seat.

Somehow Cas knew that that was not the end of this conversation.

~*~

Of course, he was right. He just didn’t expect the conversation to continue with his older brother Michael also in the conversation.

“And I’m saying that you are paying for it!” Michael said, crossing his arms and fixing Castiel with a stern look.

“How do you even expect me to pay for it when I don’t have a job?” Cas asked, an equally stubborn look on his face.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have keyed my car, then,” Dean offered from where he was standing along the wall of Castiel’s kitchen.

Cas couldn’t help the childish instinct to stick his tongue out at Dean, so he did. What was surprising was that Dean stuck his tongue out right back.

“Children,” Michael muttered with a roll of his eyes. “You’ll have to get a job then. Or make a compromise. Dean, you work at your uncle’s auto shop, correct?”

Dean’s eyes widened at the conversation suddenly being directed to him. “Uh, yeah, why?”

Castiel had a feeling he already knew where this was going and he was having none of it. “No. Anything but that. I’ll get a job at the diner or something. Just not this.”

“It’s up to Dean, it is his car you’re paying to fix,” Michael said, turning to Dean for a response.

“What’s going on? What are you suggesting?” Dean asked.

“He wants me to work in the auto shop, probably fixing your car,” Cas replied.

Dean pursed his lips for a moment as if contemplating his decision. “I think you should help me fix my car,” he finally said, and Cas groaned and leaned forward to lay his head on the counter in front of him.

“It’s settled then: Castiel will work at the shop and help fix Dean’s car,” Michael said, and Cas groaned again.

“Great!” Dean said with a cheeky grin. “You start tomorrow after school. I’ll see you there.”

~*~

Castiel felt completely and utterly useless. Not only did he have no idea how to fix a car, not even a scratch on one like the one Cas had left on Dean’s car, but Dean wouldn’t even let him do anything. Dean didn’t even ask him to hand him any tools, instead just doing everything for himself. It was the most boring thing Castiel had ever had to do, the only thing he had to pass the time being idle chatter between himself and Dean.

Not only was it boring work, but after two weeks of sitting there doing nothing for four to six hours every day after school, Cas had a feeling that the scratch should have been well-passed fix by that point.

“Why is it taking you so long?” Cas finally asked as he stared at the wall, repeatedly clicking a pen in his hand.

“Because you can’t rush perfection,” Dean replied. “And because I can’t work right when you’re clicking that pen.”

Cas rolled his eyes, but stopped clicking the pen nonetheless.

“I think I’m done for tonight,” Dean said after a few more minutes. “Same time tomorrow.”

“Really? Don’t you have practice or something? I’d like a day off,” Cas complained.

Dean snorted a laugh. “From sitting there? Unlikely. And, no, I don’t have practice. Football is out of the championship and I’ve got one more week until wrestling.”

“It’s not my fault I’m not doing anything. Every time I try to help, you tell me to stop and just sit there,” Cas said, choosing to direct the conversation towards an argument rather than something civilized.

“Yeah, well,” Dean said before he rolled his eyes and turned away from Cas. “Fine, then. Come here.”

Cas furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, but got up and walked over to Dean anyways.

“This is called a sponge,” Dean said, handing the sponge over to Cas.

“Yeah, I know what a sponge is, I’m not stupid,” Cas replied.

Dean shrugged. “First you gotta wash the dirt out, ‘kay? So, soak that in some rubbing alcohol and then start cleaning the scratch off.” Dean handed Cas a bottle of rubbing alcohol, which Castiel then poured onto the sponge before he handed it back to Dean.

Cas did as instructed and scrubbed the entirety of the gouge and the area surrounded it with the sponge until he couldn’t see any sign of dirt, and he looked to Dean for approval.

“Good. Now, we have to fill it with this,” Dean said, and he held up a small tube labelled ‘Glazing Putty’. “Put a dime-sized glob of this down next to the scratch every few inches.”

Castiel took the tube and squeezed some out at the start of the scratch and then moved the tube down the scratch a little bit to put another blob, but Dean stopped him before he could squeeze any out.

“Little farther apart than that… there you go,” Dean said, and Cas did as directed until he had enough putty by the scratch. “Okay, now you’re going to take this spreader-thingy—”

“Spreader-thingy?” Cas asked with a raised eyebrow. “I thought you knew what you were doing?”

“Shut up, I do not what I’m doing; that doesn’t mean I know what the tools are called. I’m, like, ninety-nine percent sure this thing doesn’t actually have a name,” Dean replied with a hint of a smile. “Anyways. You’re gonna take this spreader-thingy and spread the glazing putty out in the scratch and then once it’s all filled scrape off the excess putty.”

Spreading the putty evenly was a lot harder than it looked, however, and before long Castiel was huffing in frustration. He was about to flop down to sit on the cement floor, when suddenly Dean was there, his chest pressed against Castiel’s back and his hand covering Castiel’s, guiding the spreader along the scratch to fill it with putty.

“Like this,” he mumbled, and Castiel never would have guessed that he would enjoy having Dean pressed up against him like this—okay, yes, he could never deny that he found Dean attractive, but he hated him… emphasis on the past tense.

Cas relaxed into Dean’s hold, letting all of his weight lean back against Dean, their cheeks pressed together as Dean leaned his head over Cas’ shoulder. They finished far too soon for Castiel’s liking, but Dean didn’t release his gentle grip on his hand or move away, although he seemed too scared to make a move. So, Cas turned slightly so he could face Dean better and used his free hand to turn Dean’s face towards him. After a quick search in Dean’s face for any sign that he should stop, Castiel couldn’t find any, so he leaned in and pressed his lips to Dean’s. It remained chaste, but Castiel could feel Dean returning the pressure for a moment before he pulled away with a smile.

“That’s not gonna get you out of finishing fixing my car,” Dean teased, his eyes flitting between Castiel’s eyes and lips.

“No?” Cas asked innocently. “I was hoping we could just be done for the night.”

Dean rolled his eyes, albeit with a certain fondness that Cas had just started to notice. “All we’ve got left to do is use some paint leveler on it and then paint it, and then we’re all done.”

“So, how do we use the paint leveler then?” Cas asked, eager to finish fixing the scratch in Dean’s car so that he could find out if the backseat of a car really was a nice place to make out.

Dean shrugged. “We’ve gotta let the putty finish drying first.”

“So…” Castiel said, trailing off as he lifted an eyebrow and tilted his head slightly.

Dean disentangled himself from Cas then and stood up, opening the door the backseat and sweeping his arm dramatically. “After you.”

~*~

Prompts are open, feel free to send me a prompt either of your own or from this list! Also, let me know if you want to be tagged for future fics and what fandom/ships you want to be tagged for! Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

#fan fic #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction #ao3 #destiel #deancas #dean x castiel #supernatural #spn #dean winchester #castiel #high school au #meet ugly #prompts are open #fan fic prompts #prompt fill #fic prompts #prompt #prompt list #writing prompt

[mango-forest]

i see your name everyday

Marinette knows that she should love her soulmate mark. And she does! It’s just that she doesn’t want to show it off, or have anybody looking, or knowing. So that means if something doesn’t go to her mid calf, she has to wear leggings or high socks.

She tried wearing synthetic skin over her mark but there was just something. . . wrong about it. So she makes do. It’s not like she’s the only one with the problem. Lots of people have negative feelings about soulmates in general. Marinette just feels like her soulmate mark is something private.

When Marinette is seven, she tried looking up the name. Damian Wayne. All she finds are articles about Bruce Wayne. No Damian in sight.

Over the years she sees her classmates find their soulmates. Rose finds Juleka, and later Ali. Nathaniel is one of the few that don’t have any markings and he stays quiet until Marinette introduces him to Marc and the two boys, they later announce, decide to be queer platonic partners.

When she becomes Ladybug, there’s the problem of Chat Noir. Who is . . . fine. Or at least, he was until a few months in when he decides to say that they’re soulmates. He claims that the name Ladybug is on his forearm.

Marinette knows that’s not how it works.

But there are no other partners she can work with and despite what she thinks, she knows she can’t do the akuma battles alone. And Chat Noir seems to know it too. So when he amps up the flirting and unwanted attention and claims, Ladybug endures. She endures even when it’s revealed she can give out other miraculi.

Until one day she snaps. Chat has been arriving late more and more often and a civilian nearly gets killed when he decides that he can flirt whenever he wants to. Ladybug casts the cure and faces him on a rooftop. “Chat, you can’t keep doing this,” she says quietly.

“M’Lady—“ he starts casually.

“No, Chat!” she snaps. “You can’t keep doing this!”

“What I can’t flirt with my soulmate?” he taunts.

“No, you can’t,” Ladybug says forcefully. “Because I’m not your soulmate!”

“Yes, you are!” he insists. “I’ve told you; Ladybug is right across my wrist!”

Ladybug wants to scream. Because no matter how many times she explains, he never listens. He’s always the same every fight, always trying to play the victim, always being a liability. And she’s sick and tired about it! “A civilian almost died, Chat Noir!”

“So what?” he yells back. “The miraculous cure would have brought them back!”

“That's not the point!” she screams. A flicker of surprise crosses Chat Noir’s face. “What if that won't happen? What if they had died for good?”

He scoffs. “You're crazy if you think no one has died from akuma attacks before. And they've all been brought back! You're worrying for nothing!”

“I'm not worrying for nothing, Chat. But they wouldn't have died from the akuma, they would've died from you,” she forces out. “If you hadn’t flirted then I wouldn't have been distracted by keeping you safe. And then you could've gotten her out of the way instead of me doing a clumsy pull with my yoyo.”

“Ladybug, c’mon. Think about what your doing, you're yelling at your soulmate, for God's sake,” Chat tries to say.

“Urgh! I just--you don't get it, Chat Noir. I'm leaving. Goodbye.” She leaves before he can get a word in otherwise.

When she detransforms in her room, Marinette looks at Tikki helplessly. "What am I gonna do, Tikki? I can't get rid of him."

"Why can't you?" Tikki asks.

"Because he's my partner. Because if he's not here then I don't have any backup! The people in my class don't really deserve it, the people who do have such busy schedules, Luka is planning on going on tour in a week or two, and Kagami's leaving for a trip a few days from now," Marinette cries.

She collapses on her bed and throws an arm over her face. Tikki rests gently in her stomach. "Us kwamis are thinking about replacing the black cat. The only problem is that you're the one that needs to collect it."

Marinette freezes. "That means. . . that means I'll know who Chat Noir is."

"It's the only way," Tikki says gently. "The black cat hasn't been acting the way he should be. Just collect it in his sleep."

Marinette tries not to think about a morning when she'll wake up and not have the earrings on.

When she goes the next night, Tikki whispers his name in her ears. Ladybug doesn't want to think about how stupid she was a few years ago. She thinks how glad she is she got rid of her celebrity crush.

When she opens the wind and drops down, neon green eyes watch her silently. She tries to express her regret on her face as she lifts the model's hand. Plagg only nods once before she slips the ring off and he disappears. She places Adrien's hand down and tries not to think about how negatively he can react. Ladybug closes the window and sets off, with Adrien never even stirring.

Marinette wears it as a necklace. A way to make sure she doesn't lose it. Lila asks, sickly sweet, "Aw, Adrien, what happened to your ring?"

"I must have lost it," Adrien replies with a blank smile. Lila hums and hugs his arm closer.

Marinette only places a hand over her chest, above where the ring rests under her shirt.

Marinette guesses because of all that happened, she sort of forgot about her soulmate mark. Until one day she wakes up and it's burning. She stifles a scream and grabs her laptop. Sure her mark has throbbed before, or gone numb. But now it feels like it's on fire.

All the search results say that she should be calling the hospital for her soulmate and Marinette feels a spike of dread. She doesn't know where her soulmate is. In an act of desperation, she does something she hasn't done since she was seven. She types Damian Wayne into the search bar and presses Enter.

This time, there are search results. Much more than last time. She scans the recent articles, but none of them say anything about why her mark is burning like it's drenched in lava. Marinette distantly wonders if she'll be able to use her leg in the future at all.

All of the articles say the same thing. Damian, from what they say, is a cold, emotionless boy, who many speculate is markless. Marinette knows that's not true. And she hopes, through the pain, that he's okay.

She loses track of time and when she looks at the lower hand clock, she swears. She gets dressed in a hurry, shoving on a T-shirt, skirt, and nearly tripping on the stairs as she pulls up her knee high socks. Thankfully the burning sensation has lowered to a throbbing level of pain but Marinette still yells in her head as she runs towards the school.

The noirnette is right next to the classroom door when the bell rings and she bursts into the classroom. Marinette takes deep breaths as she smiles at the teacher. "Hello," she greets.

Ms. Bustier levels a look at her. "That's the third time this week, Marinette." The class snickers.

"I know," Marinette admits, starting to walk to the back of the classroom. "I'll just, uh, take my seat."

When she's situated, Ms. Bustier gives a satisfied nod and says to the class, "Well. I'm happy to announce that we are going to take a field trip to Gotham as a foreign language program."

Of course, when she leaves, Lila says, "Oh, I'm so happy we'll be able to go there! My soulmate lives there, did you all know?"

The girls gush over Lila. Marinette doesn't pay any attention, sketching some new designs on spare paper. It's only when a name gets mentioned that her head shoots up. "Yeah, Damian will love to see me! He probably won't meet any of you though, he doesn't like being public, you know because of paparazzi. He is a Wayne after all." All the girls squeal and the guys look with smiles.

Damian Wayne? Marinette spends the rest of the class with a sense of sick satisfaction. No matter how much Lila lies, she'll never have Damian Wayne as a soulmate. At least that's one thing Lila won't ever get.

The initial anticipation and excitement for the trip leaves Marinette as she sits on the steps of the hotel. Tikki presses against her in the purse and Marinette runs a hand through her loose hair. She hears steps walking towards her and keeps staring at the ground in front of her shoes, not wanting to socialise. "Hey," the person says, "what are you doing out here?"

Marinette shrugs and glances at him. And she freezes. Because the face staring at her is a face she's seen in many articles. "My class left me behind," she says faintly. "We're supposed to be touring Wayne Enterprises."

"Well, I can take you there," Damian Wayne offers. Marinette observes past the haze in her mind that he holds himself stiffly, favoring his right side.

"Sure," she says, maybe a bit too quickly. She stands up and offers a hand. "My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

Marinette can see him freeze. He shakes her hand with a smile on his face. "Damian Wayne. And you're my soulmate."

She laughs and since she's wearing a pink dress with leggings, she lets go of his hand and pulls up the dark fabric to reveal his name, running down the side of her calf. "I know," she says, and she pulls the leggings down.

"Maybe we can skip going to WE and grab a coffee, Marinette?" her soulmate proposes, offering his arm.

Marinette grins at him and loops their arms together. "I'd love that, Damian."

#series: we're destined for each other #daminette #soulmate au #maridami

[kpop-fanatic-lover16]

Go ~ Wong Hendery ~

Words: 2375

Genre: fluff, angst

Warnings: violence, achohol, bullying

Sweaty bodies and loud shouts of cheering drowned your ears as you stood on your tippy toes, trying to see the football field and the activity playing on it. Within several minutes, you finally got a glimpse of the star football player crossing the touchdown line, winning the last game of the season in a perfect winning streak. The crowd erupted into cheers again, proud of the team for doing their best. This however, was not your top priority, as you were practically bolting down the steps of the bleachers to get to the field. Soft grass hit your sandals when you jumped onto the plane field; your boyfriend turned away from the huddle of football players and spotted you running toward him. It didn't take him more than a few seconds to realize what your intentions were making him pull off his helmet and open his arms. He accepted the bone crushing hug, lifting you into the air with the happiest feeling he's had all season.

"You did it!" you cried, pulling back to look at him. His face was sweating from the hard playing he had been doing and his breath was ragged. His arms dropped you gently onto the ground and his lips came down and kissed yours in a sort of grateful way. It didn't last very long, because some of his friends broke it off. The action made you pull back from the wild boys; you didn't mind the excitement because they had worked for it all year. Someone to the left of the field caught your attention, as they were slumped down on the bench, looking emotionally torn. Discarding the wild group, you made your way over to the person and plopped down right next to them.

"I know what's bothering you." you said, looking at his dropped head.

Yang Yang sighed deeply and straightened up to look at you. "Then tell me what you do."

"I already have," you replied, referring to the many times this conversation as come up. "Ask her out. She won't hate you, I know."

"Y/n, I'm too scared."

"You know," you began, thinking back to when your boyfriend asked you out. "When I was asked out, do you know what he said?"

"What?"

"He told me he was absolutely terrified to ask me. But he also said he was even more terrified about waiting too long and losing me forever."

"Wong Hendery has the bravery to follow his guts, I don't," Yang Yang sighed, linking his fingers through the face grate on his helmet. There was zero hope in trying to convince him to relieve his stress. At that moment, Hendery came running over with a huge smile on his face.

"Hey," he murmured, leaning down and kissing your lips, before he knocked Yang Yang in his shoulder. "There's a celebration party being held at Taylor's house, let's go!"

Yang Yang got up from his seat and jogged over to the locker rooms to shower and change, disappearing around the stone hall by the bleachers. Worry rippled through your chest. You wanted Yang Yang to just go and ask the girl he liked so much out on a date. So what if it didn't go as well as he would like? He'll never know until he takes the leap. Hendery squeezed your hand, telling you that he'd be back soon and then ran after Yang Yang to go shower as well.

A little while later, you were starting to feel bad. Your stomach had decided to play cramps on you and your head was spinning, but your condition wasn't bad enough to need the comfort of home. Currently, you were standing outside of the boy's locker room, waiting for Hendery to finish up. When he did, he was wearing a pair of ripped blue skinny jeans, a black men's silk blouse with gold designs and a leather jacket with black cowboy ankle boots. His hair was damp, his bangs, that parted down the middle, fell into his eyes as he looked to the right down the hallway and then left trying to find you. His eyes landed on you and another sun catching smile lit up his face as he made his way over to you, engulfing you in a hug.

"Are you ready? he asked, kissing your forehead sweetly. A nod was the confirmation before he pulled his duffle bag of gear back onto his shoulder and took your hand. The walk to his car didn't take very long and before you knew it, the car was driving on the road to Taylor's house for the after party.

Music was blaring from inside and out through the windows and there was already drunk kids on the front lawn. At this point, even Hendery was having doubts about attending this party; something just wasn't settling with him and it was almost like it was subtly giving him a warning. Unfortunately, you both ignored this warning and proceeded to walk into the party, even when that unsettled feeling was still boiling in the pits of your stomachs. It was loud inside and difficult to see where everything was. Hendery gently grabbed your waist and guided you over to the living room area where half of the football team was stationed. They all cheered when they caught sight of Hendery.

"The star player has arrived!" one of them smiled, proud to have Hendery as a teammate. Hendery nodded his head in a 'cool' way at the kind comment. One of his best friends, Lucas, was also sitting on the couch laughing and enjoying the celebration.

Hendery turned you slightly, speaking into your ear, "Sit with Lucas while I go get drinks. I don't want to loose sight of you."

The trust worthy bond you had with Lucas gave you no hesitation to go sit next to him. Once Hendery was satisfied that you were safe, he wiggled his way through the crowd to find drinks. With a happy smile, Lucas opened his right arm and offered one of his famous hugs. It made you feel slightly better, but not by much. This is when Lucas caught on that you seemed sick.

"Hey," Lucas's tone turned serious. It caught you off guard when he set his drink down on the coffee table in front of you and put the back of his hand to your forehead. "You are warmer than normal. Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah," you replied, telling him the truth. You didn't feel good, but you weren't in a horrible condition. If the feeling got worse, you would take action. Lucas decided to keep an eye on you, but went back to enjoying himself. Hendery came back with two bottles of water and a random cookie. Of course, he couldn't control himself. You laughed mentally.

"Hendery!" one of the football players called over the music. It caught Hendery's attention right as he finished giving you the water. He let you curl into his side and rest your head on his shoulder. "We should go out on the town after this."

"Hey, you know I don't do that anymore," Hendery rejected, wrapping his arm around your frame and holding you close like he didn't want to ever let you go.

A little back story on this topic. At the beginning of your Senior year in high school, you met Hendery and his friends. The interesting thing about this story is that Hendery was actually abusive and a delinquent within the school. When Yang Yang met you in the library one day, he wanted you to have lunch with him and his friends. It was surprising to say the least that Yang Yang was friends with the most feared kid in school.

But things quickly started to change the more you hung out with Yang Yang and his friends. Hendery, hated you with a passion for starting to change his friends perspectives on life. It raged him so much that one day he cornered you planning to beat you up, but something stopped him. Something deep inside of him struck at his heart and all of the things you had taught and told him and his friends about kindness and the world, flooded his brain. He let you go, having no intention of hurting anyone ever again. This is why he was so afraid to ask you out after months of him being a changed person. He thought you hated his guts and would never want someone like him. But there was that voice again telling him that if he didn't make a move soon, he would loose you...forever. Since then Hendery has tried to be a better person for you. He stopped drinking and smoking, as well as putting a stop to violence.

"Oh come on, just one night." the guy started pushing the situation a bit harder, making you worried. "Why is it that once you get a girlfriend you change? Those of us who have girlfriends didn't change."

"Those girlfriends didn't change your life for the better good like mine did." Hendery defended you without missing a beat. That's just how he was now.

"Well let's hope Yang Yang doesn't get a girlfriend," the guy joked, slapping a hand on the youngest. Yang Yang's mood went down another forty percent after that comment, making you angry.

"Packer that's enough." Ten warned, kicking Packer's knee. This made a light go off in Packer's head.

"No," he began coming to terms with what he was thinking. "Let's see if the old Hendery is still in there."

Your eyes widened at the sentence. No, this could not be happening. Packer stared at Hendery for a moment and then decided to strike when he saw Hendery clench his jaw. "Your girlfriend –no, side chick– is a bit of a drag. I'm sure Mommy and Daddy would let her stay home when you feel burdened."

"Enough." Lucas warned, catching on to the conversation very quickly.

"Hey," Packer looked at Lucas with his eyebrows raised. "Hendery is a big boy. He can fight his own battles."

"You better not," Ten threatened, already knowing that Hendery would immediately go back to his ways to defend you. There was no doubt in his mind that Hendery would kill someone if it meant protecting you.

"I mean look at her she just leans into you all the time. She actually looks pretty sick right now. Sickeningly, clingy."

Hendery tore out of his seat and jumped over the coffee table before attacking his oppressor. Horror struck your body as you watched Hendery beat the living soul out of his fellow teammate.

"What do you know about her?!" Hendery bellowed, grabbing the guy's collar and pulling him close. "She bends over backwards for everyone! But one thing is for certain, I wouldn't let her do anything for you because you don't deserve it."

At Hendery's words, you began to cry. Everything you had done to change Hendery had been washed away by his anger. Ten and Lucas immediately knew why you were crying and proceeded to remove you from the party. Now you were feeling worse and just wanted to go home. Sobs rocked your body as you held onto Lucas who held on tight to you and right then and there, you wished you were at home.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of your bathroom sink running. You glanced behind you to see Hendery washing his face and slowly recovering from his hangover. When he finished up, he came back into the room and startled at your awake figure.

"Good morning." he mumbled, climbing on top of the bed and kissing your forehead gently. Last nights events came flooding into your mind and you immediately sat up and grabbed Hendery's knuckles.

"I didn't hurt him or myself, my love." Hendery promised, watching you examine his hands and face.

"Hendery you scared me!" you scowled, dropping his hands and rubbing your face with a huff.

"I know I did and I apologize for that. But I wasn't about to let him talk trash about you." Hendery defended, squeezing your shoulder. "I love you too much."

"I love you more."

"Yang Yang asked out your best friend last night." Hendery spoke on a lighter note. Joy filled your sleepy body at the news. Finally, Yang Yang had gotten the courage.

"What did she say?" you gasped.

"She said yes." Hendery smiled. "They're having a coffee date this morning to get to know each other better. Yang Yang texted me before he went to go pick her up."

"I'm so happy for him." you sighed, falling into Hendery's chest and closing your eyes.

It was silent for a while, just the two of you. Hendery apparently had come in through your window last night and slept on the couch just to protect you from any harm and to also avoid the last night arguing at his own home. No matter what you had gone through to end up with Hendery, moments like these were worth that long fight. Even nights like last night weren't enough to tear the two of you apart. Hendery told you the story after the party when Yang Yang had said he was tired of people making fun of him for not having a girlfriend. His main motive for dating was not however the pressure and poking from his friends, but a true liking towards that beautiful girl in his history class.

"Hendery." you whispered.

"Yeah?" he whispered back.

"I love you."

"I love you more."

"But...we have to get to that Scollarship Brunch you agreed to go to."

"Oh crap!" Hendery yelped, jumping up from your bed and rushing over to the couch to snatch his shoes and get them on his feet. "Do I need to wear a suit?"

"Just wear something nice." you urged him to hurry since he still needed to shower and get dressed back at his house which was fifteen minutes away.

"Do I come pick you up?"

"Hendery, GO!" you laughed, accepting the air kiss he sent you before ducking outside of the window and climbing off the roof to his car.

"Goofball." you whispered under your breath.

#wayv #wayv hendery #wayv imagines #wayv smut #wayv soft imagines #wayv soft hours #wayv drabbles #wayv blurbs #wayv senarios #nct hendery #wong hendery #nct imagines #nct drabbles #nct blurbs #nct soft imagines #nct soft hours #nct soft blurbs #nct sernerios #nct fluff #nct angst #nct incorrect texts #nct incorrect quotes #nct fanfic #nct hours #nct high school au #nct bad boy au #nct smut #nct hendery fluff

[enbyleighlines]

For your modern au prompts, how about Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang best friends going on a shopping trip?

Oooh, sounds good to me!! I hope you don’t mind that I took liberties with what constitutes as a shopping trip! This idea popped into my head, and I wanted to explore it~

—

The bell on the front door gives a twinkling little jingle as they enter. Immediately, the familiar aroma of Wei Wuxian’s favorite arts and craft store rubs against his nostrils like an affectionate cat.

Beside him, Nie Huaisang walks with a spring in their step. In the crook of their elbow, they carry a small but finely crafted handbag, as though they’re a rich socialite on a shopping spree in the big city. “Here we are,” Nie Huaisang says, excitement giving their voice a fun lyrical quality, “Where shall we start, Wuxian-xiong?”

Wei Wuxian can’t help the wide grin that breaks across his face. He scoops up one of the shopping baskets by the entrance. “We should start from the ground up,” he decides, logically, “Let’s go see how sturdy their poster board is.”

“We can always glue a layer or two of cardboard to the base,” Nie Huaisang points out.

“True, true.”

The two friends make their way towards the poster aisle. They’re on a mission, but that doesn’t mean they can’t have fun.

They’re making a diorama as their final project for freshman biology. Thankfully, they were allowed to pick their own partners, and since they’ve become quick friends over the course of the year, it was a no brainer.

Their plan is to create a miniature factory, with its walls, machines, and workers, but then label everything as though they’re the parts of a human cell. Wei Wuxian is certain that it will appeal to their teacher’s quirky sense of humor, and earn them a grade worth bragging about. Nie Huaisang is less convinced, but they’re just happy for the opportunity to show off their talent for arts and crafts.

They sift through their manyu options, poster boards of all different sizes, material, colors, and even textures.

Nie Huaisang pulls out out of the rack and gasps delicately, as though they’re holding a precious treasure. “Wuxian-xiong,” they say, “Feel this one. Isn’t it just like the gritty texture of cement?”

Wei Wuxian runs the tips of his fingers over the rough surface. “Oh wow, you’re right! But won’t that make it difficult to glue things to it?”

“Ah, I hadn’t considered that!” Nie Huaisang gives the poster board another longing-filled stroke. “Perhaps we can use little metal stands for the figurines, and stick the metal through the poster?”

Seeing that his friend’s heart is set on the poster board, Wei Wuxian nods. “Yeah, that could work! We’ll definitely need to add some cardboard to the base, though. We get a bunch of cardboard boxes at the restaurant from shipments and stuff. I’m sure Jiang-shushu won’t mind if we take one.”

Nie Huaisang eagerly takes the paper board and rolls it up. It’s still too long to fit in the basket, but at least they could carry it one-handed. “What next, Wuxian-xiong?”

“Metal wire for the stands, probably,” Wei Wuxian answers, “And maybe some of those things they use in gardens, with the names of plants on them? We can use those to label stuff. Would they have those here? If not, we can probably make our own...”

“There’s a gardening store around the corner,” Nie Huaisang says helpfully.

Wei Wuxian nods sagely. “That’ll do. Oh, and we should probably be keeping track of how much everything costs. How much did Nie Mingjue give you to spend?”

Nie Huaisang gives Wei Wuxian an incredibly self-satisfied smirk. They dig into the handbag and fish out a stack of folded bills. “Oh, we don’t need to worry about money,” they assure Wei Wuxian smugly, “My Gege gave me more than enough.”

Wei Wuxian whistles.

Nie Mingjue, Huaisang’s half-brother, took over management of the family business recently. He’s also been the one looking after Huaisang ever since their parents retired to travel the world. Mingjue likes to pretend that he’s a strict disciplinarian, yet he spends money on Huaisang like it’s going out of style.

To hear Nie Huaisang tell it, they’ve always been a spoiled child. But it seems as though it’s gotten even worse ever since Nie Mingjue became Huaisang’s primary guardian.

Nie Huaisang giggles behind their wad of cash. “So, yeah,” they say, “Money is not an issue.”

Wei Wuxian might be jealous if he was the type of person to get jealous. Instead, he only laughs in delight. “That’s good to know! Let’s take proper advantage of your Da-gege’s generosity, then!”

—

They quickly fill up the basket and have to upgrade to a cart. They take their time choosing the plastic figurines. There aren’t any factory workers, but there are some crossing guards, and a man in an astronaut suit, and they figure they can just pain over them. Nie Huaisang already has a decent collection of paints, but they also grab some new brushes, along with a fine point pen.

Then it’s off to the gardening store for some plastic plant markers, with tips sharp enough to pierce through paper and cardboard. While they’re there, they also grab some short two-inch fences and some mesh to use in constructing the cell walls.

They bring their haul back to the Jiang residence, because it’s closer.

The Jiang house is unusually quiet. Jiang Cheng is at soccer practice, and Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan are both at work at the restaurant. Jiang Yanli is home, though. She greets them at the door, and then immediately moves to prepare tea and snacks for them.

“Your supply run went well, I see,” she says, as she putters around the kitchen.

Wei Wuxian makes sure to plant a big, loud kiss to her cheek before he starts unloading things onto the dining room table. “It went great, actually,” he says, “Jiejie, you have to see all these awesome things we found!”

Nie Huaisang hovers a tad awkwardly in between the kitchen and dining room. It’s not the first time they’ve been to Wei Wuxian’s house, but it’s not a routine experience, either.

Glancing over her shoulder, Jiang Yanli examines the enormity of their haul with a worried expression. The cause of her concern becomes clear when she says, “I hope you didn’t have to use up all of your allowance on this school project, A-Xian.”

“Nope!” Wei Wuxian beams at her. “I didn’t spend a penny. Huaisang-xiong’s rich Gege footed the bill.”

“That... was probably not the best way to phrase that,” Nie Huaisang murmurs to Wei Wuxian, “Please let your Jiejie know you meant my actual Gege, and not an older guy who spends money on me like I’m his sugar baby.”

Wei Wuxian blinks. And then he starts snickering loudly. “She’s not going to assume that,” he assures them.

“What will I not assume?” Jiang Yanli places a plate of rice crackers on the kitchen’s island, and raises one of her brows at them.

Nie Huaisang grabs Wei Wuxian’s arm to stop him, but it’s too late.

“Huaisang-xiong doesn’t want you thinking they have a sugar daddy,” Wei Wuxian confesses, “So they want me to emphasize that, in this case, I used the term ‘their Gege’ to refer to Nie Mingjue.”

Nie Huaisang looks like they want to melt into the floor.

But Jiang Yanli only giggles, demurely, behind the cover of her hand. “Well, I’m glad you clarified that,” she teases both of them, “Both of you are too young to have sugar daddies, anyway. Come, and have some rice crackers while the tea steeps.”

The two freshmen each hop up onto one of the stools obediently. Wei Wuxian stuffs his mouth without thought, while Nie Huaisang carefully nibbles at their cracker like a timid mouse.

There’s a bit of companionable silence. Jiang Yanli pours them each a cup of green tea, and then moves the sugar bowl within their reach.

Then she sits on one of the stools opposite them, and asks, “How are your other final projects coming along?”

Wei Wuxian heaves a dramatic sigh. “Bo-oring,” he singsongs, “It’s all essays and making flashcards for the exams. The same old generic stuff we did in middle school.”

“I get to make a poster for home ec.,” Nie Huaisang offers.

“Ooh, about what?”

“We have to try to design the food pyramid,” Nie Huaisang answers, “Other kids are just making collages out of newspaper clippings, but I want to try my hand at painting the food. I’ve never had a reason to paint food before, except for maybe an apple, back when we were learning how use shading.”

Jiang Yanli smiles. “That sounds fun,” she says, “Just don’t get so caught up in your fun projects that you don’t leave any time for the boring ones.”

“Right,” Nie Huaisang answers automatically.

Wei Wuxian is more lax. “I’ll be fine,” he assures his Jiejie, “Besides, I get my best work done at the last minute.”

Jiang Yanli gives her Didi a look. “That’s not how that works.”

“It is how it works! That spike of adrenaline really helps me get things done,” Wei Wuxian insists, and taps the edge of his nose with a cheeky little smirk.

“But it doesn’t leave you much time to go back and edit, does it?”

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “I make less mistakes on my first drafts than everyone else does on their final copies! If I start turning in perfect papers, then people might think I’m just showing off.”

“You ARE showing off,” Nie Huaisang snips.

That makes Jiang Yanli giggle again. She shakes her head at Wei Wuxian, but in a fond sort of way. Neither try to continue the argument.

“What about you, Jiejie?” Wei Wuxian asks suddenly, “Any fun final projects?”

“Just exams,” Jiang Yanli answers. She’s a high school junior, two years ahead of them. “Though, my math teacher said that anyone who already has an A in the class doesn’t have to take the final exam.”

“Let me guess,” Wei Wuxian says with no little hint of pride, “You have an A.”

Jiang Yanli hides her mouth behind the rim of her teacup. “I do,” she confirms, and her smile is audible in her tone. “So that’s one less thing for me to worry about.”

“That’s my Jiejie! Smartest girl in the whole world!”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“Think so? I know so!”

Nie Huaisang smiles at that. Though the dynamic between Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian is completely different from their relationship with Mingjue, there’s still something vaguely familiar about it.

Just like Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang, really. They’ve got completely different temperaments. Wei Wuxian is a natural leader, charismatic, bold, and optimistic. Nie Huaisang tends to follow the herd, being as indiscisive and anxious as they are. Yet the two of them are often on the same wavelength.

That’s probably why, even though they only met for the first time that year, it already feels like they’ve been friends for a long time.

#asks #anon #anonymous #mo dao zu shi #mdzs modern au #drabbles #leigh’s writing