#there's almost a form of survivor's guilt

[grittyghoul]

Man I’m thinking about it and I know I’ve put the work into my degree and like I’ll have earned it or whatever but I just can’t help but feel I don’t deserve it just cause my friend died before she could go to college at all and idk I feel like it should be her graduating at not me

#probably a weird form of survivors guilt #but I jus think she’s much more deserving of having a life than I am #she died almost four years ago now but even before I thought it would be better if we switched places #not bc I want to die bc I don’t I just think of the two of us she was better

[missrosegold]

someone new

Synopsis: Post-war!AU. It’s the quite moments that Touya enjoys the most. Sometimes he still has a hard time believing they’re real. That you are real.

He has no problems allowing you to remind him of the latter.  

Word count: 16K

Paring: Dabi x Reader (fem!reader)

Warnings: Mentions of post surgical interventions, Touya has hints of survivors guilt and some suicidal idealization if you squint, Smut and additional warnings listed below and on A03 so Minors or Ageless Blogs please DNI. This is rated 18+

Playlist: Omar Apollo - Evergreen (You Didn't Deserve Me At All)

Authors notes: Written for @shibaraki Komorebi collab! Thanks for having me love! Hope you enjoy!

Title is from Someone New by Hozier

**You can read it on A03 here if the formatting on Tumblr is throwing you off! I cross-post all my works onto my A03 account!

Sometimes Touya wonders how he got here.

It’s a loaded question and he knows as much. He knows exactly where he is, and he’s painfully aware of the series of events that led him to this moment in time – but he often finds himself struggling to believe it.

A part of him doesn’t want to believe it – a gnarled, still-angry part of what remains of his soul is convinced that it’s all part of some elaborate dream – one that will fade away and leave him alone and bitter once more as soon as he opens his eyes.

He falls asleep again and again, trying to prove his theory, but every time he wakes back up, he’s still in the same place:

He wakes up in your sun-lit apartment, more often in your bed, with you – always close by, never too far away.

It’s where he is even now: nestled into the soft sheets of your—no, the bed you shared together, even though it’s pushing noon on a Tuesday. Despite his body screaming at him to move, he can’t bring himself to get up just yet.

It’s not like it matters if he stays in bed anyways, he doesn’t have anywhere to be. He doesn’t have his court mandated therapy appointment until Thursday, and it’s not like he has a nine to five job like most people do. Christ, he can’t even leave your apartment building without you or a Pro-hero escort with him. (Who, ninety-five percent of the time ends up being Shoto, since he’s about the only person who wants to deal with him these days aside from you, his mom, and sometimes Fuyumi and Natsuo.)

He rolls over slightly and listens for you, trying to hear the tell-tale tread of your footsteps echoing through the halls, or the sound of you humming a gentle melody under your breath as you do your menial chores around the apartment; before it finally occurs to him that it’s a weekday and you’re at work.

He stifles a groan as he finally pushes himself up, and makes his way towards the bathroom connected to the master bedroom, flicking on the light and shutting the door behind him.

That was his biggest problem these days: not wondering when his next meal would be. Not obsessing over ruining his father’s life as he had done his. Not charring himself past the point of no return as a means of exacting vengeance upon the world of Pro Hero’s that had long since turned their backs on him. No. That was all in the past.

For the first time in his life, it was boredom that was getting to him.

That was a joke if he ever fucking heard one.

Looking at himself now it’s hard to believe that he was once a homicidal serial killer, with a rap sheet several miles long.

He looks different now. He fights the urge to snort as he turns away from his reflection in your bathroom mirror while he goes about his business.

Like a snake that sheds it’s skin every couple of years, he’s changed his form once again; though this transformation wasn’t up to him. He had no choice in the matter; what happened to him after the war was decided for him. His opinions be damned. (Though, if he thinks about it, he didn’t really give All For One and his fucked up scientist permission to piece him back together after he incinerated himself up the first time. The irony almost makes him laugh.)

He forces himself to face his reflection in the mirror as he begins the painstaking task of his skincare routine – burning turquoise eyes staring a little too long at who looks back at him.

The worst of his burn scars are gone, though the shadow of them remains. His two-toned flesh has been concealed by pale, raised skin, but he can still see the lines in his face from his first Escharotomy – a reminder of Dabi; always lingering, never fully gone, even if he wears a different face.

The rest of his body is like that as well. No longer is he marred by wicked burn scars and surgical staples; he is one even skin tone now. He is complete by all accounts, even though he feels anything but whole. The skin grafts aren’t perfect – they’re textured and prone to drying out, and the skin around his eyes always looks bloodshot – but for the first time in years, when he looks in the mirror; the person staring back at him actually looks like Touya.

It's not a perfect visual, but it’s still closer than he ever thought possible.

Truth be told, he still has a difficult time looking at himself in the mirror. It’s jarring honestly. He’d gotten so used to seeing the horrific scarring on himself, that seeing his reflection without them makes him feel like he’s staring at someone new.

The skin grafts he received at some point after his barely responsive body was all but dragged off the battle field, still itch sometimes, but he knows it’s all in his head. He can’t feel anything. He hasn’t been able to feel anything since he was discharged from the hospital he been taken to after he collapsed.

His memories of that time are hazy – he had been doped up on heavy narcotics and other nerve blockers as he was subjected to surgery after surgery in a desperate attempt to fix his scorched body – so much so, that he doesn’t know how long he was out for, or how much time passed while he was in recovery.

He remembers Shoto coming to visit him shortly after waking up from the worst of his many surgeries, and explaining that while the doctors had been able to successfully graft new skin onto him, (how his mangled body had been able to withstand another set of skin grafts was beyond him), they hadn’t been able to fix his damaged nerve endings, and had opted to cauterize the few that still worked; leaving him completely numb to any and all feeling.

Truthfully, he hadn’t cared at the time, he hadn’t been able to feel much of anything for years before that, and the little he was still able to feel was nothing but chronic pain, so at the time he has seen the news as a blessing.

And then he met you.

Shortly after that, he found himself cursing the fact that he couldn’t feel anything at all.

-----

He remembers the first time he met you.

After he had been cleared to leave the hospital, he had been taken to a heavily fortified psychiatric ward, eerily similar to the med-bay in Tartarus: all sterile white walls and armed guards. His room hadn’t been much better: just a mid-sized white box with a cot and a small window for him to look out of, though there wasn’t much of a view outside. He had no idea where the fuck he was anyways.

There he had started his rehabilitation. 

It was hell. The first few months he spent there, he adamantly refused to speak to any of the doctors or physiatrists who came to work with him. Some were more persistent than others, poking their nose into his past (like he hadn’t just aired his dirty laundry out for all of Japan to witness), and those were the ones he got pissed off at the most.

In another life, Dabi would have had no qualms about turning the doctors to ash, just like he had done to everyone else who had annoyed him in the past, only; he wasn’t Dabi anymore. He wasn’t sure who he was now.

It didn’t help he had been hopped up on quirk blockers that canceled out his quirk, otherwise he probably still would’ve tried to incinerate them. But he couldn’t, and for the first time in his life, Touya Todoroki was fucking cold.

Turns out his quirk did a wonderful job of insulating him against the ice he kept hidden inside his chest all along.

He supposed he couldn’t blame them for rendering him quirkless while at the facility. Hell, he’d render himself quirkless if he was a staff member, having to deal with someone like him. Footage from the fight with his father and the all-out brawl with Shoto had been leaked to the public, showing his quirk’s true power in all of its devastating glory.

He had been told the aftermath of both fights had done irreversible damage to the surrounding areas, and no one was sure if they’d be able to fix the carnage he had created.

Good. The bitter, angry part of himself thought when he had been inadvertently told of the news. Suffer like I am.

He had been kept in isolation most of the time as the doctors tried to figure out what to do with him. His family hadn’t been allowed to visit him yet, and for that he was grateful – he hadn’t been particularly keen on seeing them after his recovery anyways. It was still too soon to face them, and he wasn’t ready to deal with the inevitable aftermath of what was to come. In the meantime, he still refused to respond to any of the medical staff who came to try and work with him, outside of sarcastic remarks and biting jabs that made the whitecoats squirm in their seats, much to his enjoyment.

Curiously, during one of the very few times he did speak to one of the doctors responsible for his treatment; he found himself asking about what happened to the rest of the League. Of course, no one would give him any answers aside from the fact they were alive and they were in custody.

He was more relieved than he thought he would be.

More time passed, and he still refused to open up to any of the staff who came to see him, though he had become more vocal with them – aggressively so – to the point he started to notice there was a continuous rotation of people now; it wasn’t just the same staff he was used to seeing when he first arrived at the facility.

Turns out, even the professionals were still scared of him – quirk or no quirk, his fiery reputation preceded him.

Eventually, the facility couldn’t keep cycling through their therapists, so they had switched tactics. Whether it was out of desperation, or the fact he made so many professionals break down after a session with him, he wasn’t sure, but he can’t say he regrets his actions, because in the end, he met you.

He remembers the day you met for the first time.

He had been forced out of his little cell and taken to one of the treatment rooms where he spent most of his time outside his own room. He had been shoved in there before he could make a snarky retort, and then… he saw you.

You had been sitting on the couch adjacent to the spot where he normally sat during his apptioments. He had been so stunned to see someone new, he’d been rendered silent. You’d looked up towards him, and for the first time since he arrived, you smiled at him.

“Hey.” You’d greeted him casually. He hadn’t responded, still unsure of who you were and what you were doing here instead of the usual staff.

You nodded to the couch across from you. “You wanna sit?”

He sat.

He fully expected you to introduce yourself, but you hadn’t. You’d just leaned back into the couch you were seated on and crossed your legs, giving him a content smile as you regarded him casually.

A few beats of silence passed. You didn’t speak and neither did he. A few minutes passed, then a half hour, and then an hour. Finally, one of the assistants came to bring him back to his room.

He stood up to go but you still didn’t say anything. He’d allowed himself to be taken back without a fuss but, he didn’t think anything more about it. The next day it was the same thing. He was taken out of his room back to the same treatment room, and surprisingly, you were already there waiting for him.

You gave him a little grin and nodded to the couch opposite you, and just like the last day, he sat.

Once again, you didn’t say anything, which was unusual, since all of the other doctors had always started off the conversation, but you sat in silence across from him – the gentle smile never leaving your face all the while.

A half hour of silence passed before he finally broke. “So, what exactly is this?” he remembers his voice sounding dry and scratchy after weeks of misuse. “This the part where you try and butter me so I’ll talk to you?”

You’d grinned at his remark. “No.”

“No? Then what the hell are you doing here? Is this some new technique the therapist’s showed you to try and get me to spill my guts to you? Reverse phycology or some shit?”

“Nope. None of that I can assure you. Actually, if I’m being honest, I’m not even a doctor.”

That caught his attention.

“The hell do you mean you’re not a doctor? How the are you in here then?”

“Maybe I’ll tell you later.”

He remembers being completely caught off guard by your answers, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t the slightest bit intrigued by you. He remembers squinting at you carefully – taking you in – and for the first time, he saw you. Really saw you.

He could tell that you weren’t lying to him about not being a doctor. You were dressed casually, though you were still covering up a fair amount of skin – no doubt something they told you to do ahead of time. You looked more alive than the rest of the staff in this place as well.

He was loathed to admit it, but you were pretty.

He remembers you flashing him a knowing grin, clearly able to tell he’s been shamelessly checking you out, and it was enough to make him recede back into his shell; his walls going back up once more, as he rolled his eyes condescendingly at you.

“So what’s your angle then?” He’d asked you. “You’re not a doctor but you wouldn’t be in here with me if you didn’t want something from me.”

“Would you believe me if I told you I was simply here to talk?”

That had gotten a laugh out of him. A short breathless laugh, but it was the first one he’d uttered since he’d tried to incinerate himself along with his father. It felt weird leaving his throat, foreign even, and he’d cut himself off as soon as the sound exited his mouth. So, he settled for snickering instead.

“Really now? You want to talk to someone like me? Why do I not believe that?”

You had sighed, and leaned forward so your forearms were supported on your knees, fixing him with a stern gaze. The intensity of it had made him flinch before he remembered who he was. He returned the look best he could, but it hadn’t deterred you in the slightest. Instead, you sighed again.

“Look I’ll be honest with you: the staff here filled me in on your situation. I don’t know what they’ve told you, but from how it was explained to me; your family wants you back home with them. They’ve made a bunch of deals with the authorities about getting you out of here and not spending the rest of your life behind bars, but you have to successfully go through rehab first. The reason you’re here is so they can determine that you’re not a threat to society or to yourself, but the staff don’t seem to be having much luck getting through to you, and they’re desperate. They sent out a request to bring in outside help and I applied. They picked me because we’re the same age, and well… no one else really wanted to. Turns out most people are pretty scared of you.”

“Fucking figures. And you’re telling me you’re not?”

“Of you? No.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I’m not. I’m a little nervous maybe, but I’m not scared.”

That had made him pause. He’d swallowed, his mouth suddenly feeling like it was packed with cotton.

“Why’s that?” he’d finally asked you after a moment.

You had gone quiet, seemingly mulling over his question before you finally responded: “I think you have a lot to say. More than you already have, and more then what people think. To be honest, I want to hear it.”

He had laughed again, but this time it sounded forced, even to him.

“If you watched my broadcast then you know it all already.”

“Oh, trust me, I think the whole world saw your broadcast, not just Japan. No one would shut up about it for weeks. But I think there’s a lot more to you. I think a part of you wants to talk to someone else – none of that scripted bullshit – and I want to talk to you. Honestly, I think you’re pretty fascinating.”

He had been very tempted as ask you if you had a thing for villains, but he held off.

“You must be crazy if you find talking to me enjoyable. The other quacks can’t even stomach me, let alone stand to be in the same room as me for more than a few minutes. Just how fucked up are you really?”

You’d grinned and wiggled your eyebrows mischievously at him as you leaned back and spread your arms out along the back of the couch. “The only way you’re going to find that out is if you agree to talk to me. I don’t just give up all my secrets willingly you know.”

It was his turn to go quiet as he thought about your words over and over in his head, taunting him. He hadn’t been in any rush to leave the facility and go back to his old house, even if his mother and siblings were waiting for him. On the other hand, this was the most enjoyable conversation he’d had with anyone since coming to this white hellhole they called a hospital.

He figured maybe he would entertain you for a little while. If nothing else it would get you off his back.

You were lucky you were attractive.

The sound of your voice calling out his surname brought him back to the present.

“Mr. Todoroki?”

“… Fine.” He had finally relented. “We’ll see who you really are, and for fuck’s sake don’t call me that. I’m not my fucking father.”

“What do you want me to call you then?”

“D—” he stopped short. Was that his name any more? Did he get to call himself that after everything was said and done? It was the name he had given himself when Touya died all those years ago, but for some reason, saying it now just seemed wrong.

“…Touya.” He finally muttered. “Just Touya.”

You had smiled at him and for some stupid reason, it made his heartrate pick up. Just a little.

“Okay then. Touya it is. It’s nice to meet you.” You extended your left hand, and he had clumsily fumbled around for a moment before shaking your hand. As soon as your hands touched, and he felt the gentle pressure of your hand in his own, he was struck with the realization that this was the closest to human he’d felt in God knows how long. The other doctors that would come in and out of his cell treated him like he was some kind of feral animal, but you had extended your hand to him without any shred of fear or disgust. 

Once you’d both settled back into your respective couches, he’d shrugged.

“So, what now then?”

“Now we talk I guess.”

“About what?”

“I think that’s up to you. The people who brought me in here didn’t specify what we have to talk about, but I am supposed to tell you that I can’t talk to you about the UA students, politics, current or former hero’s, or the League.”

Fuck. It didn’t seem like he’d be getting any answers out of you regarding his former group either.

“…fine. Ask away, I guess.”

To his surprise, you shook your head. “Can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I’m the one doing all the asking, then we’re only going to talk about things from my perspective, which isn’t the point. The only way this is going to work is if you talk to me first.”

That’d had thrown him through a fucking loop. Ever since he had arrived at the ward, all the doctors had done is talk at him, hoping he’d respond eventually. You may not have been a doctor, but you made for a better conversation then any of them ever did.

“…Well… Where am I supposed to start?” he’d finally asked, feeling like an idiot. To his immense relief, you’d simply shrugged.

Wherever you want. From the beginning maybe? It might be easier that way.”

He remembered swallowing hard. “Alright… from the beginning then.”

He remembers pausing and looking up at you, taking you in. “What the hell is your name anyways?”

You told him with a smile, and that was how it started.

For the next year, you came to see him almost every day.

He was taken to the same room where you were always waiting for him without fail at the same time every day. Even though at that point, he’d rather choke than admit it; he began to look forward to your visits – finding that they gave him a reprieve from his mundane existence at the mental ward.

He knew the doctors were always listening and recording everything you talked about during the hour you were together, but he found he didn’t care as much as you managed to keep the meetings interesting.

True to your word, you wouldn’t talk to him about current political events, or any news related to heroes (he knew better then to ask anyways), but you were open to chatting with him about anything that he wished to talk about, even though conversations were often hard for him to start – but you were kind and patient with him, more so than anyone had ever been to him for the majority of his miserable life.

He found himself growing found of you, the little smiles you give him when he’d sit across from you, bringing a hidden grin to his own lips, though he was quick to push it down, never letting his passive façade drop for more the a few seconds, lest his supervising doctors notice and assume shit, as they tended to do.

You may not have been a licensed doctor, but you helped him more than any of the ones who worked at the medical ward did.

There was a gradual shift in your relationship as time passed. Around the six month mark he could feel it, and he was almost positive you could too.

Your conversations had become more fluid, more casual. You were relaxed as you could be around him, and he found himself opening up more and more to you without being prompted. Most times he liked to keep the conversation light, but every so often, he’d tell you bits and pieces about his childhood – before everything had gone to shit. He never bothered telling you about everything that happened after Sekoto; he didn’t want to tell you about the years he spent on the streets, or his time in All For One’s medical center with the other children turned Nomu’s, and to his immense relief, you never asked him to.

In return for his openness, you rewarded him with tidbits from your own life growing up. You didn’t name anyone specific (he couldn’t fault you on that one), but you’d tell him about your childhood and some of the adventures you’d had when you were young, well into your teen years.

He learned that you were born an only child to your parents, raised in a caring household. All the idealistic, quaint things that he had wished from his own family. He’d told you as much one day, prompting you to laugh softly.

“Not always.” You’d told him quietly. “I had my own pressure on me when I was growing up. My parents and I fought a lot. We rarely saw eye to eye – they didn’t agree with a lot of choices I made when I was younger, but it was okay aside from that.”

“Still sounds like your parents were better than mine.” He’d told you with a bitter smirk. “My dad’s an abusive asshole, and my mom—”

 It was then he realized that he struggled for words to properly describe her. Broken images from his fire fight with Endeavor had come back to him, and he remembered his mother’s fierce determination to try and cool him down – to save him – even as the heat was melting her flesh. She had thrown herself into the fray to try and stop him from ending it all without a second thought for her own safety. Up until very recently, he would’ve described his mother as weak and submissive, always bending to his father’s whims, even though he knew she didn’t have much of a choice back then, but now… that description didn’t seem to fit her anymore.

“—she used to be a doormat for dear old dad to walk over when I was a kid… but she’s changed. She’s a lot stronger than I remember her being.”

“I saw bits and pieces of your fight with… him.” You’d admitted quietly then. “I saw the aftermath. Your mom, your siblings… they all ran in to save you.”

He’d fallen quiet at that, not truly knowing what to say, but when he looked up again, you had offered him a gentle smile. “I’m sorry if this oversteps a boundary but… they never forgot about you Touya. Even if it felt like they did, they never stopped thinking about you.”

For once, he remembered being grateful that his tear ducts were permanently sealed shut, because he suddenly found himself in danger of crying. The tell-tale prickling behind his eyes caused his face to scrunch up as he pushed the thought of his mom and siblings down. He had quickly forced his expression to go back to neutral, and prayed that you hadn’t noticed the switch, but if you had, you didn’t comment on it – another thing he liked so much about you. 

Instead, you asked him something that caught him off guard.

“Have you seen them? Your family? Since you were placed here?”

“No. Didn’t think they were allowed to come here. Why?”

“I think… maybe you should let them come see you – your mom and siblings I mean. Not you know who. I don’t think you’d be doing yourself any favours.”

“Why?” He remembers pressing you. “Have you seen them?” You’d shook your head.

“No, I’ve never met them, but I think it might help if you sit down with them and actually talk to them one on one. You must be getting so bored just talking to me day in and day out.”

“No!” he remembers saying a little too quickly, causing another one of those knowing smirks to creep up your lips. “I—no, you’re fine. I like talking to you.”

“Do you not want to see them?” you had asked him seriously. “Is it too soon? I understand if you’re not ready. That’s a decision you have to make on your own. No one can make it for you.”

“… I’ll think about it.”

Because in truth: there were things he wanted to say to them, and conversations he wanted to have.

In the end, it was you who finally convinced him to let his family visit. They had been cleared to see him at the faculty a few months prior, but he had always declined a visit from them, not wanting to see them so soon, since the last time they were all together had resulted in him almost melting his mother, Fuyumi and Natsuo.

There had been strict rules set in place for his family’s visitations: only one person could see him at a time so he wouldn’t get overwhelmed. they weren’t allowed to talk about outside events with him, and finally, under no circumstance was Endeavor allowed anywhere near the faculty. He was fine with his mother and siblings coming to see him if they wished, but he didn’t want his father to be anywhere near him.

He wasn’t ready to see him again so soon. Even after his apologies. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be ready to see his father again.

Thankfully the faculty had minimal difficulty honoring his last wish, as it seemed that Enji didn’t want to be around him either – or maybe he was purposefully keeping his distance. Either way, the old bastard wasn’t around him, and he figured it was for the best.

Once again you had been right; seeing his family again had been as cathartic as it had been terrifying.

There had been tears (from his family – he still was unable to cry), and there had been a lot of long, overdue heart-to-heart conversations with them of things that should’ve been said long ago.

It had been hard to sit down and listen to each of his family members without feeling the intense urge to get up and run when the guilt became almost unbearable, but he had forced himself to sit through it all for their sakes (and even his own), and soon he found himself scheduling more visits with his family, as well as seeing you for your daily interactions.  

You never prompted him to tell you how his now daily visits with his family went, but he’d told you anyways – not what was discussed, that would stay with him – but he had told you about his favourite visit. Hilariously, it had been with Shoto; something he never thought he’d ever say.

He’d told you about how Shoto had brought him lunch from the outside the day before. It wasn’t anything special; just piping hot udon noodles with vegetables in pork broth. They had sat down in silence and eaten together, sharing a meal for the first time in their lives. Nothing had been discussed, and yet everything had been said.

It had been nice. Comfortable, even.

He remembered telling you with a soft smile on his face, and you had pointed it out, causing him to scoff and wave you off.

“It’s better food then the shit they feed me in this prison. Seriously, that was the best meal I’ve had in a long time.”

“Well, once you’re cleared to leave, I’m sure you’ll be able to eat all the udon you want with your brother.” You’d told him as you tucked your feet under you. He’d shrugged, brushing you off, but you were ever observant, and had called him out on it.

“Do you not want to go back to them once you’re able to leave this place?”

It was a simple question in theory, but it wasn’t easy to answer.

He’d shrugged again. “Don’t really know if I can. Not after everything. I won’t go back if he’s there.”

“I don’t think they’d push so hard for you to come back to them if he was.” You reasoned with him gently. “Where would you want to go, if not there?”

You and your questions. Most of the time they were harmless, but sometimes they really made him think. Unfortunately, he hadn’t had an answer for you at that point, and you had quickly switched the conversation topic.

At that point, he’d be lying if he said he was thinking about what he’d do once he was released. Truth be told he hadn’t thought about it much at all. To him, it felt like he’d be in the psychiatric ward for the foreseeable future. He had no real plans for what he’d do once he was out. Maybe he would go back to his old house with his family, or maybe he’d try staking out on his own since that was what he was used to, if he was even allowed to go off on his own. He wasn’t sure what he’d be able to do once he was let out – but he certainly wouldn’t be free, he knew that much.

Maybe he’d try and reconnect with the League – assuming that any of them were even allowed to be released from custody.

It still bothered him on some level that he had no idea about what happened to them after the dust had settled. He had been carted off the battle field before any of them, after his attempt at going nuclear failed, and had been in and out of the hospital and the physiatrist wing ever since.

When he had first arrived, he’d asked the staff about what had happened to the remainder of the League, but they hadn’t told him anything aside from the fact they were alive – but he wasn’t sure how much of that he believed.

The only one he’d really trusted in the whole building was you. He knew you weren’t allowed to talk to him about any villains or heroes, but maybe if he asked you discreetly, you’d be able to tell him something more than what the medical staff had. He didn’t want you to get in trouble, but the curiously was eating away at him. 

Finally, one day he risked it, and asked you if you knew anything about the fates of his former teammates.

You had paused after he’d voiced his question, and went quiet for a moment, seemingly debating on what you could say to him. For a moment you looked like you were almost about to tell him that you couldn’t say anything, but the look on his face must have been desperate enough that you cracked.

You had given the cameras in the room an unreadable look before sighing loudly. “I don’t know where they are exactly. I never looked into it, and it isn’t public knowledge anyways.” You told him gently. “What I do know is that they’re alive, and they’re in different treatment centers receiving help. I know they were beaten badly and some of your friends almost died – but as far as I know, they’re doing okay.”

You’d then sat straight back up on your chair and loudly proclaimed, “I’m pretty sure I’m allowed to say that much to him, right? Don’t take it out on him or me once we’re done here.”

It wasn’t the answer he was hoping for, but at least they were alive, and were in similar situations to him. It made him feel slightly less alone.

When the timer beeped shrilly, signaling that your hour was up, you had stood up to leave just as you always did, but before you could say goodbye to him, he’d quickly lunged forward and grabbed your hand, incasing it with his large cold one.

You’d stared at him in shock, as he’d never made a move to touch you once in the six months, you’d been visiting him, but before any of the guards could rush in and pull him off, he’d let your hand drop, but not before muttering a quiet “thank you” under his breath to you, before backing off and allowing the armed guard to escort you out of the room.

He distinctly remembers feeling the pressure of your small hand in his own, but he hadn’t been able to feel anything else aside from that. He hated it. He suddenly found himself hating that all of the nerves in his body had been severed, rendering him unable to feel anything. He couldn’t feel the texture of your skin against his own, or if your hands were cool or warm like his.

He was forced to admit to himself that for the first time since he’d left the hospital; he wanted to feel something again.

He wanted to feel you. But he couldn’t, and it aggravated him more than anything.

There was another thing he remembered distinctly about that day as you were leaving him behind: For the first time since you had started your daily interactions with him; you had looked back.

You had looked at him like you were seeing him in a different light.

He didn’t see you for a few weeks after that. When he had been pulled from his cell, and into the room where you usually met him, he was instead greeted by several doctors that had overseen his treatment when he first arrived.

He had asked them where you were, and when they refused to answer his question, he had immediately become hostile and threatening. The walls that were slowly starting to lower since he first met you went straight back up, and Touya turned into Dabi once more.

For the first time in roughly seven months, he lashed out (quirk be damned), and was immediately taken back to his room and put on lockdown. He wasn’t allowed visitors, and the only times he was allowed to leave his cell was to go back to the same room with the same doctors who poked and prodded him – asking him increasingly invasive questions, until he shut his mouth and refused to speak to them once more. One last act of defiance on his end since he still didn’t have use of his quirk.

When it had become apparent to the doctors and specialists that he refused to speak to any of them, they stopped taking him out altogether. He spent countless hours staring out the tiny window in his room, basking in the weak sunlight and taking in the menial views he could see from his window.

He had wondered where you had gone; if you had been forcefully sent away after he had asked about the League. He hoped that wasn’t the case – he liked you, probably more then he should if he was honest with himself – and you were just about the only person he could actually carry on a conversation with in this shitty place.

A few more weeks in solitary had him about to snap. He had reached a point where he was about to try and strike a deal with the overseeing doctors about bringing you back if he answered their shitty questions, when one of the armed guards opened up his door and guested for him to follow.

Once again, he had been taken back to the same observation room, but to his pleasant surprise; you were there waiting for him.

You had beamed at him and before he could think about what he was doing, he had crossed the room towards you in three long strides until he was standing directly in front of you. He had begun to lift his hand up towards you, only for his action to halted by a curt bark from the guard who was still standing at the door. You had shaken your head, motioning to the guard you were fine and sent him on his way. As soon as the door had closed, he rounded on you.

“You left.”

You had nodded, a small, sad smile on your lips. “I did, yes. Not really by choice though.”

“Why did you go?”

You’d barked out a laugh. “I’ll be honest, the supervisors weren’t too happy with me when I told you about the League. I broke one of their rules, so they told me I had to go for a bit.”

He’d narrowed his eyes, confused. “But now you’re back.”

You’d given him a slight smirk. You turned to sit down on your usual spot on the couch, but this time, instead of having him sit across from you, you’d gestured for him to sit beside you, which he’d done so embarrassingly fast.

“You’re very stubborn.” You’d told him with a light laugh. “From what I was told, you refused to talk to anyone after I left – heard you got downright nasty with some of the staff, and they put you on probation. They called me a few days ago almost begging me to come back. Guess they felt you made the most progress when you were talking to me.”

You’d given him a look that was hard for him to read. “Why did you snap at them?”

He figured there was no point in lying to you – you’d find out somehow. “Didn’t know where you went. Fuckers wouldn’t tell me, and they kept prying into my shit. Didn’t want to talk to them so they put me in solitary.”

He remembers you looking sad at his answer. “I heard you were in there for several weeks. I’m sorry. I didn’t want that to happen to you. Not on my account. I didn’t… I don’t want to be the reason your release got delayed.”

For some reason, it bothered him that you blamed yourself for what happened, and he reached out to gently take hold of your wrist. To his surprise, you hadn’t stopped him, or made any move to pull your hand away from his, so he allowed himself to rub circles into the back of your hand with his thumb, even though he couldn’t feel it.

“Not your fault. Don’t worry about when I’m getting out. It’s not like it really matters anyways.”

“Do you know why they were pushing you so much?” you’d asked quietly, still not making any more to remove yourself from his hold. He’d shook his head and you’d simply leaned into him, damn near making him freeze up in surprise at your boldness.

“They told me that they’re planning on releasing you soon – with restrictions of course – but they were thinking that you’d be able to leave here sooner than expected. That was before your outburst, but if you’re willing to just hear them out and answer their questions, it’ll help speed up the process.”

“They seriously think that I’m fit to send out into society again?” he remembers scoffing, hardly believing what he was hearing. “Pretty sure the majority of them think I’m an irredeemable sociopath.”

“They’ve seen the way you act around me and your interactions with your family. You’re not perfect, but you’re trying, and sometimes that’s all you can do.”

“You do realize I have killed people, right? I’ve maimed countless others. They’re… not exactly wrong about me.”

Surprisingly, you’d simply rolled your eyes at his statement, acting like he’d just told you the sky was blue. “Of course I know that Touya. I’m not overlooking what you did. But they—your family – are fighting hard to try and get you another chance, a fresh start. They think you deserve it, and they’re out there right now, day and night, trying to convince others that you deserve a second chance too.”

You had twisted your hand in his so your palms were kissing, fingers laced together, and he could feel his heart pounding in his ears as you gave him that damn smile of yours.

“You’re right: the past never dies, but that doesn’t mean that it has to be your future as well.”

That simple statement had stunned him. For the first time in a long time, he hadn’t had anything to say in response to you.

He remembers fighting an internal battle in himself, trying to find something to say to rebuttal what you were telling him. A part of him understood why his family was fighting for his uncertain future outside the psychiatric ward, but on the other hand… he didn’t necessarily believe that he deserved it.

What kind of life would he be able to have even if he was allowed to be released? He had never planned on living this long, as morbid as that was. His original goal had been to go out in a fiery hell-blaze with his bastard of a father, but clearly that hadn’t happened. He was known a global terrorist, the right-hand to the symbol of fear. His quirk was legendary for all the wrong reasons. How could he possibly be allowed to live on the outside? There was no way the rest of Japan wanted him released, let alone wandering around. What kind of future could he possibly be allowed to dream about? Did he even dare to think about it? He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about what he might do if he was ever allowed out of the ward from time to time, but now that his impending release seemed like more of a possibility; he was starting to think maybe it was better for everyone – and maybe even himself – if he stayed locked away.

Thankfully, you and your perspective nature had picked up his internal struggle. You’d leaned into him and taken his hand in both of your own, allowing him to breathe again.

“What do you want Touya?”

What did he want? Christ he wasn’t sure.

“I… don’t know. Honestly: I never planned on living this long from the get go. Everything has always been decided for me. I kinda figured that this would be the same.” He had admitted quietly, the gentle pressure of your hands on his own, grounding his rapid thoughts.

“Do you think you’re ready to leave soon?” You’d asked him gently, prompting him to laugh, a bitter, ugly thing, but you hadn’t flinched.

“No.” he’d admitted after a moment, scrunching up his nose. “Dunno if there’s much of a point. I’ll never be free. No matter where I go, I’ll always be a prisoner. What kind of life could I even have outside of here? I don’t know how to live any other way aside from how I’ve been living since I escaped that damn—” he’d cut himself off last minute, reminding himself that you didn’t know about All For One’s hellish medical facility he had woken up in, and he had no plans on telling you about that.

“I just…” he remembered breathing out hard through his nose as he tried to collect his thoughts, focusing on the faint heat he swore he could feel emanating off your hands and leaching into his cold skin. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do if they decide to let me out. Dunno if I can go back to the old house after everything that happened, and I’m not sure if I could bring myself to live with my mom or my siblings after… well, you saw bits of what happened on TV already.”

He hadn’t needed to say it for you to know that he felt a tremendous amount of guilt towards his mother and siblings – especially Fuyumi and Natsuo – for nearly charring them in the heat of battle. He may have held onto so much resentment and anger towards his family for his mistreatment as a child, but he was also self-aware enough to know that it hadn’t been their faults, and they had tried to help him in the only ways they knew how.

You had been quiet as you let him vent to you. You hadn’t said anything for a while afterwards as you mulled over what he’d told you. Finally, you had nudged his shoulder with your own.

“I think that everything you just told me is proof enough that you deserve a chance to have a life outside of these walls.” You admitted. “What you said isn’t something an ‘irredeemable sociopath’ would say. That’s something a self-aware person says. You’re not perfect Touya, but Christ if you’re not trying. I can see it, your mom, sister and brothers see it, and I think a lot of your other doctors are starting to see it too. I think there’s a point, even if you don’t think there is.”

In that moment he’d been convinced that if he could cry, he would’ve been.

“Yeah? Well, thank you sweetheart.” He’d muttered into your hair, fighting hard with himself to try and keep his voice steady. “I have no fucking idea why you’re so nice to me, but it’s… yeah.”

“I think someone needs to treat you like a normal human being, because I don’t think anyone did for a long time.” You’d looked up at him pointedly, but he’d seen traces of something else in your eyes when you’d asked him, “Did they?”

A simple flat look from him had been answer enough for you, and prompted you to squeeze his hand. “Didn’t think so.”

You’d both lapsed into a comfortable silence aside from the steady ticking of the clock, and he’d known without looking up that your time with him was coming to an end. Now, he was dreading it more then he normally would’ve been. You’d spoken up again, but what came out of your mouth next, had shocked him.

“When you’re released… If you’re still unsure of where you want to go afterwards… I could… if you can clear it with the people overseeing your progress once you’re cleared to leave… Maybe… you could come stay with me.”

He remembered staring down at you, shocked. “Is that even allowed?”

You’d shrugged in response. “I’m not sure. I think you’re going to have to initially stay with your family for a while, but if you’re really having a difficult time staying there… maybe I could work something out with your family, as long as it’s approved. It’ll probably take a while, but I can try.”

He had a difficult time allowing what you were implying to sink in. How? How could you be so trusting? To even suggest the idea of someone like him staying with you? Forget if it was even possible or not, the fact you’d even offered in the first place was mind-blowing. Before he could think about what he was saying, he’d voiced his thoughts to you:

“I’m sure your parents would be thrilled, you bringing a villain back to your home.”

You’d simply given him a small smile. “I’m sure they wouldn’t like it… if they were around that is.”

“Oh. They not in the country, or—”

“We’ll go with that.”

Ah. Seemed like he wasn’t the only one with secrets. That was fair, you were allowed to have your own. He wouldn’t pry.

“Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. You didn’t know.”

You’d both fallen back into the same silence from before. You were still leaning on him, his hand trapped in your smaller one, yet he’d made no move to remove it from your grasp. Honestly, he was shocked the guards from before hadn’t barged into the room and forced him away from you. The close proximity must have been violating a rule of some kind, and yet no one had made any move to separate the two of you, Maybe the medical staff really had been as desperate as you’d claimed, and were willing to let some things slide. Either way, he wasn’t complaining.

“You’re a lot colder than I thought you’d be… with your quirk being what it is and all.”

He’d glanced down at you, only to see you staring down at your intertwined hands. You’d squeezed the appendage again, prompting him to respond.

“It’s the quirk suppressors. Haven’t been able to use my quirk since before I got here. The quacks made it so I’m hopped up on suppressors around the clock, just in case. Turns out I’m pretty fucking cold without my flames. Must be from the ice side, but I can’t use that either.”

“Well, maybe if you keep being nice, you won’t have to be on them indefinitely.” You had tried to give him a hopeful smile, but he knew what the likelihood of that happening was, and you must have too, since you didn’t say anything else on the matter.

The timer had sounded then, signaling the visit was over. Before the guard could come to collect you, he’d quickly pulled his arm out of your grasp, and had wrapped it around you tightly, much to your initial surprise. He’d begrudgingly let you go so he could help you stand, sending the guard at the door a pointed look as he’d seen him casting an unsure look between himself and you. You hadn’t been the least bit bothered by the anxious glances the guard was trying to send you as you stood slowly and sent him one of your little smiles he’d come to expect from you.

“You’re coming back?” he’d blurted out before he could stop himself.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Same time.” You’d told him confidently as you’d turned to leave, brushing your knuckles against his. “Don’t worry Touya. I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time since someone had promised him anything in a very long time, he’d believed you.

In the end, you’d kept your promise.

It had taken close to another year before he was allowed to leave the psychiatric facility (some minor setbacks had pushed his initial release date back), but you had come to see him almost every day at the same time.

Over that time, you’d grown exceptionally close to each other, even more so from when you’d first started visiting him initially. It was almost impossible for him not to grow attached to you – you were his constant source of company, his companion. You were the one person he could tell anything to and not have to worry about being scrutinized for his thoughts. You were his safe space – something he’d never thought he’d ever say about someone else – and once he’d worked out how he saw you; it had been game over. He’d fallen for you fast and hard before he’d realized it, and by the time he did, it’d had been too late. He was hopelessly and utterly drawn to you, like a moth to a flame.

Surprisingly, you’d felt the same as him.

You’d openly admitted it to him one day near the end of his stay at the ward – even at the cost of possibly being prevented from seeing him again, since both of you knew you were crossing boundaries you hadn’t been meant to cross. He’d warned you as such, heart pounding in his ears at your confession, but you’d told him that he’d deserved to know with a simple shrug.

“Besides; if you keep up the good behavior and don’t have any more outbursts, you’ll be out before the end of the year anyways. Even if they don’t let me back after this – you can find me on the outside.” You’d told him matter-of-factly, boldly taking his hand in your own, before sending a shit-eating grin to the cameras set up around the room – knowing the doctors were monitoring every move.

He'd been certain that he could’ve kissed you right there and then.

Surprisingly, the medical staff had allowed you to continue coming back, even though it was apparent both of you cared for each other in ways that crossed professional boundaries. As much as the doctors were against how close the two of you had become, they couldn’t deny how far he had progressed since meeting you. He had gone from being the bitter, angry husk of a man, to someone who was still, and would always be forever scorned by the past, but overall, in a better place mentally.

Not too long after he’d sorted out his own feelings for you, he’d made you a surprising request:

He wanted you to meet his mother and siblings.

The meet up had taken almost a month of careful planning on the medical staff’s end, and had initially been met with some hesitation on both sides, but eventually you had agreed to it, and you’d sat down with him and the members of his family who he kept in contact with.

His father hadn’t been invited for obvious reasons.

The medical staff had allowed him out of his normal room so he could meet with you and his mother and siblings in one of the spacious sitting rooms normally reserved for guests. A row of floor to ceiling windows lined the far wall, allowing him to get a view of the outside gardens. He remembered the outside weather was slightly overcast that day but warm rays of sunshine would occasionally stream through the gray clouds, as you and his family slowly met with one another under his watchful gaze.

His mother had taken to you almost immediately, as well as Natsuo – both seemingly happy he’d bonded with someone who was relatively normal – Fuyumi and Shoto had taken a little more convincing. Shoto was more curious of you, while Fuyumi had been downright distrustful. She’d asked you right off the bat what your intensions were with him, but he’d seen right through her: she was concerned that you were somehow affiliated with the now disbanded League, or maybe even the Paranormal Liberation Front.

Thankfully, you weren’t so easily put off by her upfront questioning. You had been calm, almost amused, as you answered her questions; reassuring her that you were in no way affiliated with any criminal organizations, and how you were someone who’d been presented with an opportunity to help with his rehabilitation, and had taken a leap of faith when no one else would.

“Why though?” he remembered his sister pressing you. “Why would you want to help him even after knowing everything he’s done?”

You and him had shared a look then, and he’d known what you were thinking before you said anything.

“I guess I wanted to understand why things went so wrong.” You’d told her honestly, your shoulder brushing with his as you spoke. “I wanted to get his side of the story – the unscripted one. When the chance to talk to him in person came up, I took it. Everyone deserves to have their story told, and I wanted to hear his.”

“You’re a lot closer than just a support person to him.” Fuyumi had countered, making him bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from snapping at her to back off with her invasive questioning, knowing that he’d only land himself in trouble with the medical staff overseeing their visit if he had any outbursts.

To your credit, you’d simply shrugged, totally unbothered by her statement. “Yeah, well, that tends to happen when you see someone basically every day for over a year. Same time, same place. For as clueless as he is at normal relationships, your brother can be pretty charming when he wants to be.”

He’d been pretty sure the only reason you were outright lying to his sister was to try and make him look better in her eyes, but he almost hadn’t been able to stop the laugh that threatened to escape past his lips. Almost.

His sister had almost deflated then. Whether it was from disappointment in being unable to shake you, or relief, she’d simply nodded; finally accepting your answers.

“Well… if he’s happy… then that’s all any of us really need, I guess.”

The rest of the visitation had gone incredibly well, not that he was complaining. Plans for future meetings had been put in place, and from there, you and him had gotten into a semi-regular routine of seeing his mother and siblings, or whoever was available to come.

He never wanted to admit it to you, but the visitations you helped arrange with his family made his transition from the psychiatric hospital to his eventually moving into his mother’s new house after he’d been cleared for release, far smoother than he thought it would’ve been.

Eventually though, he was proven right about his earlier assumptions on living with his family – or rather – his mother and his siblings, again after so long:

He couldn’t do it. It felt almost wrong.

He’d felt like a ghost, wandering up and down the halls, looking at the pictures that lined the hallways of his mother’s house; comprised largely of his younger siblings. He’d watched as they had slowly grown up in each one, filling him with sense of melancholy.  

He’d missed the opportunity to watch them grow up. They’d done that without him. That was time he couldn’t get back – memories that weren’t there.

He’d felt isolated, and no amount of comfort or reassurance from his mother could change that deep-rooted feeling in him. Not even Natsuo’s constant presence in the home made him feel better, much to his younger brother’s disappointment, though thankfully he understood. 

He’d lasted two months before he’d finally cracked and called your number which you’d given him immediately after he was released. You’d both stayed in contact, texting every day (under strict monetization from police tech sectors), but you hadn’t been able to see him in person since he’d gotten out, as you’d both agreed that it would be better if he focused on trying to settle into his new home. He’d missed you terribly during that period – not used to not seeing you for such a long period of time.

He'd called you in the dead of night, and asked if your offer to have him come stay with you was still open. From there, you’d gotten in contact with the authorities in charge of his release to try and gain permission for him to come live with you, while he had the difficult task of trying to explain to his family why he couldn’t stay with them any longer than he’d already had.

As expected, you’d been met with resistance on both sides, but eventually his overseers had come to an agreement: he would be allowed to live with you, but he always had to have a tracking monitor on at all times, he had to be on constant quirk suppressors, he couldn’t leave your building without you and a Pro hero escort of some kind, and finally, he had to attend mandatory therapy sessions at least once a week, as well as call his probation officer weekly and give them updates about what he was doing. If he failed to meet any of the rules set out for him; he’d earn himself a one-way ticket to Tartarus, no questions asked.

As much as he’d wanted to argue some of what they wanted from him, he’d agreed to their stipulations, knowing full-well unless he agreed to their terms, he’d be stuck at his mother’s for the rest of his life, and while he didn’t hate living with her and his siblings, it was too awkward for him to try and face them every day, knowing his past atrocities towards the rest of the country and even them, would continue to haunt him for the rest of his days.

He couldn’t pretend that he was still the same person he was when he’d burned up at the tender age of thirteen. He was different, older, harder. Things would never be able to go back to what they’d once been, and honestly: he didn’t want them to. He couldn’t go back to living with them after such a long time apart, because he had no idea how to co-exist with them normally.

Thankfully, as much as he knew it hurt his mother to hear him express his innermost thoughts, she seemed to understand how he felt the most, and had simply told him that he was always welcome in her home, and she still wanted him to come stay with her from time to time.

“You’re my son Touya. No matter how old you get or no matter what you do, you’ll always be my baby.” She’d told him gently just before he’d left her house, wrapping him into a tight hug.

Sometimes he found himself grateful he couldn’t cry anymore. He’d just wished this side of his mother had been more prominent over ten years ago. Maybe things would’ve turned out differently if it had.

He’d seen you then for the first time in several months when you’d come to pick him up. He’d managed to keep himself calm while you spoke to his mother, but secretly he was elated to see you again after months apart. His excitement over seeing you again had probably shown on his face, since you’d made it a point to keep yourself close to him as his brothers had moved his important possessions into your car.

It was as you were talking to his mother; he’d learned that you had moved to a new apartment building some weeks ago, following the news that one of Japan’s former most wanted was coming to stay with you. Naturally, the people in your old building hadn’t been pleased, so you’d forced to switch buildings to an apartment located near several hero agencies, where the residents hadn’t been as concerned about an ex-super villain moving in, due to the multitude of patrolling heroes in the area. The change had been frustrating for you, but it was the only way he’d be able to stay with you without anyone kicking up too much of a fuss.

Eventually you’d both been on your way back to your apartment with Shoto in tow to help with moving his things into your apartment. Your new place wasn’t massive, but it had two bedrooms and a decently sized living room and kitchen. Shoto had helped him set his things up in the spare bedroom before departing, but not before giving you his number with instructions to call him if you ever needed help.

As soon as the door had shut, he’d been on you.

He’d slammed you up against the door, causing a started yelp to escape your lips, as he grinned down at you wolfishly.

“What’s the matter sweetheart? Nervous? It’s not like we haven’t been this close before.”

You’d turned beet red as you shyly traced your fingers up his chest. “No, but we certainly haven’t done this.”

He’d grinned as he dipped his head down so you and him were eye to eye. “Tell me no then. Tell me you don’t want this, that you don’t feel the same as me.”

He’d listened to your breath hitch, watching with delight as the flush deepened on your cheeks. “You wanted me to talk right? To be open with you about how I’m feeling? Well, I want you, and I think you want me too.”  

You’d looked up at him through your lashes, reaching up to lace your hand around his neck. “I do.” You’d told him gently, and your simple admission had made up his mind.

“Fuck.” He’d muttered, just before he’d dipped down and captured your lips with his.

The effect had been instantiations. His lips molded with yours, breathing in your air, as his hand cupped your cheek, long fingers curling around the back of your neck to keep you close to him.

You’d slowly peeled yourself off the door and grabbed at the collar of his shirt, pulling him with you further into the apartment, and into your bedroom. You’d managed to slam your door shut, just before he’d pushed you onto your bed – his lips never leaving yours as he pressed you further into the mattress.

He couldn’t keep his hands off you as you helped him take your clothes off. He could touch you, really touch you the way he’d wanted to for so long now. Nothing was there to hold him back, no cameras, no guards, no medical staff dictating his every move. It was just you and him.

He’d almost froze when he’d seen you’d laid out bare beneath him, soft and glowing against the pale sunshine streaming in from your bedroom window, warming your frame. You’d beamed up at him, tracing your hands up his arms.

“You can touch me.” You’d told him gently. “I trust you. Just be gentle.”

Gentle. Now that was a word he was certain he didn’t have in his vocabulary – but for you, he’d try.

He’d traced your curves gently, listening intently as your breath hitched, or how a small moan would escape past your lips when he touched a particularly sensitive area. Finally, you’d reached up to tug at the hem of his shirt, but he’d grabbed at your hands, making you pause.

“It’s not… I’m not… the scars… aren’t much better under there.” He’d tried to warn you. You’d given him a gentle smile, cupping his cheeks with your hands.

“I don’t mind Touya. You know I don’t care about all that.” You’d smoothed your thumbs over the raised skin of his face. “I love you for you. Regardless of what you look like.”

Love. You… you loved him, didn’t you? Even after everything he’d done while he was an active criminal – you’d somehow grown to love him, while most of the world hated him.

He didn’t necessarily think he was deserving of your love, but hell if he was ever going to point that out to you. He’d almost been tempted to ask you if you were a little bit crazy yourself, but you’d even told him when you had first met that he’d have to find that out for himself.

Maybe you were – just a little bit – but that suited him fine.

A normal girl would never have been able to handle him anyways.

He’d allowed you to help him out of his clothes then, and to your credit, you hadn’t batted an eye at the less than perfect skin covering his body. He may not have been held together by surgical staples anymore, and his body may not have been a mess of burnt patchwork skin like it used to be, but the new skin grafts were raised and patchy – never fully settling properly. It wasn’t often that he got self-conscience about how he looked, but you were different.

You had run your hands up and down the length of his body and marveled him like he was some work of art. He didn’t think he was, but you clearly saw him differently. You’d kissed his marred skin, and if he’d been able to cry, he would have.

You had pulled him down onto your bed and climbed on top of him, much to his surprise. He’d tried to prop himself up, only for you to gently push him back down onto your mattress, giving him a knowing smile all the while.

“Let me take care of you.” You’d whispered to him softly. “We’ll go slow. Gentle. It’s just me and you now.”

It wasn’t like he’d never fucked someone before, but it had been a while, and it was just that: he’d fucked, never loved. He wasn’t sure if he knew any other way when it came to sex, but he knew that he didn’t want to be rough with you like he’d been with his past flings, and so he had relinquished control to you.

He had allowed himself to relax into the mattress as you’d hovered above him, lining him up with your entrance. He was already painfully hard, his body reacting to yours as soon as he’d kissed you. You’d bent down to kiss his throat, relishing how he’d let out a shuddering breath as you’d sunk down onto him. He’d cursed as your tight heat had enveloped him, leaving him boneless and shaking.

He’d brought your face down to his to kiss you as you started moving, moaning as you slowly moved up and down on his shaft. You’d knocked the breath out of his lungs as you whimpered against his lips, still moving your hips against his own.

“Shit.” He’d growled as he’d reached up to wrap an arm around your hips. “Fuck baby. You feel so good. You’re so good for me.”

“You feel so good.” You’d sobbed. “I want you – want to make you feel good.”

“You do. Fuck you do. I want you. I need you.” He’d grunted as he planted his feet into your bed, pistoning his hips up into your body.

“Fuck.” You’d cried out, as you continued to bounce on his cock. “Touya!”

“I’m here. Fuck I’m here, with you. I love you.”

He’d remembered your eyes blowing wide at his confession, just before your body had stiffened up, and your mouth had opened up into a silent scream, as your orgasm had ripped through you – your end triggering his own.

You’d both stayed there for a moment, trying to regain your breath, before you’d slowly separated yourself from him. He hadn’t let you go far – pulling you down to lay beside him, and wrapping himself around you as you nestled into the broad expanse of his chest.

“Stay.” He had rasped as he held you close to him, curling around your smaller frame protectively. He’d known what he was saying was nonsensical – he was in your apartment, you weren’t going anywhere, not really – but thankfully, you seemed to understand what he was trying to say without him outright telling you. “Don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere Touya.” You’d breathed, placing a kiss on the side of his temple. “You’re home now. With me.”

That simple sentence had brought him more comfort than he’d experienced in recent memory. He’d passed out sometime after with you still nude and curled into him, sharing in his warmth.

That had been the best sleep he’d had in years.

After that, he’d fallen into a steady routine of normalcy with you. You’d go to work, while he’d keep himself entertained during the day. Normally, he’d open up the windows in your living room and perch himself on the couch near them, soaking up the feeling of gentle sunbeams on his face, and watching the outside world go by as he waited for you to return later in the evening. You had set up therapy appointments for him every Thursday, and either you or Shoto would take him depending on your schedules. Life settled down, and the outside world continued on around him, even though his world now consisted of your apartment and what he could see outside from your windows.

It wasn’t a coincidence that three pro heroes moved into the building roughly a month after he had moved the last of his menial things into your apartment.

He couldn’t say that he was surprised by the less then subtle way the newly reformed hero commission chose to keep an annoyingly close watch on him, but he was still allowed some freedoms with you, so he figured he could keep his jabs to himself for the time being. 

All and all, life with you was simple easy. For the first time in his life, he could say he was appreciating the little things he never could’ve before his life had turned into a living hell.

For the first time in a very long time, he had hope – something he’d never allowed himself to have before, because what had been the point? He had fully planned on taking himself out in the final fight against Endeavor… but life was strange, and it turned out that it had different plans for him.

While he couldn’t be sure what those plans were yet, they had brought you to him, and that was enough.

He had you, and in the end, that’s all that really mattered—

-----

The sound of one of his skin care products hitting the floor snaps him out of his reprieve. He blinks, and once again, he is standing in your bathroom with the sink running, halfway through the skin maintenance routine that you forced on him once he came to live with you. 

He swears under his breath as he bends down to retrieve the plastic tube with his right arm, only to freeze as he suddenly remembers:

His right arm is gone. He tore it clean off in the brawl against his dad.

He finds it surprising how often he forgets he doesn’t have both his hands anymore. Half the time he swears that his right arm is still intact because he can feel the damn thing, only to look down and see it’s still gone from mid bicep down. You once called it a ‘phantom limb’ and he thinks you might be onto something with how often he’ll go to do something with his right, only to remind himself the arm doesn’t exist anymore.

It doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. Natsuo had offered to set him up an appointment to get him fitted for a prosthetic, but he hadn’t made up his mind on it yet – finding most things pretty manageable even with the lack of his right arm – but he does have days where he wishes he had all of his limbs, and there are certain tasks were having two hands would be more useful than one.

His extensive skin care routine is one of those tasks.

Hilariously, it was one of the conditions of him coming to stay with you initially: for the first time in his life, he was being forced to look after himself.

He had protested initially when you had come back home one day with a plethora of different specialty products for sensitive skin – not seeing the point – but you had insisted that he use them to take care of the newer skin grafts, telling him that if he wanted to continue to stay with you, he’d have to start properly taking care of himself, or you would do it for him.

He had begrudgingly accepted, and he gradually incorporated it into his daily routine. Realistically, he knew he didn’t have much to complain about: he didn’t have many responsibilities as it was, and you had promised him if he kept up with it, you wouldn’t tell his parole officer that you weren’t forcing him take his quirk suppressor medication – one of the conditions of his release.

He grins inwardly to himself as he turns the sink off and pats his face dry. You hadn’t seen the need to enforce that particular rule, seeing how you were quite confident he wasn’t going to burn down your apartment building, and he didn’t have any plans to – lest he be forced to return back to his mother’s home.

Besides, after spending over a year feeling unnaturally cold without his quirk, he was in no rush to return to the weak, powerless state the psychiatric ward had left him in. Even if he couldn’t use his quirk to it’s full, destructive potential like he used to, just knowing that he still had use of his quirk intact was a comfort to him.

He makes his way out of the bathroom, flicking the light off behind him and, pads over to his side of your shared closet, stripping out of his sleep clothes and pulling on a loose shirt and baggy sweats, before heading out into the small living room.

If his younger self could see how he lives now, he’s sure he would’ve turned his nose up in disgust before calling him a sell-out, and a gnarled part of him still thinks that to some level, however; when he thinks back to how he used to live on the streets for close to a decade, he’ll take the easy, comfy life-style you allow him to live in your home in a heart-beat.

He used to wonder about where he would get his next meal – now his biggest inconvenience is that he’s bored whenever you’re not at home. How the times change.

He turns on the T.V. and sets it to a low volume as he moves into the kitchen and opens the fridge, pulling out a few miscellaneous items and setting them on the counter, before getting to work on prepping the food.

He doesn’t eat much, even now his metabolism is still messed up from the years of cumulative damage his body sustained, but he found himself making food for you when he first moved into your apartment as a way to keep himself occupied while you were at work. Most of his cooking attempts consist of cup noodles, and whatever else was easy to make, but every once in a while, he’d put a bit more effort into what he made, so long as you had the ingredients for it.

He curses to himself as he painstakingly prepares an easy meal of miso soup and yaki, his lack of a right arm slowing down his progress. Eventually he finishes his meal prep and puts his creation away as he waits for you to come home, moving to his usual spot by the window on your living room couch, before sitting down and indulging in some mindless reality T.V. show.

He watches the show absentmindedly, barely paying attention to what’s playing on the screen as he basks in the warm sunlight streaming in from outside. He glances over to his left to see his reflection staring back at him from a hanging mirror across the room, and has to fight the urge to flinch at what’s staring back at him.

Even after all of the love and tenderness you allowed him to experience while living with you, he still looked rough, and there were days where he felt it more than others. He may not have been able to feel pain in the normal sense, but his body aches constantly and there are additional issues he deals with daily. 

He’s painfully aware that he probably doesn’t have a lot of time on the earth. He’s in his late twenties, too damn early to be faced with his own mortality, but he knows there’s no use in trying to dance around the subject. With his body being what it is, he’d be surprised if he made it to fifty, but he knows better than to voice that out loud. The one-time he had confessed his inner thoughts to you, you had damn near burst into tears, and he found that he couldn’t stand to see you like that, so he keeps his morbid thoughts to himself.

The sound of the apartment door opening snaps him out of his depressing reprieve. He looks up, only to see you closing the door to the apartment, hanging your keys up and kicking your shoes off.  He gets up off the couch and pads over to you, greeting you with a little smile.

“You’re home early.”

You turn around to face him, smiling. “Yeah, I finished early today. Figured I’d come back and see what you were up to.”

He snorts as he takes your bag from you, setting it down on the small bench you had set up near your front door. “Not much, you know that. S’not like I can leave the building without you or Shoto escorting me.”

You roll your eyes, gracing him with a teasing smile. “How is he anyways? You talked to your family at all recently?”

He shrugs. “Not really. You know my phone usage is heavily monitored anyways.”

“I told them that – your mom reached out to me recently – she was hoping to meet up with you for lunch soon, and she hadn’t heard from you in a bit.”

“Ah. I don’t look at my phone very often. Tell her that I’m down. I’ll reach out at some point.” He nods towards the kitchen. “I made dinner.”

You beam at him. “You didn’t have to do that.” You lean in to press a kiss to the rough skin of his cheek, and he feels his heart speed up in his chest. Even though the physical affection you gave him isn’t anything new, it’s still amazing how much of an effect you had on him.

The fire that he keeps buried in his chest flares to life as you turned away from him briefly, but he doesn’t let you go far. He snakes an arm around your middle, pulling you back to him, causing you to look up at him.

“I’ve missed you.” He mumbles quietly into your hair. You simply wrap your arms around his torso and snuggle into his chest.

“Missed you too.” You tell him quietly. He swallowed thickly, as he allowed his hand to splay further down your back.

“I really missed you; I mean.”

You smile up at him gently, wiggling your eyebrows. “Did you now?”

“Mmmm.”

His hummed response causes your grin to grow wider. “Wanna show me?”

He doesn’t humor you with a response – instead opting to take you by the hand and lead you towards your shared bedroom with teasing grin of his own. He allows you to kick the door closed behind you, before dipping down to bite on the skin of your neck, causing a giggle to escape your lips as his hands wander up and down your frame.

“Off.” He grunts, tugging on your clothes. You smirk at his demand, pulling at the hairs at the nape of his neck to get him to look at you.

“I think you could ask me a bit nicer, right?”

He rolls his eyes at you. “Please.”

“That’s better.” You smile sweetly at him, separating yourself from him long enough to shimmy out of your pants and strip out of your shirt, leaving you in your bra and panties before him.

He kisses the back of his teeth as he closes the distance between you, wrapping a muscular arm around you as he captures your lips with his rough ones. He feels you sigh into the kiss as you wrap your arms around his neck.

It wasn’t often that he initiated physical contact like this – he not shy by any means, but he’s not used to having such close relations with another person. He’d been a loner for such a long time after escaping the hospital, and any physical contact he somehow managed to receive from woman he’d met in sketchy bars during those miserable years had never been meaningful or fulfilling. He wasn’t used to being wanted.

But you wanted him, and you weren’t shy about letting him know just that.

He had no problems letting you remind him of the latter.

He feels your hands travel down from around his neck to the bottom of his shirt, tugging on it. “Off please.” You murmur against his lips, and he separates from you long enough to yank his shirt off, before coming back to embrace your soft body with his own hot one.

He presses you back against the bed, gently pushing you down to lay on the mattress as he hovered above you. He dips back down to seal his lips with yours, as he feels your fingertips trail down the rough skin of his stomach until they reached the waistband of his sweats. He smirks as he feels you undo the drawstrings and push them down his slender hips, pushing them down low enough for his cock to spring free.

“Seems like you’re just as eager as me.” He sniggers as he sits up long enough to shuck them off, giving you a moment to unhook your bra and toss it across the room.

You don’t humor him with a response as you sit up to stroke his cock, causing him to hiss as your fingers wrap around his shaft. He lets you have your way for a moment before gently pushing you back down onto the mattress, causing you to look up at him quizzically as he shakes his head.

“Not today babe, let me do the work.”

He feels his heart pound in his ribcage, as a look of realization passes over your pretty features. A smile pulls at your lips as you open your arms and beckons him down to you, which he eagerly accepts. He nips and kisses the skin of your neck as he makes quick work of your panties, causing you to moan softly as he runs his fingers up the length of your dripping slit.

“God.” He groans as he attacks your lips again. “So, fucking wet for me. You want me, right?”

“Yes Touya.” You breathe against his lips, allowing your fingers to trace patterns into the scarred expanse of his back. “Always. Always you.”

He feels his destroyed tear ducts sting slightly at the sincerity of your confession. Even though you’ve assured him you only want him countless times before, it was something he never quite got used to hearing.

The entirety of his life before you was spent in fire and hardship. Kindness was something foreign to him, and being allowed to be vulnerable with another person was something he never even considered. He never thought he’d live long enough to be able to do so regardless – accepting that he destined to spend what was left of his life alone – and so the thought had never crossed his mind.

But he wasn’t alone. Not anymore. Not since you had unexpectedly come into his life.

He had you. Body, mind and soul, he belonged to you. He knew there was no way he would ever have the words to tell you that, so he hoped that he could convey his message clearly enough by showing you just how much you meant to him.

He taps your leg, getting you to wrap your legs around his lean waist, as he lines himself up with your opening. You thread your fingers through his soft white spikes as he slowly begins to push himself into your pussy, causing you to whimper as he begins to stretch your walls out.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He growls as he bullies his way into your tight heat. “You’re perfect for me. Just you – you’re the only one I want.”

“Me too.” You gasp as you dig your nails into his shoulder to ground yourself. “I’m so glad I got to meet you. S-so glad you’re here with me—”

Your eyes open impossibly, as he suddenly snaps his hips forward and drives himself home deep inside your walls, causing you both to moan. He barely gives you any time to recover before he starts moving. He fists his hand in the sheets beside your head as he focuses his energy into keeping his thrusts deep and strong, just how he knows you like it.

He grins down at you almost sadistically, watching as your eyes roll back from the force of his thrusts. “S’matter? Don’t tell me you’re giving up already?”

“N-no.” you moan as he gives you a particularly hard thrust. “I just—oh, fuck!” you wail as you feel him hit a practically sensitive spot inside you, causing him to grin wickedly.

“Eyes on me gorgeous.”

“You’re mean.” You huff, but center your attention on him regardless, causing him to chuckle, and reward you with another harsh thrust.

“I know.” He practically purrs as he shifts his weight to his knees. He grabs the meat of your hip, and starts pounding you harder than before, making you keen and fist your hands into the sheets as his pelvis brushes up against your clit deliciously.

“Fuck, Touya! I’m gonna—I’m gonna cum!” you cry out, warning him of your impending release, but it only makes him double down and fuck you harder, determined to see you climax before him.

“Yeah? Well, go ahead sweetheart: come on this cock. C’mon, c’mon; I know you’re going to, I can feel you squeezing me just right, so do it. Let go for me pretty girl, just let go.”

He feels your walls convulse around him and your back arches slightly off the bed as you climax with a desperate cry at his words. The sight of you coming undone beneath him is so hot it does him in a few strokes later, spilling deep inside your walls with a feral growl of his own.

You both stay like that for a few minutes, fighting to catch your breaths, before you unlock your legs from around his waist, allowing him to pull out of you. He pulls back to grin at the combination of your fluids that leak out from in between your legs, and you roll your eyes. He makes a move to the bathroom to grab you a towel, only for you to shake your head.

“Later.” You murmur, as you pat the spot on the bed next to you. “Come lie with me for a few minutes.”

He laughs quietly at your antics, but obliges your request, and climbs over you to collapse into the vacant space on the bed next to you, and you don’t hesitate to move over to him. 

“God, you can be relentless sometimes.” You pant as you curl up into his side. He simply snorts at your assessment as he drapes his arm around you protectively.

“Maybe. I am a villain after all sweetheart.”

“You were.” You manage to grumble as you make yourself comfortable, eventually settling on resting your head on his chest so you can hear his heartbeat. “You’re not now.”

“Yeah, well. Attitude never changed. Surprised you put up with me for as long as you did.”

“You weren’t so bad.” You murmur softly, tracing shapes into the rough skin of his stomach. “If I thought you were, I wouldn’t have come back after we first met.”

“Why did you come back after the first time anyways? I can’t remember if you ever told me.” He suddenly raises his head so he’s looking at you. You meet his blazing turquoise irises with a calm gaze of your own and wink at him teasingly.

“I’m crazy remember?”

“Must be, if you came to see one of Japan’s most wanted almost every day for damn near two years straight. But seriously, why?”

You’re quiet for a moment before you answer him. When you do, you shift your head slightly on his chest so you can see his face better.

“I suppose it’s because all your rage… all your anger towards the injustice of everything you’d gone through up until that point… it reminded me of myself, in a way.” You admit softly, causing him to quirk a snowy brow at your confession.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about all the things you said on your initial broadcast—" you continue on before he can ask. “—like how there were a lot of shitty things about hero society you weren’t wrong about. Honestly, for a long time there, I felt just as pissed off with some of those so-called “Pro’s” as you. Some of them were only doing it for the money and fame, you could tell.” You exhale through your nose.

“But, on the other hand, there were so many good things happening to change those problems that you didn’t see because you were on the outsider.” You fall silent for a moment before adding:

“You just seemed so hurt, so raw with everything you were saying. I told myself there and then, if I ever got the opportunity to meet you, I’d show you not everything is as bad as it seemed. Never thought I’d get the chance honestly, and yet, one day, the opportunity to meet you face to face practically dropped into my lap. How could I not take the offer?”

“Was I what you’d thought I’d be?” he finds himself asking you, not completely sure if he wants to know the answer. You simply send him one of your glowing smiles that sends tingles down to his stomach.

“No, you were better.”

He snorts, shifting his arm so he’s tracing his warm fingertips up and down your nude body. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m serious. Even now, you’re doing so much better with handling everything then I thought you would. You’re resilient, and you adapt when you need to, but you’ve definitely changed… in a good way. You’re not as hateful anymore… you’re calmer, more accepting.”

“Yeah well, the shrinks have you to thank for that. Far as I’m concerned, they don’t do anything. I just see them so I can stay with you.” He grumbles, prompting you to giggle, before shifting you so you’re lying on your sides, facing each other.

He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, inwardly softening as he watches you lean into his warm touch, before dropping his hand back down in between your bodies.

“I know I’m not very good at these sorts of things, but… you know I love you, right?”

He’s hopeful that you understand. He doesn’t say it often to you, and he knows he probably should, but even after all the time he’s spent with you, that involves you showing him what a healthy relationship looks like, it’s still not an easy thing for him to say. Hell, he has a hard enough time saying it to his own mother, let alone anyone else.

He’ll probably always have a difficult time admitting it. Love is an emotion he’s never had a good understanding of, seeing how it was so sked for him a s a child. Even now, the concept is a foreign one for him to understand, but thankfully, you seem to be more aware of this than anyone else.

You find his hand with one of your own and lace your fingers together, squeezing it tightly.

“I know Touya. I’ve always known.”

FIN

#dabi #touya todoroki #dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #touya x reader #touya x y/n #touya x you #post war!au #mha x reader #bnha x reader #dabi x reader smut #touya todoroki x reader smut #tw: mental health #see a03 for more detailed tags

[usedpidemo]

And scene ((G)I-dle Minnie)

“Oh my God.”

No other words could adequately describe what happened to you. It was everything but a blur, things that could easily form into lifelong traumas. Almost everything you went through over the past few days might as well be taken straight out of a movie.

So where do you start?

An encounter with the local mafia that results in your fingers almost getting cut off, rescuing a Thai princess whose father was in cahoots with said criminal organization—the reason why she’s being held hostage as leverage—then escaping with her in a car and being pursued across the country by a helicopter and countless vehicles sent by the syndicate. 

You should really be dead by now. Four times over. 

Countless bruises, and wounds from bullets, blades, and everything that is designed to kill a man—any of these alone would be enough to permanently break any person, and you’re no athlete or assassin; you’re just a regular guy on what you thought was a promising vacation. It’s a miracle that you’re still breathing, more so standing, running on your feet towards the car you’ve taken refuge in, now on its roof and in flames.

Forget about the millions you’ve also stolen from the mafia; you’re thankful to be alive.

Unfortunately, your miraculous plot armor doesn’t seem to have passed on to the princess. At a glance, she appears to have only minor cuts and bruises like yours, but she’s laying on the tarmac, completely unconscious and unresponsive.

“Princess! Princess!” You shout, turn her face up and slap her cheek, checking for any signs of life. Blood trickles down her dirty face from her forehead, her lips, and her nose. You lean against her chest and press a thumb on her wrist, desperately seeking for a pulse. 

Not a single response, not a single sign. She’s as good as dead. 

Though you barely knew the woman, in the quiet moments when you weren’t dreading your surroundings, you grew feelings for her. Her beauty was befitting of her royal title, and despite her nobility, she never really thought much of it other than a personal burden. She only wanted to live a normal life, and you sympathized with her plight, even though you were merely a tourist passing through, unfamiliar with her customs and culture.

She didn’t deserve to die because of other people’s stupidity and recklessness, including yours.

You couldn’t bear to leave her alone. The survivor’s guilt hurts you more than anything that could have physically killed you. Sure, her family might not hold you responsible for their daughter’s death, but considering you ran off with her and traveled the entire country to find a safe haven, you might as well be an accomplice in their eyes. If not them, the media will.

You wanted to be by her side for as long as you could, praying for a miracle, but your instincts tell you to keep moving, to keep fighting.

You haven’t eaten anything for two days, and there’s nothing nearby that remotely resembles human civilization for miles. The sun has begun setting down, and soon enough, you’ll be prey to ferocious animals and the ruthless cold night. Despite this, you still have no intention to leave her. You’re just hoping the rescue promised by the national defense reaches you before it’s too late.

Just then, before you get up, you feel a tug on your arm. You turn and find the princess’ hand clinging to yours. She’s extremely weak, barely able to open her eyes, but she’s alive. Her little smile is more than enough of a reassurance that everything is going to be fine.

As much as you want to scream with joy, you’re far too overwhelmed with emotion, and all you can do is cry. Leaning close to her, you plant a gentle kiss on her chin and put her in a tight embrace.

“You’re—you’re—”

“Yeah,” she says, very faintly. She tries to widen her smile, but can’t. She doesn’t have to; she’s already done more than enough. “I’ll be okay.”

Right then and there, you give her a kiss you’ve been holding on for so long, all the pent-up feelings poured into your lips. A smooch so powerful, it can restore her life. A true love’s kiss, you could say. With the little strength she has, the princess gives in, reciprocating your love in kind, parting her lips. Both of you feel each other’s warmth with the setting sun shining down on you.

It couldn’t have been a more hopeful ending.

—————

“And cut!” A man’s rough voice echoes from the distance. That man isn’t really there, but he’s actually there, deliberating the action, fabricating everything up.

See, there was never any rescue, there was no criminal organization, and there was no damsel in distress. You were never really in danger all along.

You’re not really on vacation. You’ve been tirelessly working, in fact, in the confines of a film studio disguised as your ‘vacation.’  The princess you’ve been falling for is merely a co-worker, a colleague. It’s nothing but superficial chemistry to add some authenticity to an otherwise absurd but generic action movie plot. 

You draw your lips away from the kiss, unknowingly keeping up the act with a light smile and blush on the ‘princess.’ She mirrors your sentiment, flashes a light grin back. Whether or not there’s some realism between you is up to the viewer, but at the very least the camera makes you two look believable. You can’t edit or animate chemistry like that.

“Great job everyone! That’s a wrap!” says the director, pulling up from his seat to laud you and gesturing to the other staff to stand in front of the cameras. Today’s the last day of filming for your next film, an action-comedy romance thriller with you as the lead. It’s a lot to take in at first, knowing that this is your first principal part in a high budget film after a string of acclaimed indies and even generating some awards buzz along the way, but you knew you had to take the jump and get your name out there beyond a niche of Letterboxd and Twitter film geeks.

As for your co-star, Kim Minnie, she couldn’t have had a more different career trajectory than yours. She was a child actress who’s path to box office stardom couldn’t be any straighter, but her momentum stagnated with a series of commercial and critically panned mid-budget romcoms. She needed a brand reinvention more than ever, and this was her first move in getting her star back on the rise. 

As promising of a script as it looked, and even with a respectable director and crew handling, nothing is guaranteed for both of you. There’s so many ways the final product can end up: a critical and commercial success, an absolute disaster, a middling picture that will be completely forgotten after opening weekend, a cult classic that will only blossom years—decades even—after the initial release; the list goes on and on. 

At least the bag is guaranteed. The studio threw you millions to star in their blockbuster, even when you have no prior hit or prestigious award to your name. Either a sign of the studio seeing star potential or a big red flag, casting an unknown, and knowing who was supposed to be in their initial casting before you stepped in, it’s safer to assume the latter. Either way, you’re getting paid, and you always have the indie circuit to fall back on, should the worst come to pass.

After a set of group photographs for the behind-the-scenes reel, it’s time for you to move past this project and onto the next one. You don’t really think much of the experience, apart from the overall kindness of the staff and professionalism of your co-stars, some of which you’ll likely work with again, and others you’ll never see again after today. Of course, there’s the press tour, but you’ll cross that bridge when you get there.

—————

It isn’t until the next hour that you’re finally able to drop the act and become yourself again. Alone in your designated waiting room, having cleaned up your rather uncomfortable makeup and in your casual wear, you hear a knock on the door right as you’re preparing to leave. Putting on your shirt, you walk up and open it to a staff member with a box in her hand.

“Miss Kim sent me to give this to you,” says the assistant, holding out the wrapped gift in front of you, which you gladly accept.

“Thanks!” you say, enthused, smiling back at the crew member. “Tell her I sent my regards.”

“Of course, she’d be delighted to hear that. See you!” She replies before quickly turning away as you close the door.

You immediately unwrap and peel off the box that Minnie gave you, presumably a farewell gift, knowing that this was your last day together. You heard rumors of her kindness toward the staff and fellow co-stars in the past, and this confirms her great reputation as a giver and substantiates practically every story and excerpt. 

So you open the box and find a new expensive watch inside, completely untouched with a tiny note attached to it.

> To my knight in shining armor

> Love, Kim Minnie

You don’t realize it, but as you finish reading the brief letter, you’re smiling widely, giddy like a child growing feelings toward their school crush. Perhaps there is a little more authenticity in the role than you initially brought, and a little more relatability with your character, falling in love with a princess like her. 

Reality then hits hard. You’ll likely never see her again, as much as you want to do more films with her. She has a different preference in projects compared to yours, and your career trajectories couldn’t be any more different. Of course, that can easily change over time, and one day she chooses to become an indie darling like you, the same way you built up your name in the first place, but that’s as likely as a sequel to this picture getting greenlit. 

Nevertheless, you were now motivated to see her one last time before leaving it all behind for good. 

So you make your way to Minnie’s personal dressing room to knock. The door doesn’t open, neither does any sound echo from the inside. She probably left already, you assume, but the lights are still on in there after noticing the floor. You try again, yet the response remains the same: there isn’t any. There’s still staff roaming the halls doing cleanup, so you can’t make your presence obvious by shouting her name.

After about five minutes, you contemplate leaving, but decide to wait a little more. Eventually, you notice that her door appears to be unlocked. She’s still there; there’s hope. Out of morbid curiosity, you decide to take a peek. Quiet as a mouse, you gently turn the knob without generating a sound, only to find something blinding.

When you peek your eyes inside, you find Minnie shuffling back and forth—naked. It takes every muscle and nerve in your body not to slam that door shut and make your presence known. Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, you close the door. Thankfully, the staff nearby seem to have completed their jobs or conveniently decided to clean elsewhere; you choose to believe in the latter.

Your better judgment tells you to walk away now, that you can still get some closure later on. There’s still the press tour for you to meet her again, and you can always choose projects that also happen to include her. No need for you to get involved in an unnecessary scandal just because.

Despite that, you knew you wanted to see her again, just not like this. But after seeing a tiny glimpse, you had no intention to leave so soon. You wanted more.

So you quietly re-enter her room, your eyes peeking out to watch her dress, and it’s the sexiest thing your eyes ever laid upon. She’s no longer completely nude, having put on some panties since then, but you capture countless mental pictures of her sizable, shapely breasts before she puts on a lace bra. Her previously long blonde locks having turned raven, the former being a cover for her actual hair, flows down to her shoulders with a brush of her hand. Either way, she rocks both colors flawlessly. She radiates star power and charisma naturally on top of her charming, seductive face and well-toned body, and you wonder how her career would have turned out had she played more femme fatale characters. 

Her body was perfectly designed for them. In fact, everything about her was made for them.

Even when she’s doing nothing, pacing back and forth half-nude without a care in the world, she makes it look like the hottest thing ever. None of your previous co-stars made you feel this way, enamored and smitten with every little move like they’re deliberate and purposeful. If her goal was to seduce you, she certainly perfected it.

You’re so into her, indulging in the sight of Kim Minnie dressing up for you like your own private little show, that you’re left unaware of your body’s deeper intentions, pushing you a little further past that door, bargaining for more, until—

Thud!

With a sudden, echoed yelp, you throw yourself from the safety of heaven and into the fire. 

You crash into her dressing room, your cry echoing across the studio. No harness or body double can break your fall or save you now.

“Hey!” Minnie’s barely finished putting on her shirt when she rushes over to you, worried. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah. I’m good,” you say, grunting as you pick yourself off the ground, brushing off the dust off your clothes.

“Are you sure?” She softly brushes your hair, tilting your chin up so that your eyes meet, hers accompanied with a concerned frown. “What happened?”

“I—I came over to, um—say thanks for the gift watch.” you reply, nervous, uncertain of your chosen words. It’s a miracle enough that you’ve found a reasonable excuse as to why you’re even there to begin with.

“Ah yeah! Manager-nim sent me your regards, but it’s much nicer to hear it coming from your own voice. It’s been great filming with you.”

“Of course,” you say, grinning. “Same goes with you, too.”

Minnie draws her hands away from your face. “Yeah, I hope we can find a way to share the screen together again.” 

“Me too.” you reply, nodding in agreement, unable to avert your gaze from hers.

As soon as you stop talking, awkward silence fills the room almost instantaneously. Minnie’s nervous smile remains constant, anticipating a follow up like there’s another half to make it whole. She’s right in that you do have a few more things to admit, but as the saying goes: some things are better left unsaid.

Considering how you fawned over her minutes ago, this seems like the best option moving forward. Keep it all business. You know how this industry works, how these moments go, how one small move leads to another, and the ending is usually not a good one, even if the consequences aren’t immediate. In a line that takes promising careers and shreds them to nothing, you know better than to fall into the system. She likely knows, too.

“I’ll—” you turn around, pausing to glance back at her. This isn’t you, nervous and tense like it’s your first day on the job. “—be on my way now.”

She gives you a modest wave goodbye as you take a few steps forward, the door to your freedom inches away.

Then you stop. 

You don’t end up getting your freedom. You don’t really want it. In fact, you toss it aside, a mere afterthought. Against your better judgment, you’re going off script, and there’s no external voice commanding you to stop, and you have no intention to. Impulse brought you to this point, and you were about to reap the full benefits. It’s a high, not a low.

“Minnie.” You turn around towards her with eyes full of lust, and her name dripping from your lips like your personal serotonin. She raises a curious eyebrow, puzzled. 

“Hm? Something up? Why are you looking at me like that?”

She doesn’t look fazed when you start walking back toward her. It’s like she knows you have some unfinished business.

A soft peck on the lip. It isn’t practice for a future kiss scene; the kiss only happened at the very end, and in some twisted way, the script wrote itself.

“I think you’re really pretty.” Quickly retreating, you make it so obvious how head over heels you are for her—flushed cheeks, childish grin, and stilted body language. All that’s missing is some cheesy modern pop music or some overused slow 80s classic in the background. 

“I—I—”

“Yeah.” Your eyes are pleading, begging. “I kinda fell for you—no, I completely fell for you.”

She covers her lips with her hands, utterly in disbelief. Her cheeks are burning just as bright as yours. “Oh my.”

“Um, well you’re beautiful, and really kind, and—” You had many things to say to Minnie, most of which previously echoed by others, and there’s no substance behind them, apart from maybe the first point, and they’re not what you really want to confess. 

“Yeah, this isn’t gonna work.” She sees through the facade, but your awkwardness is genuine. Mostly. “It was cute though, I’ll give you that.”

“W-what do you mean?” Your eyes widen at the sudden twist.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but I know that’s not what you wanted to say.” Her shy expressions are replaced by a confident, piercing smirk, her arms crossed close to her chest. “You think I’m hot, don’t you?”

“Yeah, no—actually yeah, I think you’re really hot,” you say, waving the white flag almost immediately. It was so obvious from the jump. One of the few times your ‘acting’ failed you. 

“And?” Minnie raises an eyebrow, confidently expecting an answer. Her presence is so striking, it swallows up whatever remaining confidence you had left. There’s really nowhere to hide or run.

“Well, I hope you wouldn’t be upset, but—” Gulp your throat. “I quietly peeked through the door as you dressed.”

“Knew it.” Minnie shakes her head, quietly giggling at points. “I knew something was up when the door was slightly opened.”

“Yeah, but—I’m really sorry! I really wanted to say thanks first! I didn’t mean to peek through the door on purpose.”

“Yeah, because you accidentally peeked through my door? Sure, I believe you.” she replies, mockingly. 

“Okay, but I couldn’t help it. You weren’t answering.” you say, tone deflated. 

“You couldn’t have waited a bit longer?” she lifts an eyebrow, gives you a wary glare. “Fucking pervert. You’re no better than the rest of them.”

“Five minutes is a long time.” you quietly mumble, pulling out the last of your pathetic excuses, but she’s clearly caught you red-handed.

“Yeah, fuck you. Only sorry cause you’re caught.” Her eyes sharpen and she shakes her head. “Fine. You should be happy I’m in quite a good mood today, so leave. I’ll pretend this never happened, but I don’t want to see your face ever again.”

You’re visibly distraught. You have no intention to walk, not when there’s a lot at stake, and who knows what she’s going to do afterward. Hell, even as early as tomorrow, your career may no longer exist.

“Minnie,” You say, gently, eyes having gone from wanting to pleading. She turns to you with a fierce glare, as if the mention of her name desecrates her entire being. A stare so piercing you impulsively look the other way. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Hm.” She scans your face. Soft, helpless, vulnerable. “And how will you do that?”

You take a deep breath, swallow hard. “Anything. Please don’t get me in trouble. No one else has to get involved.”

She pouts, runs the offer meticulously through her head, having all the leverage in this proposal. The negotiations delay to make sure all her terms are agreed upon. Footstep clatters echo from outside the room, but not a soul is aware or even tries to interfere with your little affair. 

“Okay, you say anything?” she asks, facing you, expression still cold.

You nod, still trembling.

“I only want one thing, then.” Minnie approaches you, each step of her heel a death bell being rung. Her eyes gaze at you, demanding your attention belong to her and her alone—and there were plenty of different parts about her that grabbed them. “You said you think I’m hot, right? Good news, I felt the same way about you—that was, until you pulled that little stunt, pervert.”

She says the last word like it’s a curse on your clean record, a reminder that will cling to you till you’re buried six feet under. 

Keeping her eyes locked on yours, she walks around you until a sofa is conveniently right behind her. She then walks backwards, her hand motioning you to follow her, to which you reluctantly oblige. Inches away from the couch, she stops you right in your tracks, rubs her palms down your shirt, sizing you up.

“You’re a good kisser, I’ll give you that,” she says, her modulated, assertive tone reduced to a faint whisper. “But I wanna know if you’re good at love scenes too.”

Despite your stature, you’ve never shot a sex scene. At best, it’s you and your on-screen partner making out before the camera pans out of view, leaving the rest for the viewer’s imagination. Now you have to do the real thing completely uncut.

There’s a huge price to fame, after all.

Minnie lifts her white crop over her head, granting you a much closer view of her cleavage. She tosses it aside before facing you again. Arousing of a sight it looks, you’re anxious. “Take your shirt off.”

You follow, your sweater joining hers on the opposite end of the room to be forgotten. She scans you again, your bare, well-built chest completely exposed to her, now completely clean of fake scratches and wounds. 

“Fuck, this is nice,” she comments, palming your chest. This isn’t the first time she’s seen you shirtless, but it’s in a completely different setting and context. “I wish we could have done this sooner. Oh well. Better now than never, I guess.”

Minnie plants a soft peck on your bicep, then on another, until she’s marked all your core points with her strawberry flavored lipstick. She nudges you a tiny bit closer to her, enough that you can feel your groin tense up against the hint of her heat. 

“Yeah, that’s it. You feel so hard for me. You want to fuck me so bad, don’t you?” Minnie wraps her arms over your neck, explores your back and squeezes flesh to claim. Her seductive teasing reaffirms your true intentions, even though you’re never going to openly admit them. At some point, you wonder as to what her definition of punishment means, but you brush the thought aside, especially when your blood rushes down from your head to your groin. 

She sneakily grabs you by your balls, tightening behind obstructive layers of fabric. Your erection can’t wait to spring free, lest you go home with conspicuously soiled pants. Grabbing a hold of your tent, her infectious lips continue to quietly shatter your eardrums. “I can already imagine this dick fucking my pussy so hard and so fast. Mmm, I bet you can actually make me cum.”

Had it been any other scenario besides this one, you’d have fired back a quip or two. Instead, you remain silent, rendered powerless under her commanding spell, reduced to a weak groaning shell of yourself.

“Too bad that will have to wait,” she suddenly blurts, pushing you away before retreating to the couch. Crossing her legs, she adds, “Let’s do a little trial run. Pleasure me without using your cock, then we might get somewhere. Sounds good?”

You sigh. Whether out of frustration of being blue balled or because of her terms is up for anyone’s interpretation. She lifts her eyebrows, looking at you intensely, smirking, reveling at your visible disappointment. 

“The producers are just down the hall, so unless you want to take it to court,” she comments, teasingly, instigating, sparking a fire in your gut. Footsteps echo, again proving her point. You don’t doubt her for a second, but it stings whenever you hear that stark reminder of your little mistake. You just wanted to get on with the act and move past it immediately.

Her eyes maintain an intense grip on you—smoldering—as you approach her and take her by the waist, watching as you take hold of her jeans and slide them down, pushing her gray panties along as extra baggage. Gracefully, she opts to give you a little mercy by kicking off her flats. Even when she seemingly does nothing, her eyes judge, take note of your serious, rather businesslike demeanor of undressing her. 

Her splayed pussy’s right in your view, but your petty contempt for her makes it less inviting.

“What are you waiting for?” dares Minnie, pointing down at her entrance, eyebrows raised and tauntingly smirking. 

You couldn’t be any more eager to wipe that confident smile off her face. 

Keeping the rule in mind, you hover atop her seat on the couch and drop an arm, burying your hand between her pink lips. Minnie winces as your fingers make first contact with her clit, drawing her heat. She appears visibly shaken, caught unawares by your touch, even when she expected it.

“O-oh, f-fuck—” she whines, shutting an eye, cheeks puffing as she tries to resist, to no avail. Her nails rake into your back, inviting you ever closer, slowly relinquishing control, a perfect time for you to claim as yours. 

The wet and warm sensation scalds, burns on your fingertips. You anticipated her to be wet, but not this soaked. Her pussy drags your digits further down like quicksand—nigh inescapable. Each little slap and touch creates a clap, a few raindrops that signal forthcoming rain. 

Propped only by your other arm resting on her shoulder, you indulge in her wetness, searching for her favorite spot, the gold mine. Her body trembles, slowly but certainly adjusting to your fingers, moans becoming thinner and airy, eyes gradually losing focus on you, absorbed in the pleasure rapidly building within her. Her hips slowly buck and fold, grind against your digits in an attempt to swallow them whole. 

“F-feels so good, f-fuck—” she whines, entangling her arm with yours, almost disrupting the euphoric moment when she drags you onto the couch with her. It’s a blessing in disguise, as you’re able to kick off your shoes and increase the tempo inside her. 

In that moment, she had forgotten her anger, only to be replaced by a renewed feeling of bliss.

Moaning against her temple, lips barely grazing her forehead, you whisper, “You’re so fucking wet, and I haven’t even put this dick in you yet.”

“Fuck off.” Minnie suddenly snaps, tone frantic, her body set alight by need and craving for more. Even with the little fight she displays, she’s clearly on the losing end, delaying the inevitable. It’s all the more clearer when her voice fades, strains with every passing word, and her plea betrays her. “P-please, keep going.”

You slip a second finger, watch as her legs clamp down as her body squirms tighter and tighter beneath her touch. By the way her legs tremble and writhe violently, you swear they’re melting into the couch. She grasps at straws to keep you controlled, to keep your tempo stable, to leave some breathing room, to no avail. Your digits continue to fuck her at an intense pace, to the point where the wet, squelching claps of her cunt echo along with her lewd moans.

“Yes. Need that.” She squirms beneath you, her hands no longer craving you, but on a different goal; she brings them around her back, unhooks her bra for you to toss them aside on her behalf. Afterward, she grabs you by the wrist and leads you directly to her breast, a generous reward for your efforts. 

When you hold her, it’s like rescuing a damsel in distress, saving her from her most wanton of desires by fueling yours. Every little touch, slap, and pinch of her naked body loosens her psyche and drives her wild.. From the most strained cry to the loudest scream, Minnie makes it clear just how amazing you feel to her, and her voice makes the sultriest sounds your ears are blessed to hear.

You can’t help but put such thought into words. 

“God, you have such a sexy voice when you moan,” you whisper, and it’s what appears to break her. 

Minnie lets out an ear-shattering shrill, her body convulsing as the pressure of your fingers finally pushes past a point beyond repair. Her legs lock tighter on your hand, as if they couldn’t be any more imprisoned, but they eventually loosen up and pave the way for her unannounced orgasm. 

She gushes. Like a broken faucet, she doesn’t stop leaking, passionately crying through her vivid climax. It’s a mixture of slick and water that leaves your fingers incapable of leaving her, so you entertain the notion, dragging your digits in and out of her still gushing folds, seeming to make a mark on her cunt. Brushing in and out for a bit, until you settle around the exterior of her clit, you continue to fondle and caress her in your twisted form of aftercare. Even so, her orgasm continues to wash over her and your fingers, spilling onto the mattress you fuck her on.

“Oh God, I can’t stop cumming, oh God—” she whines, gasping for air, mouth agape, her hand grabbing her other breast; her orgasm is gradually dying from a shower to a drizzle.

“Mmm.” You brush your sticky fingers on her belly, playfully nodding in agreement. “Sounds about right.”

Minnie takes a moment to gather herself before she pushes your hand aside—quicker than you hoped. By the way she orgasmed and screamed, you’d think she’d already be down for the count. “I wasn’t ready, you pervert.”

“I was only following the rules,” you respond, lifting your shoulders in a shrug, barely holding on to your confident demeanor, only showing the faintest sign of a smirk.

“Sure, whatever.” Minnie shoots you a stern leer, but it doesn’t faze you in the slightest—not when you know that she’s no better than anyone else. “Now fuck me with that cock and cum fast so we can get this over with.”

You get the pleasantries out quickly, as she wanted. Hopping off the couch, you undo your belt and pants, get your already hard cock free from its denim constraints. She eyes your shaft intently, looking unsatisfied, but you know it’s a facade, a poor acting effort compared to her usual abilities. 

“Sure you want me to cum fast?” you tease, jokingly pointing out her fixated gaze on your cock. “Seems like you want me to give it to you nice and slow.”

“N-no. I was just surprised at how big it is,” she retorts, appearing even more scornful than moments before. She looks up at you, visibly annoyed, before looking down at your raging cock once more, another sign of betrayal. 

“Please. Drop the act, Minnie.” Tilt her up from the chin, gently pushing her back down on the cushion. Surprisingly, there’s no pushback, no reluctance; she allows you to get atop her on the couch. Her eyes look into yours, then scan your chest with want, with need. “Let me fuck you the way you really want. I want it too.”

A flirty smirk forms on her contorted lips. She pulls you to her level by your shoulders, softly nibbling on your earlobe. With a hypnotic whisper, she says, “Fuck me.”

You return the favor, smiling lightly at the open invitation given to you—knowing that her body knows her wants more than she does. Without wasting any more time on needless pleasantries, you slip yourself in, introducing your cock to her welcoming heat. No matter how much you prepared for this, it takes every fiber of your resolve to not crumble immediately in that moment, uttering a sharp hiss as you close the gap between your length and her womb. 

Your unison forms a harmonious groan and curse that fills the room louder than anything before. The powerful wave of pleasure surging through you overrides your senses, leaves you unable to move, keeps your eyes shut, unable to look at the handiwork beneath you. You grip a hand around her breast, elicit another moan from Minnie’s sultry lips, seek a sign you’re doing it right. 

“So fucking tight,” you rasp, slowly fighting her tight, wet cunt from sucking you all in. Her creamy legs narrow the gap, leaving you even more breathless. Still, you manage, by some miracle, to pull yourself out before you plunge right in again.

Words can’t tell how good Minnie feels with you inside her; sexy, erotic mewls that tickle your eardrums are the only proper expression.

Your hands intertwine and find themselves in the only comfortable place they can be in, with each other. Finding nothing but paradise in her heat, you rest your head on the groove of her neck, still overwhelmed to look at her ecstasy-filled face. As you mark down her skin, leave marks that no amount of makeup can hide, you settle into a steady rhythm fucking her. With each thrust her walls clench around your cock, turn it to a canvas of her pleasure with her juices.

The world quiets down for just the two of you, except for the crescendo of moans that leave both your lips and the wet flaps of skin against skin, and that’s all you want to hear right now. There’s no pressure from the outside, no call from a producer or staff telling you to get ready, just the hot action happening between you. 

Minnie’s thighs continue to clench around your hips, put more pressure around you to burn. In retaliation, you put her deeper into the couch, melt her flesh into the leather as you comfortably fuck her at your pace—not too fast, but not too slow. She returns your lovemaking in kind, rolls her hips, and meets you halfway with each thrust. One hand rests on her taut breast, the other on her hips, but hers are connected with yours; either way, you have the actress exactly right where you want her to be. 

“You fuck me so well,” she whines, tone low, lifting her neck up, kicking her thighs, urging more out of you. “Harder. Harder.”

Lifting your figure up, your cock sinks further into her suffocating walls, plunging as deep as you can into her drenched pussy. The deeper you go, the higher your moans reach. Her hot body leaves you so weak, so breathless, that it forces Minnie’s legs to spur your hips on, to keep fucking her just like this.

“Minnie.” Her name is a plea to make the sensation stop or at least slow down, as incredible as she feels around you. Ultimately, it does nothing, and you press on, as if only her body can satiate you.

It’s then that her eyes flutter open, lips still melted and open, still moaning as you pound her. Her chest heaves with each deep breath, while her palms find their way around your chest. She tries to pull you down again, but to no avail. Ultimately, her body goes rigid, trembles violently beneath you as her second orgasm overcomes her and leaves her completely open to the throes of pleasure. 

“I came again,” she whispers, her light figure quaking from her fresh climax. Even with jittery muscles, her hand traces up to your shoulder, till it reaches up your cheek, forcing you to meet her. “Please, cum in me already.”

Her legs loosen around your hips, as if telling you otherwise, but the feeling is so good—so wet, so warm, and so tight—that it would be a disservice to everything you’ve done so far not to unload in her. She has her eyes observing you, softly caressing your shoulders in a desperate plea, as if you have any other intention other than to do what she wants you to. It’s fucked—how her glazed eyes keep you still, all while your body continues to work overtime. She melts, she contorts, she anticipates you coming undone for her.

Even with her frame rocking and clenching beneath you, her breasts bouncing with each sharp stroke, it’s her eyes, her expectant gaze, keeping you at bay. Her lips shift around, her orgasm beyond her at this point, softly whispering one final plea. “I want—all of you—inside me. Don’t ever—think of—pulling out. I’m all yours—baby!”

You suppress a breathy gasp, grit your teeth, your muscles and nerves all over the place. A little more before you ultimately surrender. A handful of strokes is all it takes before you go numb, burying your cock deep into her cunt. Hot, hot thoughts fill your head, mostly asphyxiating sensations choking your entire body as you pour shot after shot of thick cum inside her greedy cunt. 

“So—warm,” mumbles Minnie, ignoring the longest syllabled fuck from your side as your body gradually descends, all your strength completely sapped in one fell swoop.

You eventually find solace on her bare figure, your cock still throbbing inside Minnie’s pussy, but your motions slow to a halt, until the only sign of life coming from you is the wave of deep breaths you gather on her collarbones. She joins you in rest, letting her nails take refuge on your back, tracing and marking your skin as you did to hers. 

The two of you remain entangled, relishing each other’s sweat, cum-filled bodies on the couch, bathed in the afterglow of sex. Both of you would happily sleep another day on set if it meant you were in each other’s arms. Of course, that’s not the reality; you don’t know when you’ll see each other again after this.

Surprisingly, Minnie is the first to break the tense silence. Brushing your hair, she mumbles, “You okay?”

A question that you should be asking her, not the other way around. 

You lift your head from her body and nod, create little ripples on her flesh. “Yeah. I should be asking you that.”

She flashes a gentle grin, the trademark smile you’ve missed, and will miss. “I’m good. More than that, actually.”

A few more minutes pass, with your eyes lovingly staring into each other, unwilling to let the moment die. “You could have just asked, you know.”

���Hm?” You lift an eyebrow.

“You could have asked, and we would still end up like this. Fucking pervert.”

“Ugh—you’ll never stop referring to me as that, are you?” you groan, dropping your face on her neck while she throws her head back and chuckles.

“Nope. Pervert.”

—————

(A/N: This one's dedicated to @svndaysaweek, I saw his answer to a particular ask and thought it was very appealing of an idea to write. Again, apologies for the sudden month long drought, was feeling extremely unmotivated and still am XD Thank you for reading!)

#smut #kpop smut #gidle #minnie

[bloodydesires-if]

Bloody Desires: The Cure - Intro Post

Demo TBA (Twine) | Itch.io Page

Bloody Desires: The Cure is a supernatural interactive fiction set in the 21st century. When the Vampiric Round Table (VRT) summons you to New York, you have no choice but to go. The VRT has learned of a credible rumor that a cure for vampirism is somewhere out there. But your kind aren’t the only ones searching for it. The dangerous supernatural exterminators, Heaven’s Hunters, seek the cure to wipe vampires from existence.

18+ for violence, blood, death, sexual themes, explicit language, and morally gray storylines.

Embark on a bloody adventure featuring:

6 unique MC backstories;

3 clans to choose from (Viscardi, Crescendo, Saleyrn);

characters, both supernatural and mortal, who you can form alliances and relationships with (or piss off?);

the ability to play as non-binary, male, female, cis, or trans;

opportunities to level up your skills for the fight ahead; 

multiple endings. 

Learn more about the backstories and companion characters below.

The following companions have platonic and romantic routes.

Kieran Collins - The Shifter

137 years old (looks early 30s) | Irish | male | he/they

Kieran is a shifter who takes on the form of a wolf. They have full control of when they shift, although it can be painful if they shift too often between resting. In his human form, he relies on knives and has spent his life studying supernatural rituals and artifacts. 

Charlotte St. Claire - The Deadly English Rose

28 years old | English | female | she/her

Charlotte is a Londoner with a dark past, having spent a large portion of her life entangled with the dangerous underworld of London. This path led to her imprisonment by a group of vampires who treated her as their personal blood bag. After escaping on the precipice of her death, she was found by Kieran who took her under his wing. 

River Silvius - The Witch

32 years old | American | non-binary | they/them

River is the youngest witch in their family and was raised in the state of Washington. They are currently a professor at the New York Institute of Witchcraft, the premier witchcraft college in North America. They sometimes work on cases with Bennett. 

Katerina Kallergis - The (Other) Vampire

282 years old (looks late 20s to early 30s) | Greek | female | she/her

Katerina is a vampire who was born in Greece almost three-hundred years ago. She despises vampirism - including herself and other vampires. Not much is known about members of her clan, the Infinitum, as they are a tight-knit group of vampires who value privacy and usually avoid other supernaturals as much as possible. 

Bennett Williams - The Cowboy

31 years old | American | male | he/him

Bennett grew up on a ranch in Texas, where he was the only survivor of a Heaven’s Hunters (HH) attack that wiped out his family, including his sister who was a Witch and the intended target. He is currently a private investigator for supernaturals and their families. He is fond of his cowboy hat and shotgun and wears an eyepatch on his left eye. 

There will be additional characters who play their own role in the story, including members of the Vampiric Round Table, clan leaders, Heaven’s Hunters, and more. However, this post would be too long to list all of those people.

Here’s a brief look at the six possible backstories for MC. Subject to change if needed by the author.

Shadow of War World I

Born: 1896 - London, England | Turned: 1915 - Loos-en-Gohelle, France

Born in the heart of London, your life brimmed with dreams. But those were overshadowed by the devastating turmoil of World War I. You were driven by a sense of duty at 19 years old and enlisted alongside your best friend from secondary school. After watching your best friend fall in combat, you were overwhelmed by survivor’s guilt and were left trying to navigate the war-torn world without them. Eventually, you were dying on a different battlefield, reminded of them. But as the darkness closed in, so did a vampire…

Shadow of the Roaring 20s 

Born: 1898 - New York, NY | Turned: 1922 - New York, NY

Born to a working-class family in the heart of New York City, you spent the entirety of your mortal life there. Your Sire was drawn to you as soon as you entered the speakeasy that fateful night… as your connection with your Sire grew, so did both of your desires to never lose each other. A year after being turned, a relentless group of vampire hunters took them from you as they sacrificed themself for your sake...

Shadow of the Spanish Renaissance 

Born: 1608 - Barcelona, Spain | Turned: 1635 - Madrid, Spain

Born to a merchant family in bustling Barcelona, your early years were spent comfortably and your family hoped you would follow in their footsteps. But your passions lay elsewhere. You found yourself inspired by artists such as Coello and Velázquez, and frequented libraries and salons. As you grew older, the weight of familial obligations bore down upon you. One night while you were in Madrid visiting friends, a vampire approached you with a proposal…

Shadow of the French Revolution

Born: 1770 - Vizille, France | Turned: 1799 - Paris, France

Born to a family of budding rebels in Vizille, you experienced the backdrop of social unrest and discontent. As the revolution began to spread across France, you found yourself at the midst of it in Paris. It is there that your Sire became fascinated by your sense of justice and chose you to be their eternal descendent. Against your deepest desires, you were thrust into immortality, a fate you never sought, as your original intention was simply to fight for the betterment of humanity…

Shadow of the Zhou Dynasty

Born: 890 B.C. - Western Zhou | Turned: 867 B.C - Western Zhou

Born into a prestigious family, you spent much of your time at court, learning from tutors and schemers alike. As a young adult, you were caught in the crossfires of a power struggle within the court. Betrayed by those you once trusted, you were the victim of an assassination attempt. You only remember your eyes closing….and then waking up as a vampire, your sire nowhere in sight…

Shadow of the Nile

Born: 1050 B.C. - Tanis, Egypt | Turned: 1023 B.C - Thebes, Egypt 

Born to a family of esteemed lineage, you were raised in the sacred walls of the Temple of Amun-Ra in preparation for your future as a religious figurehead. You did eventually become an important leader in Thebes during a time of political imbalance. But then you died. When you awoke, a vampire was watching over you with an amused look. They swore to have found you already dying in an alley…

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Asks are welcome if you so desire, however, I won't be doing NSFW reactions or long reactions at this time. I will still do some regular reactions and answer general NSFW. Thanks!

P.S. please let me know if there's an error in the post, thanks <3

#bloodydesires if #no demo #Intro post #bloody desires: the cure #wip #interactive fiction #twine game #twine #supernatrual #romance #mystery #wip intro #itchio

[shuttershocky]

Something I've been wondering for a while now, what is the thematic meaning of Shiro's "Who says a copy can't surpass the original?"

Exactly what it says on the tin.

Gilgamesh calls Archer a Faker for the exact same reason Archer tries to kill Shirou: they do not have any individuality, much less the soul of a hero, to begin with. Their existence is as a shadow of someone else.

"Emiya Shirou" does not truly exist as a person in Fate/Stay Night. Survivor's guilt and intense PTSD has hollowed him out to see himself as a tool for other people and not as a person. All of his skills like cooking, cleaning, and repairing were learned to serve others. He has no wish but to fulfill someone else's (Kiritsugu's) dream, and his ideals are borrowed from that same person. He has no real personal goals or ambitions (he tells Taiga he wants to be a superhero), and places no value at all on his own life, which is why his actions in the 5th Holy Grail War are downright suicidal.

Even when the visual novel reveals an intelligent, sarcastic, highly analytical voice inside Shirou, all of that goes flying out the window upon seeing someone's injury triggering his PTSD, creating that vacant stare and suicidal, nonsensical rationality that has had anime-onlies calling Shirou a vapid idiot for almost 20 years.

This is why the nature of the spell Unlimited Blade Works is important to understanding his character. As a rule, projection magecraft only ever copies the "image" of a weapon. It is seen as a functionally useless branch of magecraft, as a projected sword cannot copy the strength and durability of the original, much less replicate its unique powers.

But Unlimited Blade Works does. While its projections aren't perfect copies, they are able to replicate the unique powers of the original and at least a portion of their strength, turning Projection from a useless magic trick into an incredibly powerful ability.

This is because Unlimited Blade Works is a reality marble, which is a spell that takes the form of a person's internal world AKA their personhood, their self-meaning, what-have-you. On a story level, this means that Shirou's deep psychological issues which led to him de-personing himself and seeing himself as a weapon gave him an extraordinary understanding of the existence of a weapon, meaning that since this guy only ever thought of himself as a sword, when he projects a sword he doesn't just create the image of a sword, he creates a real one.

On a thematic level however, Unlimited Blade Works symbolizes how Shirou reacts to the statement that all he is, is a copycat. Even if his weapons, just like his ideals, are borrowed, the power that his blades wield is very real, just like how those copied ideals hold true meaning to him. He WILL be a hero, even if it's only chasing after the image of a true hero, or even if he only is a hero for one person.

So when Fate/Stay Night asks "who says a copy can't surpass the original?', it's asking if authenticity matters vs human effort. If a painter that makes a living by forgery creates such an immaculate copy of the masterworks that it evokes the same power as the original, does that not make the forger a master as well? If some no name ghost wields the most famous sword in the world with the ferocity and skill of the sword's equally famous owner, does that not make the ghost a swordsman of renown as well?

In that case, if you truly want to test the copy's worth, it would be vs the original, which is why in the route Unlimited Blade Works, Shirou fights Gilgamesh, the original hero and the true owner of all weapons of renown in the world, who claims every legendary name in history as mere thieves to his treasury.

This is also why Shirou defeats Gilgamesh, despite being weaker, less skilled, and a mere human vs a heroic spirit. Shirou may have been a copy, but the most original of all originals didn't want victory just as badly as the copy did, otherwise he would have taken the threat seriously enough to use Ea and win immediately. He took his natural superiority (and thus, the fight) for granted, did not put in anything but the minimum effort, and then got surprised that the other guy who worked for every advantage landed a critical hit on him.

That's when Gilgamesh says "I will admit, in this moment, you are powerful"

#Fate

[megamindsecretlair]

Be My Little Darling - Chapter 10

Chapter 9 Chapter 11

Pairing: Loki x Black!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. You are in charge of your own reading experience. Some smut. ANGST. PIV, dirty talk, use of magic, and heavy mentions of survivor's guilt, negative self-talk, violence. Brief mention of suicidal ideation in a joking manner (It's never funny, please seek help), Soft Loki, bit of fluff and cute domestic things.

Summary: Loki is the exclusive owner of the hottest club in New Asgard. Dubbed the Nine Realms, each of the nine rooms represent a different realm. You are his second in command, working the floors and ensuring everyone is having fun. Loki is nothing if not a man on a mission to not only win your heart but also make some headway about this saboteur.

Word Count: 4,789k

Masterlist

A/N: I miss the Loki show already! I missed you lovelies! Something about this man just eats me alive. I can't believe we're halfway there to the end! Thank you so much for continuing to ride for this series! Likes are always awesome. Please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! I block ageless blogs!

Taglist: @cantstayawaycani @braverthanthenewworld @monaeesstuff @chaos-4baby @dayjlovesromance @soft-persephone @mybonafidefeelings @nerdieforpedro @browngirldominion

“Are you alright, Darling?” 

He knew fuck well you were not alright. True to his word, there was plenty more to come. Loki had stamina for days, waking you up periodically through the night so he could thrust back into you and deliver more orgasms. 

You moaned as he laid you on your left side, facing a mirror you hadn’t known was there. It figured that he’d have a full length mirror right next to the bed, the vain prick. 

He slipped back in and pressed his chest to your back. His face was near your ear so you heard every moan and sigh that escaped his beautiful mouth. “Look at us, Darling,” Loki moaned.

You opened your eyes and looked at the picture of you two. Loki was pressed into you, your right leg held up by his hand and pulled open for him to move inside of you. He had slowed his strokes so that they were deep and full. You felt every glide and every inch of him. 

“Gods,” you moaned. Your pleasure had been driven to heights you only read about. He kept you in a perpetual state of bliss. You almost didn’t mind the lack of sleep. If you were being awakened for dick, could you really complain? 

“Right here, Darling,” Loki said. He kissed your cheek and looked at your face in the mirror. You looked as well. You were thoroughly fucked out. Your hair was a mess, deep lines on your skin from the pillows and sheets. Your lips were swollen from all of his kisses. You were marked and claimed by him.

Your eyes traveled to him. His hair was all over the place, slicked back too many times in his desperate need to keep it from his face. You left deep, red welts on his shoulders and back from the times that he hit your G-spot and you were unprepared. 

After each time, he whispered, “one more”, and you were unable to form a denial. You wanted to please him. You wanted that look on his face. The face he was making now. As if in between your thighs was the closest to Valhalla he’ll get for now.

The wet squelches from your combined fucking was still like sweet music to your ears. It drove your arousal higher, pushed you to sink onto his dick hungrily. Greedily. Your pleasure built in your belly, cresting higher and higher. You raced after it, pulling it within your grasp.

“Oh Loki, Loki,” you moaned as the wave moved over you. You moaned his name over and over as your body jerked and twisted. 

Loki kissed your neck and cheek. He moaned your real name as he released himself inside of you for the hundredth time that night. Loki placed soft kisses to your shoulder and back as he softened and pulled himself out of you.

He dropped down onto the bed, out of breath and wrung out. You couldn’t move an inch. You panted and heaved as you looked at yourself post orgasm. You felt beautiful and sinful. You felt seen in ways you hadn’t for the past five years. He helped you do that. But it was still you. 

The parts of you that you hid deep down inside were still there. You weren’t broken. It wasn’t too late to become that woman again. You smiled tiredly at your reflection. Earth may not be Asgard, but Asgard had always been its people. And you were still here.

A warm cloth between your legs made you yelp. You were incredibly sensitive. One more fucking round and you’d simply die. Loki chuckled and kissed you while he cleaned you up. He toyed with you, going extra slow around your clit. You groaned.

“No more, please,” you begged.

Loki chuckled again and kissed your cheek. “I had five years to make up for, Darling,” he said.

“Liar. You didn’t start the club until a year after we arrived,” you said.

“And I wanted you before even then,” he said.

That did give you enough strength to roll over and face him. He faced you, head resting on his elbow, as he looked you in the eyes. 

“Bullshit,” you said. 

“All these years and you still don’t think I’m capable of the truth,” he said and shook his head. His finger idly traced patterns across your belly and thighs. You watched him closely to make sure he wasn’t trying to get you going again. Seriously, you couldn’t.

“You’re capable when it suits you,” you said.

“And it suits me now. You were in town, shopping, and I was securing my permits. I left the building and you were across the street, talking to the baker. You wore…a blue dress. Sandals. Hair pulled up and I thought you were the most gorgeous thing I’d ever seen,” he said. 

You stared at him. You thought back to the dozens of times you went to the baker. He was Asgardian and made the pastries you liked. You were working a dead end job you hated, wishing for something more. The pastries were a luxury you really couldn’t afford but you couldn’t resist. 

“You remember that?” You asked. You usually had more situational awareness. Loki held a presence unlike any other. You’d be able to pick him out of a thousand clones. But you hadn’t realized he was on the street.

You assumed the princes were off doing…whatever princes did when there was no throne to rule from. Meetings, logistics, and the like. 

“How could I not?” He asked. “I remembered that the only thing I wanted to do was talk to you. But you looked so sad. And the pastries brought you such comfort. I didn’t want to interrupt,” he said.

Now, you sat up and turned towards him. His hand moved down to your hip, still tracing patterns. “Since when do you care about interrupting?” 

Loki smiled. “The way you speak about me, I’d think I was a monster,” he said with a cheeky wink. 

You rolled your eyes. “You’re not getting free compliments, so stop,” you said.

He grinned. “I stood there and looked at you. When you left, the sadness returned. I figured we were all still recovering from Thanos, so the last thing you needed was a failed prince to bother you,” he said.

You narrowed your eyes at him. You rubbed your head. There was just…no way that he saw you when you hadn’t known he was there. It bordered on stalking the way you would yearn for any glimpse of him every time you got to attend a feast at the palace. The way you would crane your neck and watch, transfixed, as he strolled in with shorter hair and his brother. 

He was always smiling, always grinning, always moving around without a care in the world. You used to pray to the gods that he’d look your way just once and see you. He never did of course. Too busy looking at Thor. Everyone always did. 

“So when I came in for the job and you hired me on the spot?” 

“I wasn’t going to pass up a chance to see you every day,” he said. 

“Loki! Did I get it because I was qualified or you wanted some ass?” You asked. You smacked his shoulder. He moved back as if you put any real weight behind it. He grinned at you.

“Because you were qualified. I am a reputable business owner and wanting a chance at that sweet, sexy pussy of yours would be against policy,” he said. Straight face and everything. 

You were probably going to have to see a doctor from all the squinting you were doing. This was insane. But…you chose to believe him. He could come up with a better lie than that. So…it had to be the truth. He did see you and wanted you way before you thought. 

Heat pulsed through you and you sank down onto the bed, feeling giddy. This was so silly. It was like you had a crush all over again. But you probably never really grew out of it where he was concerned. 

“Okay, I choose to believe you,” you said.

He leaned down and kissed your breast. “I’m glad,” he said.

“Don’t you start!” You said, moving away from him. He scooted closer. 

“I seem to recall you agreeing that I could have you whenever and wherever?” 

You were on the edge of the bed and there was no more room left to run. Loki crowded your personal space and kissed you, at his leisure, his hand back on your hip.

“That was the heat of the moment, can’t stand up in human court,” you murmured as he kissed along your jaw.

He nipped at your jaw and you hissed from the bite of pain. “Verbal contracts are still binding, Darling. You know that,” he said.

“Fine, twist my arm,” you said. 

Loki grinned. “I will have mercy just this once. But make no mistake. I will make good on my promises,” he said.

“Threats more like it,” you said. You tried to give him a stern look. But he was so damn cute laying there with his dark hair, in his home that smelled uniquely like him. You were truly in trouble here.

“Is it still a threat if I threaten you with pleasure?” He asked.

“How are you still capable of moving? I want to sleep for a week,” you said. Even now as you spoke and moved, you were thoroughly sore. The places that he gripped you were raw with his fingerprints. The places that he suckled and kissed you were patches of soreness. Your pussy still throbbed from all the pleasure wrung out of you. It was a miracle you were still awake.

“I have longed for this, Darling. I do not wish to see it end so soon,” he said. He didn’t look at you as he said it. Instead, his eyes were focused on caressing your hip. 

“Hey,” you said. You nudged him until he dragged his eyes from your hip. “No more running. I want this and I want you,” you said.

Loki smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners. This man really had no idea, did he? He could spin a thousand tales and you’d still want him. Crave him. Lo-like him. You bit your lip at that mental slip. 

“What’s wrong?” Loki asked.

You kissed him instead of answering. You ran your tongue across his lips. He moaned as his hand clutched your hip. “Thought you were done?” 

“Can’t I kiss you without it turning to more?” You asked.

“Never,” he said. 

You rolled your eyes. Your stomach chose that moment to rumble. Loudly. You buried your face in his shoulder with a groan. He only laughed. 

“I have been a poor host. I will make something for us,” he said. He kissed your head and ordered you to stay there while he left the room. You watched his ass as he moved about flawlessly. You couldn’t, you simply couldn’t, but damn if he didn’t make you want to hop back on his dick and ride him until sunrise.

You were almost asleep when he entered the room carrying a tray. On it, there was french toast, bacon, and eggs. “You didn’t have to make all of this!” 

“Yes, I did,” he said. He placed the tray on the bed and you shared the meal, talking about nothing and everything. After, you relaxed against the bed and talked some more until you were both too tired to keep moving your jaws. If only you could communicate by mind. 

You both climbed under the covers and you fell asleep in his warm embrace, content for the first time in ages.

In the morning, you slowly awoke to soft light coming through his curtains. Loki sighed and pulled you closer. You smiled and snuggled into him. 

“Careful, Darling,” he said.

Holy hell, if you thought his voice was sexy before? His sleep-rough voice would melt your panties if he hadn’t torn them off of you. While you wanted to tease him, you also knew that you couldn’t follow through. So you settled down and kissed his arm around you.

“Good morning, Loki,” you said sweetly.

“Good morning, Darling,” he said with a soft chuckle. He kissed the back of your head.

“Oh no,” you said. Dread pooled in your gut as you thought about the new day and what it meant. What the hell were you going to tell your crew? You could hear Honey’s laughter now. 

“What is it?” He asked.

“What are we going to tell everyone?” You asked.

“We can say however much you want or how little you want. But they will know you’re mine,” he said. He tightened his grip around your middle to emphasize his point. You rolled your eyes even though you squealed on the inside.

“Loki, be serious. What are you gonna do? Fuck me with the door open again?” 

“If I please,” he said. You could hear the grin in his voice and you rolled your eyes again. He really was incorrigible. 

“Loki…” You groaned. He didn’t understand. The rules for him were different from the rules for you. He was a god and could do damn well whatever he pleased. You on the other hand, people would only assume what you asked last night. Did you get the job on your knees or on your back? 

“It matters not. We’re not going in today anyway,” Loki said. 

You rolled over and he peeked at you. “We’re going to into town to speak with the King. She might know who we’re dealing with.”

“Why would she know?” You asked. 

“I’ve been looking at the cards left behind by our saboteur. Only two, same card stock. Magically created. The King was the foremost expert in Asgardian security, she might shed some light.” 

You lifted an eyebrow at him. “Nice to see you were resting while we sorted out the rooms,” you said.

He smiled and shrugged. “Seize the day. We could make a day of it,” he said.

“Loki, are you asking me on a date?” You asked.

“No. You’ll know when I’m asking you on a date. But I would like your company on this errand,” he said. 

You sighed and rolled your eyes to the ceiling. He was so damn infuriating. And yet…

“How am I supposed to get home without any clothes?” You asked.

Loki grinned and pulled back the covers to look at your naked body. His blue eyes got wider, taking you all in. You squirmed beneath his perusal. 

“Is it my fault you showed up without any clothes?” 

“I wasn’t expecting you to rip them off of me,” you said.

“You offer me a present and I don’t get to unwrap it? That hardly seems fair,” he said. He pouted and you slapped his shoulder with a laugh. 

“I’m being serious, Loki,” you said.

“As am I. Besides, can’t you conjure clothes?” Loki asked.

“What? No. I can only conjure weapons,” you said.

He looked at you and frowned. “Have you ever tried?” 

You opened your mouth to tell him of course you had, but…well, shit, have you? You had an affinity for weapons and that was all you ever knew. It didn’t occur to you to try different constructs. 

“I can’t remember,” you said.

“While we’re on about it, is that the only magic you know how to do? Are you more in-line with my power?” 

You scooted closer and planted a kiss on his cheek. “No one can compare to the oh so powerful, oh so dreadful, the charming and devilishly handsome god, Loki,” you said. You peppered kisses in between your words and Loki’s face lit up with delight. You could get used to him like this. Happy and open and carefree. You really liked seeing this side of him. 

“Flattery gets you everywhere, Darling. But I think we should make some time to see what you can do,” he said.

You shrugged. Why not? 

“In the meantime…” Loki got out of bed and held his hand out to you. He pulled you into the bathroom where he pleaded for, “just one more”, and you couldn’t resist him. Afterwards, he conjured a brand new black suit for him and a black plaid dress for you, with green and gold lines intersecting. He even conjured you up some kick ass boots that gave you some height but still nowhere near him.

He looked over your outfit with a manic gleam in his eyes. “Down boy!” 

He pouted as you left his place and walked towards your car. You offered to drive you into town and he refused. Something about being a proper host. Instead, he had his own car. A sleek truck that was too tall for you to climb into. He helped you into the passenger seat and then soon, you were on your way into town.

Once in town, he parked on the outskirts and you walked towards the main City building. People were bustling about doing their shopping. Tourists were in town sharing jokes and ales with the local Asgardians. It was…sweet to see everyone hanging out and talking and getting along. You missed this.

“Come along, Darling,” Loki said. He kept his hands in his pockets as you walked towards the City building. His shoulders hunched forward. Guess there will be no holding hands today. Was he the holding hands type? You weren’t sure. Why did you want to hold his hand anyway? It was stupid and childish.

You clenched your hands into fists and walked beside him. He held the door for you as you went inside. The atmosphere inside the building was homey and comfortable. A far cry from the glitz and glamor of the palace back home.

You looked towards Loki. Maybe that was his problem. Maybe he missed Asgard as much as everyone else. Except, he had no one to tell that to. He did so much shit trying to bring it down, embarrass Odin or Thor, or cause mischief. Maybe he thinks people won’t want to hear how he misses it.

Loki made a beeline towards the main hall. Inside, aides rushed to and fro as King Valkyrie sat at the head of the table. She looked positively miserable. 

She was gorgeous as always. Flawless skin, locs twisted up in a lazy hairdo, and a smart suit to rival Loki’s black one. He made his look classy and debonaire. She made hers look painted on, effortless, and sexy. 

She looked up as the brown uniform doors closed behind you. She smirked at you but her eyes turned icy towards Loki. 

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Her smooth voice called out. 

Loki smiled and opened his arms. The picture of innocence. Right. Like cats are innocent. 

“We have a dilemma that I was hoping you could help with,” Loki said.

“Is the club not keeping you busy enough as is?” King Valkyrie asked.

Gods, she was gorgeous. You were nervous as hell. On Asgard, you were lucky to attend a few feasts. You never would have gotten that close to the family, let alone Odin himself. To be this close to King Valkyrie was nerve wracking.

Loki produced the two cards with “Remember” and “Vengeance” written on it. The King stood up and took the cards from his hand. She turned them over and looked at Loki.

“What of it?” She asked.

“Do you recognize anything about it? Anything at all? There’s a…saboteur at the club,” Loki admitted. 

The King walked around the open space, light from the windows hitting her coral skin. She studied the two cards as she moved around, humming to herself. “A saboteur? You say?” She asked.

She walked closer to you and looked at you. “What do you think?” 

Your words died in your throat. You looked towards Loki who nodded. Like that fucking did anything. You took a deep breath. “Causing a lot of issues for us. It’s annoying. No one’s gotten hurt that much. But enchanting our customers, one of our performers’ legs went through the floor, and switched our rooms around,” you explained.

“Heavy magic involved. All to mess with…you,” the King turned towards Loki and pointed. 

“We know that already. But why the cards? My enemies are usually more direct,” Loki said.

“Now that you mention it, I’ve heard some of the locals talk about legends around here. But those are just stories,” King Valkyrie said. She moved back towards the windows and looked at the cards.

“What kind of legends?” Loki asked.

“Just stories, I’m sure.”

Loki smiled and rolled his neck. “My King, I am very desperate to catch this person.” 

King Valkyrie looked at you and made a surprised face. Yeah, you thought you’d drop dead before you heard those words from his lips. You supposed this was getting to Loki more than he let on. Once you had him to yourself again, you were going to make him talk to you. Keeping all this shit bottled up was going to eat him alive.

“Fine,” King Valkyrie said. She hopped onto the table and faced them. “There is a legend around here of a disfigured man who used to live up on the hill where the club now resides. The locals treated him as you would expect, horribly. They harassed the poor man until he went insane. They wouldn’t let him sleep. Kids would jangle chains outside his bedroom windows at night.”

As she spoke, you swore the clouds chose that exact moment to blot out the sun. The room turned a shade darker. Shadows played across King Valkyrie’s features. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say she had magic of her own. 

“You haven’t heard the chains yet, have you?” She asked.

You and Loki looked at each other and then at her. You shook your heads at the same time. 

“Good, that’s good. Well, you see, more bad things happened to this man until he vowed to take revenge on every living descendant who dared bother him. He prayed to the gods to make him as strong as Odin, as clever as Loki, and as bold as Thor,” she continued.

You stepped forward, engrossed in the story. That poor man. You couldn’t imagine being hounded like that. Your heart ached for him.

“I have no beef with a disfigured man from human history,” Loki said.

“Your club sits on his land. You mock him with your den of sin. His home. You flaunt your pretty boy looks and lure unsuspecting tourists to your club,” King Valkyrie said and shrugged. “Remember? Vengeance?” She waved the cards around.

Loki sighed and approached her, taking the cards out of her hands. “What’s the real story?” 

King Valkyrie broke into laughter and clapped her hands. “How did you know?” 

You gasped and looked towards the King. You quickly shut your mouth and made your face blank. You would not admit to anyone that you fell for her story. Hey, she was a freakin’ Valkyrie who told a good story. You’d believe her too.

“I am the God of Mischief,” Loki said. He tucked the cards into his coat pocket. 

King Valkyrie sighed. “Fine. It’s so dreadfully boring here. For the cards, I am stumped, same as you. Never came across the like. You might want to speak to Heimdall,” King Valkyrie said.

Loki hissed and rolled his eyes. You raised an eyebrow at him in silent questioning.

“Loki thinks Heimdall is still pissed about slipping his gaze,” the King supplied.

“Why am I not surprised,” you muttered. Loki shrugged with a smirk. You had no idea what you were going to do with this man. You walked over to him, careful to keep your distance, and looked him in the eye.

“Are we not desperate? What can Heimdall do now?” You asked.

“Do not underestimate him,” Loki said. 

Okay, you two definitely needed to sit down somewhere and discuss whatever the hell you’re missing there. You needed all of the gossip, like right now. You gave Loki a pointed look and he sighed.

“Fine, fine. Let’s go, Darling,” Loki said.

“Hey, come back and visit anytime. Bring a drink next time! Or a bloody sword to end my life,” King Valkyrie called after you.

You turned back and waved to the King and then felt incredibly stupid for doing so. You inwardly groaned. She’d never invite you back if you continued to do weird shit.

Loki stopped outside of the City building, frozen to the spot. You nudged him. He stared off into the distance, barely acknowledging your presence.

“Loki? What is it?” You asked.

Loki’s jaw clenched, continuing to stare off. You followed his line of sight, squinting into the sun. Some distance away, at a pub, Thor was pushed out of the doorway. He was laughing with someone, slapping the smaller man on the back. Each slap of his massive paw caused the man to bowl forward.

You hissed as you took in the state of your prince. He was chubby, wearing…checkered pajama pants that looked dirty and a sweat-stained sweatshirt. His once golden hair was now flaxen like wheat, thick beard unkempt and matted. 

“Oh,” you sighed. You hadn’t thought…you had no idea…

You looked towards Loki. He stared at his brother across the way, guilt etched into his features. Again, you felt out of the loop but that was for another time. You wrapped your hand around Loki’s arm. You nudged him.

“Hey,” you said softly. Loki shook himself as if emerging from a trance. He smiled at you.

“Come, we’ll see Heimdall tomorrow,” he said. He put his head down and started walking forward. You stopped him and moved until you could look at his face.

“Don’t you want to say hi to your brother?” You asked.

“Stay out of it, Darling,” Loki said. 

“But, he’s right there. Clearly hurting. How long has he been like this?” You asked.

“Leave it,” Loki said.

“But shouldn’t we help him? Has he talked to anyone–”

“I said, drop it, Darling! You’ve no idea what you’re talking about. None! He’s…fine. He’s grieving like the rest of us,” Loki snapped.

You took a step back from the vehemence in Loki’s sapphire eyes. “Darling–”

You lifted a hand. “I’ve tolerated a lot of shit from you, Loki. But you don’t ever speak to me like that.” 

“I’m sorry–” 

You lifted another hand. “I’ll find my own way home,” you said. 

“Please,” he said. He called your name and you turned away from him. You will not let this man see more of your tears. You knew on a rational level that he was not mad at you. It wasn’t personal. But that was no excuse to talk to you like that. You were asking an innocent question.

You looked toward Thor once more. He had a bottle of ale in his hand and he was stumbling down the road. The town drunk. You won’t presume to know what happened there or why he was like this now. It’s not like you two were friends or that you had checked up on him these past five years.

You’d asked about him plenty of times, since Loki always seemed so down after going into town. You assumed that sometimes he saw his brother. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he spent these past five years hiding like everyone else. Trying to pick up the pieces left behind in Thanos’ wake. 

What did you know? Besides, Loki needed to cool down and you did not want to be around him right now. You were liable to truly hurt his feelings. Your own anger simmered. One night of bliss and it turned into such a shit show. 

You mentally kicked yourself. You knew sleeping with him was a mistake. Sex only ever complicated things and it was bullshit. Thinking with your pussy rather than your head. You kept your head down for five fucking years and threw it all away, for what? For one night of sexual gratification? 

Ugh. You were disgusted with yourself. You crossed your arms and walked down the road. You were aware of Loki’s gaze on you but you refused to turn around. You didn’t want to deal with this shit. You didn’t ask for it. And you certainly didn’t ask to babysit Loki’s hangups. 

You walked home more confused and angry than you knew what to do with. How could you face him now? How did you begin to fix this? Whatever the hell this was?

Masterlist | Chapter 9 | Chapter 11

#Megaminds Secret Files #The Secret Loki Files #Loki x Black!reader #Loki x Black reader #x Black reader #Loki x Fem!reader #Loki x Fem reader #Loki x reader #Loki x you #Loki x plus size reader #Loki smut #marvel smut #Loki imagine #Loki AU #Loki fanfic #Loki fan fic #Loki fan fiction #Loki fanfiction #Black writers #Black writers of tumblr

[dearmantis]

Huff n Puff

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x Reader

Summary: After faking your death half a century ago you finally return to the Little Palace after hearing of the Darklings passing. You did not expect to see a familiar face when the new General arrives.

Warnings: period typical slut-shaming, outdated opinions on peoples sex lives, talks of loosing virginity (nothing explicit), faking death, a bit survivors guilt(?), implied smut (is that the right warning when it's a fade to black?)

Word Count: 3k

Authors' Note: I'm taking great liberties with canon again because I don't think the books ever went into detail about how Aleksander fakes his death and comes back all the time. Also I still can't write to save my life, I'm not a native English speaker and this is barely edited, what else is new.

When the new Darkling arrives at the Little Palace, you're on a mission to accompany a ravkan dutchess and her grisha husband on their travels back to Os Alta after spending a few weeks in her husbands hometown. You're disappointed to not be able to see something so rare and special — a once in a lifetime event like a total eclipse, like one of your team mates said — but you try to not be too upset about it.

The dutchess and her husband are quite sweet to you and your team, and the mission is simple enough. Nobody gets hurt, and the travel back home to Os Alta is comfortable enough considering the cold, snowy weather.

It's easier for you to get over the circumstances than for the other three in your team, of course. If you're smart, you will be able to see and meet many new Darklings over the next few centuries while they won't get the chance, so you don't judge them for being in a worse mood than usual. They should be in the palace, celebrating the arrival of the new general and drinking alcohol until they can't stand on their own feet anymore, instead of a two days ride away from the party, grilling some skinny rabbits on a fire or trying to remove the deep, thick snow from the campsite.

When it's finally time to eat you fill the silence with a story about your time before you joined the Little Palace, twisting the tale a bit to make it seem like you were a teen during the events.

It's odd to lie about who you are, but you can't risk too many similarities between this life and your last, so you form a tale about escaping Ketterdam after realising that a local gang found out about your Grisha powers and started to target you.

You're still considered a newer recruit in the Little Palace, and you haven't been able to make many friends since you arrived as an adult and not as a child like the others. The Grisha listen to your words excitedly, eager to find out more about their mysterious companion, and you're happy to oblige, weaving an encouraging story about your childhood in Ketterdam, training yourself in secret, and finding the power to fight for your freedom after hearing so many tales of the heroism of the Second Army.

When you're finished, the fire is starting to die, darkness creeping in from the forrest, and one of your fellow soldiers stands up to get more wood. The dutchess and her husband thank you for joining the ravkan army, tears in the young womans eyes, clearly touched by your bravery, and your team leader – Inessa, an older heartrender – tightly hugs you a few minutes later, telling you how proud she is of you.

You don't feel bad for lying. It has to be done for your own savety, and it makes sense for you to open up to your teammates during your first longer mission. This was a calculated decision, and it has only lightened the mood a bit, lifting some of the sadness from your fellow soldiers' shoulders.

Well and you did almost get murdered an kidnapped a few times during your travels in Ketterdam during the fifty year break you spend away from the Little Palace after faking your death. You were just in your seventies during that time, not a teenager, but who cares about details like that?

After your little storytime at the fire you open up more and more during the last two days of your travels to Os Alta, playing the role of the young soldier who finally feels like the Little Palace might become a home, like the other Grisha might actually turn into one big family, and for a second you wish that was truly the case. That you're actually just some runaway from Ketterdam, not an almost a century old Grisha who doesn't know why time hasn't claimed your body yet.

During your trip back, your fellow soldiers also theorise a bit. What is the general gonna be like? How will he compare to General Golubev, the Heartrender who took on the position after the last Darkling left the Little Palace to find a wife and continue the Darkling-bloodline in savety?

You have to bite your tongue and remind yourself that you're no older than 23 to these people. To them you are too young to know the General. He left the Palace forty years ago. Even Inessa barely remembers him from her teens, only saying that he was a beautiful man and could be very scary.

Karina, an Inferni in your group, tries to dig deeper, asking how pretty he truly is in so many different ways that Inessa ends up threatening to stop her heart until she's unconcious, and the dutchess giggles so loudly at the interaction that you can't stop yourself from joining her.

The fifty years traveling have been lonely and cold and even your first years at the Little Palace have been filled with an odd distance between you and the other Grisha, but in those last two days everything feels like back when you truly were 23 and surrounded by friends.

Your heart hurts when you finally arrive in Os Alta and say goodbye to the dutchess and her husband, already missing the uncomfortable camps in the middle of the woods you had to stay in to make sure the drüskelle wouldn't be able to follow your tracks easily, but the pain quickly gets overshadowed by the excitement vibrating in the voices of your fellow soldiers.

It's time. Your mission is officially over. Now you will finally meet the new Darkling.

The five of you quickly step through the familiar hallways of the Little Palace, almost getting lost after realising that you won't have to debrief in the office General Golubev used during his time. You end up leading the group to the formerly empty rooms where the old Darkling stayed, explaining that you discovered the unused rooms during your first month at the palace while exploring the place.

You knock quickly on the heavy wooden doors before slipping to the back of the group, hiding behind the others. Eyes hovering over the Oprichniki guard while you wait for the General to call you in, you realize with a slight pang of pain that you don't recognize the guards. You used to be quite close to several of the Oprichniki in your old life, so close in fact that there were rumours of you joining before you noticed that you weren't aging like the others anymore and decided to fake your death. Seeing the people the General chose for his guard in their uniforms hurts a bit, it's undeniable. All of your friends are dead. All of them are dead, and you should be dead too, yet you stand here, in front of these doors, waiting to be let in by the son of the man you once loved.

Finally the deep voice of the General calls out through the door, and your heart starts to beat quicker at the familiarity. He sounds so much like his father.

How heartbreaking that must be for his mother, you think, slowly following the others into the war room where the man dressed in black waits for you.

The old General was confirmed dead five years ago. According to a letter sent by his wife, he fell asleep peacefully one night and never woke up. After that letter was made public, you returned to the Palace as a new Soldier, hoping that the hard work in the palace will fill your mind with something other than grief and heartbreak and now you're standing in the office you've spend so much time in in your old life. The same rooms where you have surrendered your body and soul to the father of the new general.

The guilt and shame die in your stomach the second you look up at the man dressed in black, eyes widening and eyebrows shooting up.

You don't dare to make a sound, instead just staring at the tall man in front of you as he addresses Inessa and listens to her report of the mission. When his eyes finally find yours you almost expect him to prove you wrong, to simply look you over once before continuing and demonstrating to you that he just looks eerily similar to his father, but as soon as his eyes find yours his words cut off and his face goes slack.

Yes, this is the man you gave your virginity to. That fucker faked his death too. He held a stupid funeral after you were confirmed dead, left the palace ten years later to hang out in the woods or whatever, faked his death 35 years later through a letter acting like he's his own wife, and now he's here acting like he's his own son.

You would start giggling like a crazy person if the whole situation wasn't so fucking bizarre and infuriating.

"What are you doing here?" he finally asks, completely ignoring the confused looks of the others in the room.

"What am I doing here? What the fuck are you doing here?"

You two stare at each other for a few seconds until Karina quietly coughs, probably to remind you two that others are in the room, and both of your heads snap over to her.

"Do you two know each other?" Inessa finally asks, and you almost jump to deny it, stopping yourself after realising how dumb of an idea that would be. You two clearly know each other.

"When I fled Ketterdam, I spent a few weeks with him and his mother before I came to the Little Palace." You explain without thinking, hoping that the tale you're weaving together makes at least a bit sense.

"I was wounded during my escape and exhausted, and while I travelled through Ravka, I was found by his mother, a healer. She took me in and let me stay with them for a few weeks before I continued to travel to the Little Palace. I didn't know that I was staying with the Darklings family."

The General looks at you for a few seconds, nodding very slowly like he's trying to make sure your words will enter his long term memory, before he looks back at the other Grisha, jaw clenching.

"I would like to have a conversation with my... my friend. Would you please come back later for the report? Perhaps tomorrow? You must all be terribly exhausted. Eat a meal and then return to your rooms. I will call for you when I find the time."

The four leave the room slowly, all of them pausing to stare at you as if you held back some incredibly important information and deeply betrayed the team, before the General stands up and opens the door again to send the Oprichniki outside away.

As soon as the door falls back into the lock, he storms into your direction, grabbing you by your shoulders and shaking you like a ragdoll.

"Stop! What are you doing?" you yell out, trying to slap his hands away and remove yourself from his ironlike grip. "Sasha!"

Finally, he lets you go, hands mowing to run through his hair and then over his beard.

"I held a funeral for you. I held a speech as well, talked about how much I regretted never asking you to join my personal guard."

His voice is cold and accusatory, as if you betrayed him deeply. In a way, you guess you did betray him, just a bit. "I looked for you for weeks after the Drüskelle attacked our camp. Weeks." he spits, and you can't stop yourself from folding your arms in front of your chest in defence.

"Well, you should've looked harder then! I was still in Ravka for two years after faking my death!" You're fuming now, the feeling of betrayal finally taking root in your heart as well. "And why do you act as if you're the only victim here? I grieved you when I found out you passed! Shit, I grieved when I heard you left the Little Palace to find a wife! Did you spend even a single second thinking of me after my disappearance? After my funeral?"

His hands ball up into fists, and his jaw clenches so tightly you almost worry if he's gonna break a tooth. The shadows in the war room grow longer, swallowing the sunlight bit by bit.

"Of course I grieved you. I loved you, you stupid fool. A mistake on my part, clearly, since it has now been revealed that I have fallen for lies and manipulation."

Scoffing angrily, you stomp your foot on the floor like a child, immediately regretting the action. "I did not lie to you! Not until I faked my death to protect myself!"

"Protect yourself from who?"

"From you! What was I supposed to do? Reveal myself as some immortal abomination of nature? Risk that you decide that I need to be killed?"

Now it's Aleksanders' turn to scoff, his eyebrows pulling together and turning his face into an angry grimace.

"Killed? Do you truly believe I would've killed you?"

"Of course I do! You would do anything, kill anyone, to make sure the Little Palace stays safe and secure. If the king found out I was immortal, it would've changed his opinion of Grisha overall. We would be classified as a risk to his rule again. Of course you would've killed me! So I did it for you, left that life behind, and continued with the next."

Aleksander stares at you for a few seconds, clearly trying to find some fault in your words, something to twist this whole conversation to make you seem like the villain, like he didn't do the exact same thing you did.

He turns his back to you, slowly walking over to the window to stare outside. "I don't even know why I listen to a liar like you. You have betrayed me, betrayed your fellow Grisha as well. How could I ever trust a single word coming from your mouth ever again?"

Saints, how you hate this overly dramatic side of his.

Slowly turning back towards you, he looks you up and down once more, his voice dripping in false pain, the underlying coldness betraying him. "Was I even the first to touch you? The first to lay claim on you? The first you surrendered your body to?"

You almost scream when the words finally sink in. "You don't get to make accusations like this! You have no right to question my honesty, least of all in a topic like this. And how hypocritical of you! I know this is my first time faking my death but how many times have you done this? How many centuries rest on your shoulders? How many people have you dragged to your bed? Because I know you were my first and last. If there is a harlot in this room it's not me!"

An exasperated expression finds its way onto his face, but he doesn't deny your accusation. Instead, he turns back to the window, taking a few deep breaths before he spins around, crossing the room in three long steps. His large hands grab your face harshly, pulling you toward him before his lips press against yours, beard scratching slightly against your skin.

The kiss is not soft, far from it, actually. It's all spit and teeth, clearly showing off how angry and out of practice you two are, like two instruments that play in different tempos.

After a few seconds however, you both start to slow down a bit, the kiss turning softer as you both fully realize that you both are alive, that you didn't loose each other to a Drüskelle attack or the cruel passing of time. You have found each other again, and while you don't know why you're not dead, why time didn't claim you, you decide that it doesn't matter. Not while you're in the arms of the man you've missed for half a century.

The why's and how's can be answered tomorrow, after he devoured you.

"There was no one after you." he speaks after breaking the kiss, his forehead pressing against yours while he lets you breathe for a bit.

"l will not lie to you, not any more than I already have. There have been people before you, but there was no one afterwards. Not while I stayed in the palace and not afterwards. I loved you - love you - too much to move on."

His hands softly caress your cheeks before he presses a kiss on your forehead, breathing in the smell of your hair before his forehead finds yours again. "I know it's probably not particularly obvious, but I'm so glad that you're alive. I'm so, so glad to see that you didn't die."

Aleksanders arm carefully wraps around your middle before he pulls you closer to him and lifts you into the air, his other hand moving your head to rest in the space between his neck and shoulder, carefully stroking over your hair.

You wrap your own arms around him, fingers digging into the back of his black kefta as tears begin to fill your eyes. His familiar smell enters your nose and lungs, it's warmth and familiarity making you feel vulnerable in his arms.

"Sasha," you whisper, your voice wavering a bit. He hushes you softly before he begins moving, carrying you in the direction of his bedroom. "Tomorrow, milaya. We will talk tomorrow. We will fight some more, scream at each other, throw inexcusable insults at each others heads, and then we will forgive. Tonight I just want to have you. Let me have you, hold you, touch you. That's all I want right now. Let me feel your living skin under my fingertips, my love."

He drops you carefully onto the familiar dark sheets, and as you look up at him, you're reminded of the dozens of times you've laid on these sheets before today.

Finally, you nod. "Tomorrow," you echo before grabbing Aleksanders shirt and pulling him back down to let your lips meet his once more.

—

Darkling Taglist: @snowkestrel

#darkling x reader #general kirigan x reader #aleksander morozova x reader #shadow and bone

[bogleech]

I get a weird sort of little dread or sadness realizing my personal website has lasted longer and grown larger than any other I know of. There used to be many like it and almost all of them shut down, stopped updating or disappeared altogether. Not even counting my 1000+ page webcomic or 1000+ pages of Pokemon and Digimon reviews there are over a couple thousand articles on bogleech.com, and then there are the hundreds of stories people submitted when I did the writing contests, it’s so large I start to think maybe it’s too much. It’s not fair. Is this a form of extremely mediocre survivor’s guilt or something.

[everydayyoulovemeless]

Hello, friend. I really love all your works you post on Tumblr. How do you think Courier and his/her companions from Fallout: New Vegas would interact with Sole Survivor and his/her companions from Fallout 4?

FNV Companions Interacting With Fo4 Companions

➼ Word Count » 0.9k ➼ Warnings » None ➼ A/N » This is such a fun concept! I lost count after a while so I hope I included the pairings you were looking for!

Arcade finds Curie's synth body incredibly fascinating and the two will sit and question each other for the longest time.

Boone reminds MacCready of the toy soldier Lucy gave him and either can’t stop talking to him or avoids him entirely out of guilt.

Lily realizes how much more different she is compared to Strong, but it doesn’t stop her from listening to him ramble about Shakespeare or treat him any differently from her other grandchildren. She loves him and they hit it off quite well.

Raul and Nick are both grandpas who’ve got memories from before the war, so, unsurprisingly, they hit it off quite well. They’ll talk about their lives before the bombs and how it all compares to their current ones.

Cait and Cass hit it off almost immediately and leave the initial group to go drinking. The two of them will open up and talk about anything and everything.

Veronica ends up hanging around Danse as often as she can since they both stand for the same cause. It ends up just being Veronica rambling about how much fun she's had traveling with her group and Danse just awkwardly nodding and saying he hates his.

Codsworth will go and clean the rust off of ED-E. They'll end up forming a brother-like relationship since Codsworth can understand his beeping and ED-E likes how doting and friendly he is.

Dogmeat ends up being really scared of Rex because he won't stop chasing him around.

X6-88 thought Arcade talked too much and decided to just ignore all his questions about the Institute.

Deacon immediately disguises himself as Boone the second he notices that they look alike. Boone hates it but he can't seem to get the spy off his trail.

Old Longfellow and Lily argued like an old married couple, with Lily wanting him to quit his drinking habits and Old Longfellow saying she's "crazier than the people in the fog".

Hancock thinks Raul is great and will offer him a place in Goodneighbor. He might even end up referring to him as "Uncle Raul" if they stay together long enough.

Cass assumed Preston was NCR and he got incredibly flustered when she started hitting on him.

Piper and Veronica become best friends when they find out they both like scavenging and being everywhere except where they're supposed to be.

ED-E freaks MacCready out since it reminds him of the Enclave Eyebots in the Capital Wasteland. He'll try his best to avoid him, but the bot seemed to really like the comics he carried with him in his bag.

Old Longfellow loves Rex and gladly takes him to go hunt mole rats.

Hancock REALLY likes flirting with Arcade and does it whenever he sees the opportunity.

At first, Boone and Cait didn't seem to like each other, but then they started talking about how much they both despised slavers and suddenly became an incredibly reliable duo when it came to killing legionaries and raiders.

Lily and Codsworth really enjoy each other's company and will sit together in patio chairs and drink lemonade or something.

Try as he might, Raul doesn't fall for any of Deacon's lies and, instead, just laughs it right off.

Dogmeat really likes Cass and will follow her around until she finally relents and gives him her hat. (which won't be for a long while)

Gage thinks that Veronica's annoying and will either avoid her or will try and get her sold into the legion.

ED-E and Curie end up getting along really well due to their general innocence and curiosity.

Danse will probably end up washing off the legion marking on Rex's side and replacing it with either a Brotherhood or Minutemen logo (depending on where he's at in the story). He doesn't think it'd be right to just leave the markings of a society built off the backs of slaves and wants him to represent something better.

Veronica reminds Nick a lot of Piper, so he'll sit and listen to her ramble on about everything she wants to see, and he'll gladly do his best to keep her out of trouble.

Piper is constantly hitting Raul with questions because she's desperate to learn more about what Mexico is or how the world was before the bombs. She finds his story so interesting and will do anything to get more information out of him.

At some point, Preston will go up to Boone and start a conversation with him, saying that he really appreciates everything the NCR has done to help out on the west side. They could both talk about their respective factions for hours and they do.

Arcade teaches Strong all he knows about Macbeth and literature in general, and in turn, Strong shows Arcade how to stomp someone till they pop.

Lily will keep telling X6-88 to take his jacket off since it's "too hot out here to be in all that!" He'll eventually relent and will be handed a sweet little shirt completely out of character for him that she had stashed in her purse prior.

Gage and Cass get into a bar fight. It could honestly be for anything, their thoughts on slavery, how they treat strangers, their sense of family. These two just can't get along.

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fnv #fallout 4 #fo4 #arcade gannon #craig boone #lily bowen #raul alfonso tejada #rose of sharon cassidy #cass fnv #veronica santangelo #ED-E #rex fnv #cait fo4 #codsworth fo4 #curie fo4 #paladin danse #deacon fo4 #dogmeat fo4 #john hancock #rj maccready #nick valentine #piper wright #preston garvey #strong fo4 #x6-88 fo4 #old longfellow #porter gage #fallout headcanons

[jollyreginaldrancher]

Gonna throw this random Yellowjackets theory around:

We know the girls did some abhorrent things to survive. And we know they have intense guilt, to the point where they refuse to talk about it and they are paranoid people will find out, almost like they're worried they'll go to jail if they found out but most of it is understandable. So far there's been no outright murder or anything like that.

And so far it's been ritualistic and accidental and as close to guilt free as possible so what are they so worried about?

Well, reading the little blurb on prime

"Wildly talented high school girls' soccer players descend into savage CLANS"

Multiple

What if that's a bit of a spoiler? What if there's a fissure and the group splits into multiple parties? More than just Coach Ben splitting off on his own? And what if they didn't just hunt down one pit girl but it was an all-out war between the two groups?

Natalie becoming the antler queen is bound to be polarising when she's spent the first two seasons alienated from the other girls by not only the massive chunks of time she has to spend isolated with Travis, but also her relationship with the guy that's been a shithead to everyone since day one.

We've already seen excerpts of Shauna's diary complaining that it wasn't her that got picked and we've seen her attitude with regards to most things. She's always had a sense of entitlement but she's surely not the only yellowjacket who isn't 100% on Natalie's side and will have reservations going forward about her leadership.

But more than that, there's already a bit of a hierarchy that's forming with certain characters being more valuable than others. The girls unanimously deciding Lottie can't die. Misty deciding Natalie won't die either. Taissa staying back and carrying Van home. The girls all banding together, making their sacrifices to keep Shauna from being killed during childbirth. Natalie and Taissa batting for Misty to keep her from getting a beating from Shauna.

There's a small insular community forming already with the main characters that doesn't seem to extend further beyond the mains. Not even to Jackie. Cause as much as you like someone and as loyal as you might be to them, what really matters the most out there is usefulness and on some level -maybe subconscious- the butcher and the medic and the hunter are people nobody really wants to risk, no matter how deep they are into the lore.

Anyway, it might be that or it might be something I hadn't even considered. It will probably be down to some controversial decision or maybe even perceived slights, but my theory is that the girls will split up into a second group and the traps are to hunt them down. That maybe when they get rescued there's still a chance of some more of them being out there but they sabotage their chance of rescue out of fear of them being exposed on how vicious things got and all the things they did not just to survive but to dominate the other clan.

Maybe that's why Natalie hides her face with shame from the reporters and blames herself the most. Because she feels it's her fault for being chosen, and starting off this chain of events. And because it wasn't just ritualistic cannibalism on the brink of death but a more active form of murder that they perpetrated out there against this warring clan of survivors led by someone like Mari or whatever. Maybe.

#yellowjackets #my babies #theories #thoughts #mine #Natalie Scatorccio #Misty Quigley #Lottie Matthews #Shauna Shipman #Jackie Taylor #Taissa Turner #Van Palmer

[callofdooty69]

thought of this idea and wanted to share╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

MAJOR CW !!: 🪦🕊️ do not eat, daddy issues, implied abuse (not between reader and ghost !!), fluff, angst, death, PTSD, panic attacks, anxiety, talk of alcohol, guilt, grief, profanity, usage of y/n, f!reader, attachment issues, abandonment issues, not proof read, super long post (PLEASE let me know if there are any warnings/tags i missed !!!)

in NO way shape or form am i trying to glamorize daddy issues/the topics in this. i am incredibly sorry if it’s taken that way because that is most certainly not my intention. if i’ve offended anyone by writing this than PLEASE let me know. i want to keep everyone safe, and don’t forget to take care of yourself. my anons and messages are always open if you need help or someone to talk to ♡

(this is inspired by daddy issues - the neighborhood if you couldn’t tell)

i know that you got daddy issues ☆♪

ghost x y/n

****

it’s not fair.

why, of all people, did this have to happen to you? you did nothing to deserve this. you always heard stories of abuse survivors that came from toxic households, but you never thought it would happen to you. you would never, under any circumstances, want or allow this to happen to anyone else. so why did no one help you? you relied on the people you loved and trusted, but they did nothing to stop it from happening.

living in an abusive environment was never supposed to become your life. coming from a happy family with a loving mother and father was your norm, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way. until it happened. until the event that sparked the rest of your life’s struggles occurred on a random thursday.

when you were fifteen, your mother passed away. you were the one that picked up the phone that night. you were the one that asked her to go to the stupid school fair and pick up your missing assignments because you were sick and couldn’t go to your classes. hell became your life the minute you heard the news. that a drunk driver ran into her.

she was dead on impact.

the guilt haunted you. sitting at the funeral, sobbing over her casket, you couldn’t help but think that this was your fault. it shouldn’t have been her.

you couldn’t even count on your fingers the amount of days you missed from school. you almost got held back if it weren’t for your previous grades and attendance record. you went weeks without showering, and when you did you just sat on the floor, letting the hot water pellets hit your back until it was red and almost bleeding. you could barely eat, let alone sleep. you couldn’t remember the last time you slept comfortably, nightmares consuming your brain every night.

your father coped through alcohol. he didn’t know any other way, going to the bar was the only time when he could escape reality, even for just one moment.

your birthday was two months before it happened. you wanted to start driving as soon as you could and got your permit right away. that definitely came in clutch when you had to pick up your dad at least three times a week, one of your family friends calling and saying he was wasted again. the abuse started shortly after, going from yelling to genuine physical pain.

you bolted from your house as soon as you turned eighteen, driving as far as you could to escape the home that brought you gallons of tears and misery. you got a job soon after leaving, starting as a fast food worker to waiting tables at local restaurants. at one point, you had to pick up four jobs to just pay for basic materials to sleep in your car.

after a few years, you were diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder. you weren’t surprised, somehow relieved that you got it off your chest and just talked to someone. medication flowed through your veins shortly afterwards, easing the pain and guilt just enough to live.

you were doing well for yourself in your early twenties, renting a decent sized apartment and working as a bartender for a big restaurant in the city. even with the trauma from the alcohol addiction your father developed, you were strangely comfortable around it. anytime a conflict would arise, your coworkers would handle it, vaguely knowing your experience with violence and confrontation.

you lost contact with everyone from your old life; your deadbeat father, the “friends” that did nothing to support you, the councilors that couldn’t take the fucking hint. everyone.

then you met simon. he came in one night with his colleagues, celebrating for some kind of special occasion. a few of them came up and ordered drinks, but simon only sat down and stayed silent. it’s like he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. it was weird, but not in a bad way.

as he came to the restaurant more often, you two sparked up conversations when he sat down at the bar. starting with small talk here and there to discussing random bullshit for hours on end. he knew you had to do your job, so he let you serve the other customers of course. it was strange to him, how he could get so comfortable with someone so fast. but you seemed different. you were trustworthy and safe. a security blanket he didn’t have growing up.

you eventually got into a relationship with him, finally feeling happy. your nightmares and guilt still remained in your thoughts, images and flashbacks of what caused you internal and external wounds that you didn’t think could heal controlling your mind. you were hesitant in opening up to him, as was he. but you confided in one another, slowly opening up the gates you both spent years building. you went to him when you needed him, and he did the same to you. you learned everything about each other, learning your pasts and showing vulnerable scars you didn’t think you’d have anyone to share them with. he’s home. your each other’s safe haven.

****

after a long shift at work with no sleep, you went home to find simon not there. he was usually off of work by now and should have been back for at least an hour. you immediately thought of the worst case scenario, thinking he was in trouble or that something happened. you panicked, unsure of what to do, calling and texting him to no avail.

you paced around the apartment you two now shared, your breathing getting harder and more difficult and seeing fuzzy spots in your vision. you sat down on your floor, knees pulled into your chest and hands covering your ears, trying to drown out the hallucinations and flashbacks of trauma. nothing seemed to be working, you gave up on calling simon after the seventeenth dial of his number.

it felt like your skin was on fire, uncontrollably sobbing and hyperventilating. you didn’t know what you were going to do, all you knew was that you needed simon. you didn’t know what you would do without him in your life, he was all you had.

you were so caught up in the swirling emotions and thoughts going in and out of your head that you didn’t hear the door open, boots hitting the floor and keys jingling as they hit the marble counter. when simon turned the corner and walked into the dining room, he didn’t hear you or see you anywhere. he expected to walk in and see you eating dinner, binge watching a show like you always did. but you weren’t.

he called your name, looking for you. “y/n? are ya’ here, love?” that was when he heard faint crying coming from the living room. he rushed to the noise, only to find you breaking down on the floor. he ran towards you, sliding right in front of you and frantically looking around.

he knew in these moments it was difficult to see what you were comfortable with. from touching you and hugging to giving you space, he wasn’t sure what you needed in the moment. based off the fact that this was probably the worst panic attack he had ever seen you have, he knew you definitely didn’t need space.

he lightly touched your arm, pulling back when you jumped. simon reached for your hand guiding it away from your face for you to see him. that he was there. he was home, and safe. you looked up, terrified of what you might see. that your father was in front of you, or watching your young self pick up the phone. but when you saw simon, sitting across from you and worry on his face, you clung onto him like he was water and you were dying of thirst.

he held you tight, cradling your head and pulling you into his lap to make it more comfortable for the both of you. he swayed softly, rubbing circles on your back as you sobbed into his arms and softly whispering reassuring words in your ear.

when your breathing slowed and your sobs gradually wore down, he gently lifted your face from his chest and saw your bloodshot eyes and mascara running down your cheeks, the dried tears forming marks through you face and the wet spots on your shirt from where you were crying. it broke his heart to see you like this. to see his baby girl like this.

he moved the hand on the back of your head to rub your cheek, softly wiping away the makeup that stuck to your skin. he kissed you on your forehead, then your temple, and all down your face until he gently kissed your lips, reminding you that he was safe. that you were safe. that everything was going to be okay. with your face close, he whispered “what happened, love?”

you told him how worried you were. how you thought he was in danger, that you tried calling and messaging him but he wasn’t answering. “i’m so sorry baby girl, my phone died. i was just on my way to the store to pick up some chocolate for you. but i’m home. we’re safe, everythin’ is gonna be okay.”

you cried again, leaning your forehead against his and just feeling him. touching him in these moments was all you wanted, to have reassurance that he was there. that he was real. he always managed to pull you away from your dark thoughts, to be there for you and give you want you needed.

you explained the flashbacks you were having, the voices you heard, all while simon rubbed his hands on your back and made random shapes with his fingers up and down your spine. he listened to you silently, letting you speak without interruption. when you finished, he planted kisses on your face, gently kissing your lips. it was intimate, but not in a sexual way. it was vulnerable intimacy, calming intimacy.

you laid there for a moment, hugging one another and holding each other tightly but softly. simon’s back was hurting and his legs were starting to cramp up, but he didn’t care. as long as could take care of his baby girl and hold her until she felt safe, he was okay.

“ya’ wanna go to bed love? i’ll grab some tissues to wipe off your mascara n’ tickle you all night if ya’ want.” he smiled as you giggled and nodded your head. lifting you up and carrying you to the bedroom, he slowly sat you down on the bed. “i’ll be right back, okay?” you smiled at him and whispered a small “okay” as he want to grab the makeup wipes.

he sat there for what felt like hours, rubbing your face and telling you all the things he loves about you. your hair, your smile, your cute nose, your contagious laugh, everything. when he was done, he kissed you and leaned his forehead against yours. “how ya’ feelin’ now? better?” you nodded and mumbled a small “yes,” saying “you know what would make this even better?” he hummed as he kissed your temple. “cuddling with you.”

“well, that is somethin’ that can definitely be arranged,” he smirked and rolled you around as you laughed. facing you towards him, he rubbed his calloused hand on your soft cheek, staring into your eyes like they held the galaxy in them.

your eyes fluttered, half lidded and a small smile on your face. simon placed one last kiss on your forehead, whispering “goodnight, love. everythin’ is gonna be alright.”

with that, all of your troubles washed away. the only thing that mattered in that moment was him, holding you like you were his world. because you were, you were each other’s safe space. you taught one another how to love, how to be vulnerable, how to learn that you were cared about.

things were going to be okay, as long as you had simon with you.

****

how we feeling about this? ngl i cried a bit while writing it. should i make more angst and/or fluff content on here? let me know, and (as always) feel free to leave anons/comments╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

- 𝓀.𝒿

#call of duty #fanfic #writeblr #cod #ao3 #cod fanfic #simon ghost riley #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost cod #wtf is going on #anons welcome #fic writing #we're past the point of conversation #brainrot.txt #cod x reader #im cryin #y/n #simon riley x you #ed not sheeren #simon riley x reader #x reader #fluff #cod fluff #angst #send anons #cod angst

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐎𝐀𝐃𝐊

Pairing: FEDRA!Javier Peña x firefly!reader

Genre: slice of life, smut, romance, angst, enemies to reluctant friends to lovers, TLOU AU, minors dni

Summary: Javier, a former member of the Federal Disaster Response Agency in Kansas City, is haunted by the guilt and violence he indirectly caused by not taking action when he should have. After fleeing Kansas City in the aftermath of Kathleen's violent overthrow of FEDRA, you and Javier seek refuge in an abandoned train in the middle of a forest.

As you and Javier turn the train into a living space and learn to navigate the dangers of a post-apocalyptic world, you gradually overcome your differences and form an unlikely bond. But when your pasts catch up with you, you must confront the demons that haunt you and make a choice that could mean the difference between life and death. Will you choose to protect each other and find a way to build a new life together, or will the ghosts of your pasts tear you apart?

word count: 5k

chapter summary: some days are harder than others. you and javier go hunting in preparation for the coming winter.

warnings: canon typical violence, no y/n, survivor's guilt (javi), anxiety & thoughts of not wanting to exist for a while (javi), minor character death, tension, oral sex (receiving), dirty talking, piv, rough sex, outdoor sex, primal kink, arguing with soft ending, hurt/comfort vibes, breeding kink, feelings

Whiffletree - A component of a horse-drawn wagon used to help navigate rough roads by connecting the wagon tongue to the horse's harness.

It’s one of those days. 

Javier wakes up with you by his side. Your body pliant and soft with sleep. Your chest moves up and down steadily, you’re bare—you’re always bare for him. Telling him that you preferred it that way, that you feel safe feeling his skin pressing against yours while you were taken by dreams. Him, on the other hand, he still put on his boxer shorts and undershirt. Not for a lack of trust, but he wasn’t about to take your trust lightly by being unprepared in the late hours of the night. 

Sitting up, he reaches for his pack of cigarettes then stops, he’s down to his last pack, and he had an inkling he would want to smoke a lot today. You sleep with him often now. The constant arguing stopped. Both of you are content with just being. Feelings hadn’t been discussed. In this world, the talk of emotions isn’t needed. The two of you have found a semblance of happiness, that’s all that matters. 

This was what Javier hoped to achieve when the both of you sought refuge in this train. Some part of him knew that you would be special and that part of him was right. 

But still. . . it’s harder to remember that on days like this. 

The days where he wish he wasn’t here, with you, and instead he was with his family. Be it in this world or the next. A heavyweight settles over his chest. Breathing is always more difficult on days like this. He would be staggering, wanting to hold his chest, almost like he was having a heart attack. But he would have to hide it if that happened today. He doesn’t want you to know, to worry. These feelings will pass. The feelings of guilt, and grief, and the need to not exist, even for a little while. 

Javier lets out a deep exhale. The used-up oxygen moves within his body, traveling up his throat and forcibly parting his lips. He doesn’t want to feel. It’s all so confusing but also familiar, which only adds to his confusion. Does he miss the others? Carillo, Steve, even the insufferable Adam? He misses his father, his mother, despite her passing being unrelated to the outbreak. Javier never thought he would humor his life before as a peaceful one. 

With these thoughts, his heart clenches, his chest caving in on itself. In that life, he didn’t have you. And he can argue that you are the best part of both lives. Finding you, seeing you for the first time was like breathing again. He was angry with you, yes, but that didn’t stop the rush he felt whenever he was with you. Guilt follows him like a shadow. It’s mirrored in his reflection in the water, in the windows. It’s always there. He sees the deaths of his friends, family—sometimes he even sees you; your dead eyes unblinking as you stare at him through shards of glass. 

The weight on his chest, it’s heavier today. How can breathing be the easiest, yet the most difficult thing he can ever do? 

“Javi,” you mutter, palm finding the slope of his knee. “Are you okay?” 

“I am,” he says, quickly sliding back into the sheets and pulling you into his arms. He presses his nose into your hair, your earthy scent replacing the oxygen in his lungs. “Did I wake you up?” 

You shake your head and his grip around you tightens. You kiss the front of his shoulder. Your lips warm and wet. He remembers the prior night when your mouth was wrapped around him, the best feeling in the world. 

“No,” you look up at him between heavy lashes. “Did I wake you?” 

“No, mi amor. I just saw a bad dream.” 

You nod, your head falling back into his chest. His scar burns when you nuzzle him, a bit too close to comfort. He swallows, his jaw growing taut. You never ask him about his nightmares. Javier lacks the same restraint as you, so he always ends up asking you what you saw whenever you say you had a bad dream. Luckily, you seemed to enjoy the fact that he asks. 

Wind rattles the windows. Thanks to the insulation the two of you managed to put together, the inside is warm and cozy. Your beds now side by side, the curtain that separated the two gone. You pull him in for a kiss, one that he happily obliges. He slips his tongue into your mouth, licking himself deeper as you wrap your arms around him and pull him close. He could do this forever. No matter how many times the two of you are together, Javier longs to feel your heat around him, to feel your mouth, your curves, your trembling body—these are the things he had been apart from for way too long. 

“Javier,” you half whisper half moan, your breaths mingle together. “I’m going to say something. Promise you won’t get mad.” 

His shoulders slump. Physically, he’s only an inch away from your person, but emotionally he’s already withdrawing, the walls that leave his mind in a haze drawing up. Your eyes are closed, soft lashes kissing your skin. His mind might be surrounded by a thick victorian-like fog but, fuck, he can’t deny himself of pressing his lips to your eyelids, one by one. Javier is already highly aware that he’s not god’s strongest soldier. 

You sigh into him, your body instinctively curling towards his torso. 

“Is that supposed to be a promise?” 

He lets out a shaky breath, lips twitching with amusement. “I already know what you’re going to say, Perla. Today is the worst possible day for any questions.” 

“I know you don’t want to talk about the past,” you answer, your eyes snapping open. The same determination from the first day he met you heavy in your eyes. “And of course, we don’t have to talk about everything. But we should be able to talk about some things. Your nightmares are getting more frequent.” 

It’s because I’m happy now, when I don’t deserve to be. “Look at you, so worried,” he muses, leaving a trail of wet kisses as he makes his way down your body. “What would your firefly pals think of you now?” 

You’re not stupid. Javier is positive you know his ways of distraction by now, however, he is grateful you don’t press the matter. He adores the way you spread your legs for him, without question. His cock twitches at the sight of you. Your pretty pussy already soaked. He kisses the mound, avoids your clit, and presses his mouth into your folds. You sigh in bliss. 

“I think they would like you,” you answer, lifting your hips to meet the heat of his mouth. He pins you down with both hands and you let out a soft giggle. “I mean…if we ignore the whole FEDRA thing that is.” 

“Were you close to anyone in particular?” 

Your eyes drop to where his head crowns between your legs. Playfully, you tuck a couple of soft strands behind his ear.  “Not really. No.” 

“Their loss.” 

With a smile you cup his cheek, thumb smoothing over his growing beard, the pad of your fingers finds purchase over a patch of skin that is stubborn and bare. “You’re starting to grow a bit of fuzz,” you say. “I like it.” 

“I’m glad you do. You’re going to be seeing it for a while until we find a rusty razor.” 

Javier pushes his tongue between your folds, licking a stripe up until the curve of his nose bumps against your clit. His cock drips when you moan for him. Without much thought, he grinds down into the mattress and groans into you. Your breath hitches, your fingers fisting the sheets. Your whimpers grow louder and louder. He flattens his tongue, kissing your pussy, he closes his lips tightly around the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your thighs are tight around the frame of his face. He feels the shaking of your legs, the way your cunt pulses with each stroke of his tongue. 

After all this time, he still knows how to make a woman come. He’s prideful of the fact. He smiles as he sucks on your clit, his pulse skyrocketing at the way you pull at his hair. A pleasant pressure that starts from his scalp moves all the way down to his tailbone. You let out a sharp cry. Your hips stuttering while you flood his mouth. Javier softens his tongue, the muscles dancing between quivering lips as you slowly settle down. Your frantic breathing fades into long languid sighs, and soon enough you’re pulling him up, capturing his lips in an equally languid and lazy kiss. 

He loves distracting you. 

You smell rain. An incoming storm. A ticking bomb. It’s all laid out so clearly in the wind that it’s hard to miss it. Javier had brought you along to hunt with him, even though you would much prefer to stay at the train and clean up the “kitchen area” for better use. You told him as such and he rolled his eyes, a tired yet humorful smile gracing his handsome features. 

He knows you don’t like to hunt, but asked you to come anyway. Saying that you needed to learn, just in case. 

“It’s not that I don’t know,” you chide, stepping over a dried-up log. “I just don’t like doing it.” 

“Well, I’m not going to be the only one hunting. Do you know how heavy a deer is? I’ll pop a shoulder.” 

You huff. Picking up the pace, you playfully shove your shoulder into his. “I guess that’s fair.” And you look good when you hunt so I don’t mind. 

Of course, you would never admit that. The man knows he looks good, he doesn’t need you to remind him. You’re also pretty sure your eyes are a dead giveaway anyway, eating him up as he propped a rifle under his arm and watched his prey. The thing you feel is akin to liquid heat rolling down your spine. 

Javier suddenly stops, his arm reaching in front of you to stop you as well. He doesn’t have to. You’re trained to feel the sudden distress of those around you. Either that or death. Still, feeling his arm gently bumping into your stomach made you smile. You’re quickly  getting addicted to being cared for. 

“There,” he whispers, grabbing your hand and leading you to crouch behind a thick bush. Your eyes follow to where he points, and lo behold, a handsome buck nosing the earth in search of food. Just like you two are. “Do you want to or should I?” he mutters. He’s already sliding the rifle off his shoulder. 

“You already know my answer,” you lick your lips, watching unblinkingly as he takes his stance, his eyes focused. “Go ahead.” 

Javier readies himself to take the shot. His finger hovers over the trigger. His breathing is slow and measured, each inhalation deep and deliberate. You can see the muscles in his arms tense, his chest rising and falling with each breath. The tendons in his hand twitch. It's as if he's completely in tune with the rhythm of the forest. The tip of his tongue slowly pokes out from between his lips and stays there. 

You feel a wave of heat wash over you as you watch him. The buck comes further into focus. A gust of wind blows, playing with the soft strands that fall over his forehead.  Javier's eyes narrow with concentration. You can almost feel the electricity in the air as he takes aim, his finger tightening on the trigger. You hear the soft click of it first, then a loud echo of a bullet firing out of the nuzzle of the gun. 

And despite all of that, he misses. 

The buck jumps with fear, running away and disappearing into the forest. 

“Fuck!” Javier shouts, his sudden rage coming as a surprise to you. He quickly picks himself up from the soil and attempts to make chase, that is until he realizes you’re not following. He turns, rifle swaying across his back. The crease between his brows is deep, the scowl he’s giving you reminding you of the time your relationship was a hostile one. “What are you waiting for? Come on.” 

Your lips part with the intent to tell him to give up, that the two of you should look for another target instead. But something in his eyes prevents you from saying that. With shaky legs, you stand and follow. His eyes drop to your feet, then raises again, meeting your gaze. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out. “I didn’t mean to shout.” 

“Wouldn’t be the first,” you answer, a nervous bubble of laughter escaping you. “You usually don’t miss, are you. . . um. . . are you okay?” 

He contemplates your question, the world around you buried in uncomfortable silence, even the leaves completely still. Javier throws his head back and looks to the sky, then he lets out a breath. His hand slides into his pocket, pulling out his cigarette pack. 

“I don’t want to lie,” he says, head falling back as he pulls the stick between his lips. “I’m not doing that well today.” 

“Does it have to do with. . . you know,” you trail off and he levels you with a look. You’re not sure what he’s saying though, but you decide to continue. “Your friends.” 

His eyebrows raise, cigarette loose between his lips. “Friends?” 

“Steve and the others.” 

“Stop it,” he lights the cigarette and drags his thumb down the curve of his nose. “Just stop talking. I said I don’t want to talk about it.” 

Your heart sinks upon hearing the tremble in his voice. You take a step forward, relieved when he doesn’t move away from you. Javier sucks the but of his cigarette, filling his lungs with sweet nicotine, then he exhales the smoke, burrowing it into your lungs instead. 

“I don’t want you to be mad at me anymore. I know you still are. Let me apologi—” 

“I’m not mad.” he shakes his head. “I just don’t want to talk about it. Not FEDRA or the life I lead before you showed up. The past should stay in the past.” 

“You know that’s not true.” a bead of sweat rolls down your spine and you shudder. You walk until there’s no distance left anymore and touch his wrist. His fingers twitch. “The past is still bothering you. Maybe if you talk about it—” 

“And say what?” he hisses. “That their dead because of me? That I was too weak, too much of a coward to save anyone? To explain those who were closest to me that all of what we were doing was causing the death of the people we swore to protect? Is that it?” 

“Javi—” 

“Or,” he says, cutting your sentence short the third time. He raised his voice abruptly, his words echoing “Do you want me to say that they died because of what you did? Is that what you want? Me blaming you? I don’t know what you’re digging for, but you’re not going to get it. I’m not going to rest my head on your lap and open my heart to you. That’s not how this works.” 

“Then how does this work?” you snap back, eyes burning with coming tears. “I just want to talk. I don’t expect you to forgive me, to cry or anything like that. You’re clearly upset just let me fucking be there for you!”

“It’s not your job to be there for me.” 

“So is this how it’s going to be then? Just us fucking like rabbits and saying sweet nothings only when it’s convenient? We’re not actually going to be there for each other where it counts?”

“I didn’t hear you complaining.” 

He pulls away from you. Slipping from between your fingertips. His rage is still heavy in the air, but the wind and the forest around you comes to life again. The dirt crunches under his boots, his cigarette held tightly between his lips. 

What’s the next step to take? You think bitterly. What’s the right thing to say?

You don’t know. 

So you follow. 

Somewhere along the way, you find your body pressed against a large tree trunk, thick moss sticking to the fabric of your shirt. Unlike before, instead of him giving you the silent treatment, Javier was chatty. He kept angrily muttering things, either directed at you or the buck that had run off. He was still adamant about finding it. No matter how many times you tried to convince him the animal was gone. He said some things that hurt, and you returned the sentiment. Your words like the knives you carried on your hips; sharp and painful. Venom spewed from the both of you, and deep, deep down, you wondered who it was helping. Him, who was still blaming himself but trying to mask it by saying it was you to blame—which he wouldn’t be wrong, you blamed yourself too— or you, who was foolish enough to think some good could come out of this world? 

And with those thoughts swirling in your mind, he pushed you towards the nearest tree, the force of it knocking the air from your lungs. 

His hands skim down your sides, squeezing and pulling at every inch. Javier grinds his hips into the curve of your ass and you let out a sharp gasp. He’s quick to tug down your jeans and kick your legs apart. Thick fingers follow the elastic of your underwear. You feel his breath, hot and wet, fanning over the back of your neck. The urgency in his movements slows until it comes to a full stop. He’s hesitating, you realize. But you don’t want him to stop. You want to feel the rage that built in him in the past twenty years. You want to feel his teeth sinking into your skin and fingers tearing at your flesh. 

You want to take his anger from him as he buries himself deep inside you, animalistic, primal. 

“Don’t get shy on me now, Javi.” 

There’s a teasing lilt to your tone. Something that you hope he engages in. There’s a small tug at your lips when Javier buries his fist deep into your hair, pulling from the roots. A sharp breath leaves you as he yanks your head back, he drags his chapped lips down your neck, and much to your surprise, he leaves a kiss at your pulse. 

“You’re a fucking thorn in my side,” he groans, lips moving along your heated skin. 

That’s all he has to offer in the means of tenderness. 

With one strong thrust, Javier buries himself to the hilt. You gasp aloud. Your forehead falling against the grooved surface of the tree. He’s so close. His clothed chest pressed up against yours, he’s panting, every breath a violent heat against your neck. You flutter around him, a weak attempt to adjust to his width. But Javier doesn’t give you much time. You’re soaked, so he pulls out and snaps back in with ease. Dripping down his length and the inside of your thighs. You attempt to bite back moans. Which results in unattractive, choked out sounds leaving you instead. 

His fingers curl around your throat. The perfect necklace. Heat rolls down your spine when he tugs you back, an arch forming between bodies. 

“There’s no one else here,” he growls, teeth nipping at your cheek. “Let me hear you.” 

You’re shaking, trembling with the way he rolls his hips with each and every word. A whimper leaves you. And, frustrated, Javier shoves two fingers between your lips, parting your mouth wide to eliminate the filter. The pace he sets after that is brutal. It’s piercing, his cock splitting you into two, only his hips moving while he holds you in place. You moan loudly into the forest, the wind accompanying you in some weird mystic way that makes you feel free. Your knees buckle. 

“You like this don’t you?” he groans, pulling you away from the tree so he would be the only one preventing you from falling. Your eyes roll back. Your skin burns at the way your breasts begin to sway with each heavy stroke. “Being fucked like this, out in the open. Like animals. Is this why you try to piss me off all—” 

He changes the angle, fucking himself deeper. You cry out. “the—” he grabs your breast, squeezes it. “fucking—” he sinks his teeth into your neck, the last word coming out muffled. “time.” 

You claw at his forearm that’s wrapped around your torso, holding you up. You make the mistake of briefly looking around, witnessing the greenery as he thrusts up into you, his cock hot and searing. The pleasure accompanied by the peaceful terrain makes you clench, a groan slipping past your lips. This shouldn’t feel as good as it does, at least that’s what you’re thinking. 

You hear his cruel chuckle, hot and heavy in your ear. Your nipples tingle and harden further. “Filthy,” he spits out, voice dripping with amusement. “I can feel you squeezing around me. . .  it feels. . . good.” 

In those words, you hear a bit of clarity, a bit of softness. 

“You want me to come inside you? Fill you up so you feel me for days, perla?” 

Javier's voice fills the stillness of the forest, consuming you. His words lace with a raw, almost primal intensity that leaves you gasping for more. You feel the muscles in his arms and chest flexing as he continues to thrust into you, a rhythm building between you that is as old as time itself.

“Yes, yes—fuck—please, Javi. Need it so bad.” 

His breath is hot against your neck, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh just below your ear. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, your body responding eagerly to his touch. You feel his fingers curling around your waist, pulling you even closer to him as he pounds into you with a ferocity that leaves you dizzy.

The way he fills you up, the way he takes control, the way he possessively claims you with each thrust—all of it makes you feel alive in a way you never have before. 

The moss beneath the soles of your boots appears soft and yielding, the leaves rustling gently in the breeze as you cling to Javier. The heat of his body presses against you, his chest heaving with each breath as he brings you ever closer to the edge. His fingers tighten around your throat. 

You feel his cock pulsing inside of you, his thrusts becoming more desperate. Your name on his tongue becomes a fevered chant. He buries himself deep inside of you, you feel his hot seed flooding your body, filling you up until you think you might burst. The pleasure is almost unbearable, the sensation so intense that you can barely breathe. Electricity burns you as it rushes up and down your body, every muscle feeling limp and worn out. He doesn’t pull out, keeps you still, groaning as come trickles down from where his cock stretches you.

The world around you slowly comes back into focus, you realize that you are still clinging to Javier, your body trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm. His arms are wrapped tightly around you, his lips brushing gently against your neck. 

You both struggle to catch your breath.

Screaming. Shouting. Gunfire. Blood. 

He could smell it all in the air. Thick like fog. Javier’s own body felt unfamiliar to him. He moved but to where he had no idea. He pushed over god knows how many people, running, searching. Carillo, Steve…it was unlikely that they made it. The only reason Javier was still alive is due to the fact that he was on patrol. She would’ve struck the headquarters first. Which is where Carillo and Steve were stationed at. 

A woman with a knife suddenly jumped in front of him. He felt the restraint in his arms as he pointed his pistol. She looked like an infected. Blood running down her cheek, her hair mussed and tangled, her eyes deranged. 

“Fuck FEDRA!” she growled, jumping him. 

With a twist of his body, he ducked away and didn’t turn back to watch her fall to the concrete. His gun was empty. He didn’t have the luxury of wasting time for anyone to find out. He was about to duck into an alleyway when he saw it; a young man that he once knew. Adam. It wasn’t uncommon for FEDRA to receive young officers, most of them orphans, eighteen, sometimes nineteen. He remembered teaching him how to aim. His green eyes were left open, a handle of a knife coming out of his throat like a solid plastic tongue. 

Bile rose to Javier’s throat. His blood boiled, every muscle buzzing with fear and adrenaline. Adam didn’t choose this. His parents died, most likely killed, then was raised by FEDRA to be a soldier. 

“I’m sorry, kid.” Javier whispered, granting himself a brief moment to lean over and close Adam’s eyes. 

He was still warm to the touch. 

While you didn't manage to find the exact buck you were looking for, you did manage to find a deer that was just as good. 

Now the two of you sit at the table, two cups of rosemary tea in front of you. The sky dark, the stars invisible due to gray clouds thickening. Silence consumes you both. Javier stares outside, his bottom lip sucked between his teeth as he nipped unconsciously. After the…heated moment in the forest, Javier hadn’t said much. He wasn’t silent but the atmosphere was less than cheerful. 

Soft drops begin to hit the glass, an echo of rain filling the train car. Anxiously, you wrap your hands around the mug and bring the porcelain rim to your lips. It was cracked. 

“I did try to stop it, you know,” he mutters, his whispered words loud in contrast to the silence of the night. “Micheal and I. I was feeding him information, trying to help him to overthrow my friends. He was a peaceful man.” 

You take a slow inhale. Your lungs expand and when it does you fear that even the smallest of movement might bring on back his silence. You watch. Your eyes glued to his face that was buried in darkness. He continues without looking back at you. 

“But that all changed when Henry and Sam got involved. Sam was Henry’s little brother, Henry gave up where Micheal was to Carillo in return for medicine, which brought on Micheal’s death. I tried to stop it but as always, I wasn’t efficient. Before I could say, or at least attempt to put my foot down and face a similar death—Micheal was gone.”

“And Kathleen took control.” 

You immediately regret speaking up but he doesn’t flinch away, only nods. “Yeah. She did.” 

“I’m sorry, Javier. The fireflies shouldn’t have meddled—I…I shouldn’t have—” 

“It’s not your fault, cariño. You were following orders. I would be a hypocrite if I just blamed you,” he lets out a stuttered breath. “I did awful things. I stayed silent many times when I shouldn’t. I’m not a good man, and I doubt I ever was.” 

“You were loyal.” you point out. “So was I.” 

He scoffs, eyes following the raindrops that slide down the windows. “It wasn’t out of loyalty. I owed them, owed Carillo and Murph my loyalty. They saved me.” 

Your eyes widen slightly, your nails tap against the mug. “Your scar…” 

“I was captured while we were transferring a bunch of people between QZ’s. Hunters. They were going to kill me, they slit me open.” he swallows. “I still remember it. And I was prepared to die—I embraced it— but they came back for me.” 

You don’t say a word. Just imagining him laid out like that, stripped of everything only to be killed. . . cold sweat coats your skin, uncomfortably sticky. 

“So yeah, I owed them my loyalty. I don’t know if I would’ve done anything differently if not. Maybe I would’ve simply run away when things got so complicated.” he shakes his head. “I never got to ask them.” 

“Ask them what?” 

“Ask them why. So I’ll just ask you instead,” He finally turns to face you, his eyes swallowed by complete darkness, yet clearer than the stars that are hidden. “Why did you save me?” 

You hear the crack in his voice. It’s subtle, but it’s there. He’s so unsure of his question, what answer it might bring. But lucky for him, your answer comes to you as naturally as breathing. 

“I saw goodness in you. Saw it the day we met.” 

You hear him swallow. Without touching his tea, or saying anything else, he takes you by the hand and leads you to the bed. You sit down next to him, feeling the cool metal of the train car's wall against your back. Javier leans against the wall too, his arm wrapped around your waist as you both watch the rain outside. The patter of drops against the windowpane is a soothing background noise, punctuated by the occasional rumble of thunder.

After a while, he pulls you so you sit between his legs. He sneaks his hands under your shirt, palms spread out over the tender skin of your stomach. You sigh, leaning into him. His lips touch your cheek. 

“I’m sorry for today,” he whispers. 

“Don’t be,” you answer far too quickly. “I enjoyed it.” 

“I didn’t mean that,” you hear the smile in his voice. “I meant the arguing, the things I said. I think the grip the past has on me is only worse now because I’m afraid of losing you. It’s easier to live with the worst of yourself when you have nothing.” 

You know what he means. And you agree with him. However, your need to comfort him is much greater compared to your need to be logical. 

“You won’t lose me,” you say with a certainty that surprises you. “We’re going to grow old together right here, in our little nook of normalcy.” 

Javier hums, lips moving down to your neck. Hold me, he says into your skin, and you do. Turning in a way where you can wrap your arms around him. You know all the words he wants to say. How his first instinct to answer you by saying this world is full of death and wretchedness, you know this because that has always been your first instinct too. But he doesn’t. And neither do you. 

You two are too stubborn not to make that dream a reality. 

#javier peña x reader #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x you #javier peña #narcos fic #narcos x reader #hbo the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #tlou fanfiction #tlou au

[agoodfictitle-shadowban]

From Vormir, With Love - Part 6

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Tags: strangers to lovers, love in space angst on earth, slavery mention, alien abduction, post Endgame, survivor guilt, suicide ideations, will add as we go on

Summary: As you're being chased you crash on Vormir. So far, so bad. But things take a turn when you come face to face with a marooned Black Widow.

Word count: 2.7k

A/n: it's hard to realize how fast time goes by sometimes. Also i know some people are asking for a tag list but i kinda lost track so i'm sorry but i won't make one i think :/

You go back to Clint's the same day, late at night, in the car you borrowed while everyone else went to Tony Stark's funeral. Your dad's words are still resonating inside your mind, despite trying your hardest to ignore them. You don't know what to do, or what decision to make. Lucky for you, something is there to distract you when you arrive in the form of the lights being on on the porch of the house. You frown; it's almost 2am, so you expected everyone to be asleep at this point. But no. You recognize the redhead sitting on the bench and a slight wave of worry washes over you. Why was she still awake? Did something happen? You exit the car and close the door as silently as you can before you join the spy on the porch. She's holding a beer in her hands, and you guess it's not her first one seeing a few empty vessels are down on the windowsill behind her.

"Did something happen?"

Natasha looks up at you with a questioning eye at your worried tone, then it dawns on her she must look pretty miserable, so she shake her head to answer you.

"No, nothing happened. Just… grieving. It feels weird after arboring so much hope." The high of hoping to see their plan succeed against the cost of it. She clears her throat that started to constrict again, and offers you the seat next to her. "Care to join me?"

You agree, and she grabs a bottle to give to you from the cooler on the other side of the bench. You take it and open it in one swift move. She bring her bottle closer to yours for a small toast.

"To saving the world, and the heroes we lost."

"To coming back to a life you don't want," you answer in kind.

You clink your bottles together. Both of you drink. There is a lull in the night that you both enjoy, before you break the silence first. You're hesitant at first.

"You know… for what it's worth, I'm really sorry. It must be really hard."

She sighs after taking a swig of the beer. It stings, the loss, but more so, the what ifs. What if she'd been there, what if she could have saved him. Obviously, it likely wouldn't have changed the final result, but maybe, just maybe… she lets out a sigh.

"Sorry about your reunion with your parents. Sounds like it didn't go so well." She prefers to change the subject. No point in wallowing now. You take the change of topic gracefully, understanding she wishes to talk about something else.

"It went well, actually. We're having a barbecue on sunday. You and the crew are invited."

She snorts, then raises an eyebrow when she realizes you're serious. She tilts her head and pinches her lips. "You know what? Sure, I'll be there. Maybe I can go as your date," she offers with a wink.

Your heart skips a beat at those words and you blink a few times. Your date? Wait, is she serious? You look at her, trying to read her and make sure you're not hallucinating. There is a bit of a blush on her cheeks, but you quickly attribute it to her drinking. She's probably just slightly drunk and teasing you, you reason before you roll your eyes.

"Sure, why not," you answer, now certain that there's nothing serious there. "Just get ready 'cause my mom is going to ask you a lot of questions."

"I faced death and came back, I'm sure I can deal with her. I'm very charming."

You both laugh and you shake your head, drinking more of your beer. You were glad to see that at least she could still laugh even on this heavy day. You have no idea that it's because she feels so much lighter now that you agreed to have her be your date, after she got to reflect on the fleeting nature of life some more, and finally decide to take the plunge one way or another.

"Well, as charming as you are, I think I need to get some rest," you admit with a yawn that you hide behind your hand, your eyes watering with your need to sleep. It is 2am after all. It makes Natasha smiles at how cute you are, right as she nods.

"Alright, I'll join you soon. Oh, and careful in the living room, someone is sleeping on the sofa."

"Explains what you're doing outside." You put your hands on your knees, ready to get up.

"Truthfully? I was also waiting for you," she admits with a slight blush. You're surprised at the admission and almost lose your balance trying to get up. You almost can't believe your ears, but as usual, you decide to ignore the way her words make you feel. You turn around to look at her and try to not notice the way the pink of her cheeks makes you want to caress them and lean forward to kiss her, or how fragile she suddenly looks from where you're standing.

"You were?"

"Someone had to tell you we had another guest." She arches a teasing eyebrow. There is another reason, not so obvious to you, but she likes to keep you on your toes. You laugh behind your hand and nod.

"Obviously. Alright. Good night, Natasha."

She smiles at you, it is more tender than anything she ever said to you so far. "Good night. And thank you for checking on me."

"Anytime."

You then disappear inside the house, careful not to wake up the sleeping form on the couch, and go to your room. You easily fall asleep, and after you do, you're joined by a sleepy redhead who, after a minute of internal debate, finds a way into your arms. After all, you said yes to a date with her, didn't you?

*

You frown as you awaken, feeling something tickling your face. You scrunch up your nose and get your face out of… what was it even? You opened an eye only to be met with red and blond hair everywhere up in your face. That's when you notice that Natasha is in your arms, keeping you warm and cozy and, oh god you're blushing like crazy now that you notice what your hand is. You quickly take it off and get a groan from the smaller woman.

The sound of protest makes you blush even more, so you decide to find a way out of there really fast, or as fast as you can considering that extracting yourself without waking the woman is as easy as taking a bear cub from its mama bear. But, against all odds, you succeed and leave for the bathroom. There, you take the time for your heart to calm down and your blush to recede before heading downstairs.

How did you end up in that position? You aren't particularly cuddly during the night, at least not accidentally, so something must have happened. You just hoped Natasha didn't notice anything.

When you arrive downstairs, you notice that you're not the first one awake. There is a woman with long red hair there too, and you recognize Wanda Maximoff. She must have been the surprise guest who was staying on the sofa last night. You offer her a nod.

"Hi. Y/n," you introduce yourself.

"Wanda," she goes, and you grab some of the coffee she made. She seems lost in her thoughts, and you notice the rim of red around her eyes, like she cried. You're unsure about what to do before you take a seat opposite from her.

"I'm sorry for your loss," you try, and it startles her. She scoffs.

"Everyone keeps saying that, it doesn't feel like it means anything anymore." You nervously wet your lips and play with your mug. She's not done. "You don't even know me, you know nothing of my grief."

She's being a bit of an ass, but you decide it was okay considering she looks at the end of her life.

"I don't, you're right. Doesn't mean I can't feel your sorrow and want to take a chunk of it away for you."

"Is that what it is? Or is it just pity?"

With those words, she stands up, jaw set and tears filling her eyes. She leaves the room, and you sigh. You have no idea what she's going through, and you feel bad for her, but there is nothing you can do about it. You stay in the kitchen for a few minutes longer, when Clint joins you. He notices Wanda is missing and sends you a questioning look in case you know anything.

"I tried to be civil," you simply say, and with a frown, he goes outside to try and comfort Wanda. Once again, you stay inside. Clearly you're not close enough to be of any help whatsoever, no matter how bad you feel for the woman.

Lucky for you, you don't have to think about it much longer when other people start to pour inside the kitchen. Apparently being able to properly rest is conducive to getting up early. You make small talk while you drink your coffee peacefully, until Natasha shows up.

You blush upon remembering the way you woke up, and try to act natural when she comes and sits next to you.

"Good morning," she says your way after greeting everyone else, her hand ghosting over your thigh briefly. Your heart is about to beat out of your chest and you tense slightly, awaiting the contact, but it never comes. Feeling your tension, Natasha decides against touching you. Maybe it was too soon for you, and she doesn't want to push you. "How are you doing?"

You force yourself to relax slightly, and a smile comes naturally when you answer her.

"Pretty good, but I don't think the new girl likes me."

"Give her time. She needs to heal first." You nod at Natasha's wisdom, even if you have no idea what she's talking about.

"I guess Tony mattered a lot to her, huh."

"Not really. It's more complicated than that. Don't worry about it too much." And with that, she captures your hand briefly. You can only nod in answer, and breathe again when she lets go of the contact. You immediately miss it and the way it makes you feel. The conversation from yesterday comes back to you and you think it's a good idea to actually ask what she meant when she offered to be your date, especially since you agreed.

"On another note," you start, "what did you–"

Before you can ask anything more a crashing sound came from outside and you both immediately stood up ready to fight. June comes running and turns to Natasha.

"Your friend is losing it, you need to do something."

"I need to go save Clint's ass. Talk later?" She offers and you nod, dumbfounded. Seems like you actually could have gotten in a lot of troubles by upsetting Wanda.

"Yeah, definitely. Hum, good luck. I feel like you might need it."

Natasha smirks, then puts her game face on before she goes through the door. There is a beat of silence between you and June before you decide that you might as well ask her opinion.

"So, I have a question," you start very hesitantly. Your friend gets her hand up almost in your face, as if she already knows what you're about to ask.

"Don't bother, I already know."

"You do?" You arch an eyebrow, and it doesn't stop June.

"You need to bang it out with superspy."

You sputter, blush, frown, and look at the woman in front of you.

"What the hell June?!"

"What? Don't tell me it wasn't about her!"

"It was, but come on!"

"I said my piece then." You bang your head on the table, and June looks out the window to see how the situation is going. She sees she still has time to keep going and sits opposite from you. "Okay, just, listen, I think she likes you, and I know you like her! Don't let it go to waste. We lost enough of our lives like that."

Of course, June has a point, whether you like it or not. You feel something for Natasha, but you're too scared to act upon it, and if she feels the same - which you doubt - she isn't going to wait forever for you, so you have to act. Or at least ask if you're right to doubt there is anything there instead of assuming. Be brave. You owe it to her.

"Alright, alright," you concede with a sigh. "I'll talk to her."

"Finally." She looks up at the sky in silent thanks and you roll your eyes at her theatrics. You decide it's time to give her a bit of a heart attack in turn.

"How is it going with Carol, by the way?" You ask in turn, a smirk adorning your lips. A very light blush takes root on her cheek. Got her.

Her answer comes in the form of a finger.

*

"Do you need some help with that?" You offer when you catch Natasha alone in your bedroom.

You came upstairs to tell her food is ready, and she was taking care of a cut in her back. Calming down Wanda went poorly, and even if she seemed apologetic after the facts, it wasn't going to heal the redhead's bruises. It was unfair, but you understood that grief could make you do crazy things.

"I could do with some help." Her admission is small.

You approach Natasha slowly and sit on the bed next to her, a leg under you, grabbing the first aid kit for some disinfectant and gauze. Carefully, she surrenders the material she's holding on the side of the kit and turns around so her back is facing you. You look at her skin which is peppered with scars, and you can only imagine all she went through. All the hurt, all the trauma, everything that led to her being in front of you right now, so vulnerable.

You start your work carefully. You learned how to take care of cuts and bruises during your travels.

"Do you ever wish you could take someone's place?" She asks you in the religious silence. There is a tremor in her voice that clues you in how serious the conversation is. You swallow your jokes and answer truthfully.

"The first few months after the abduction I did. Then I realized it meant someone else would be in my place so I stopped."

"I do. To take off the pain from my friends." Her words made no sense at first, but as you thought about it, you realized she is talking about lessening the pain of Wanda. Taking the place of her lover who died long ago now, but only moments before for the witch. Carol told you everything in a way only someone who wished they had been there could.

"Displacing people's grief wouldn't really lessen the pain. Just make it different."

"I still think I could have… maybe if I stayed…"

She can't bring herself to finish her sentence, but you understand. If she were dead maybe things would be different.

She hangs her head low. You sigh, almost groan at her truth. You finish patching her up, and lay your hand against her back. Against her scars. Her past laid bare against your palm.

"For what it's worth, I'm glad you're here with us." With me, you don't add but still think so loudly you're sure she can hear you. If she understands the subtext, she says nothing about it.

"Thank you," she simply answers, still looking away, but relaxing against your touch. It's a moment of vulnerability, but more importantly of trust. It lasts until a shiver runs along her spine with the cold. She smoothly puts back her shirt and you put your hand away. She gets up, and when she turns around, she has a shy smile directed at you.

"I can smell the food, should we join everyone?" She extends a hand towards you, and you take it. In a swift move, she helps you up and brings you against her in a hug. "Thank you."

You hold her, hum when she rubs her nose against your neck, your heart ready to burst. You wish for this moment to last forever against your better judgment.

Damn you're in deep.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha #fvwl #natasha imagine #idk how to tag

[faiiryteethh]

I'm just curious is there anything that you have in common with alice liddell to make you the "irl alice liddell" other than looking like her? I see it appearance wise but I was just wandering if you actually relate to her as a person/character...

Yes!! A big reason why she means so much to me is because I have so much in common with her & I've felt such a deep connection to her character ever since I played the first Alice game.

Trigger warning! some of our similarities include very sensitive topics 💜

we both were sent away to Asylums

we both were abused / mistreated at the Asylums

I also had a toy rabbit that i loved dearly but was taken away from me when we were thrown out of our home (along with a lot of my other childhood belongings)

we both have a sister named Lizzie

we both have been manipulated and made to believe we were insane by people we trusted. for her it was Bumby and for me it was my own mother, sadly.

we both have experienced psychosis or hallucinations

we both have been given medication / treatment against our will

we both have self-harmed

we both have experienced extreme grief and survivor's guilt as a result of a loved one dying while we somehow did not.

we both have PTSD & are haunted by our trauma/past.

both of us have memories that are so painful that our brain actually forgot about them. like alice i did recover my memories but i went through dissociative amnesia for years.

we both are fond of animals

we both had a sibling who was r*ped (except in my case the person who did it also r*ped me too)

we both have used opium as a vice (except my form of it was modern day heroin)

though i never actually received shock therapy I was almost forced to undergo it because i had lost my rights to refuse treatment by being deemed "incapable of making my own medical decisions" and was scheduled for ECT treatments against my will. I was so terrified by what the patients looked like who were coming back from ECT (scabs on there upper forehead, some of them who became my friends couldn't even remember who i was, one woman had forgotten what her own daughter looked like!) and because i was so scared i ended up climbing the fence to escape the hospital while we were outside for "yard time". i am still so grateful that i made the decision to escape and i succeeded. even though i have bipolar disorder, i was only 19 and was way too young for ECT. and i later found out that many patients had been mistreated and medically abused at that same hospital. some of them had even died under "mysterious circumstances" i also had other horrific things happen to me there.

shout out to McClean Hospital! also/formerly known as Somerville Asylum and Charlestown Asylum!! if you know anyone who has attended this hospital then they most likely have some horror stories to tell.

but yeah i'm sure i have a lot more similarities with alice. these are just the things i could remember off the top of my head. her character means the world to me. hence why alice: madness returns is my ultimate comfort game. i also truly love the aesthetics in the game itself. i love bugs, rabbits, cats, strange creatures, fantastical things, the victorian era in general. so so much of what is displayed in the game is directly similar to my personal interests or IS one of my interests lol. i could go on and on about my love for the game and my love for alice but i think this post is already quite long so perhaps i should end it here😊

[sungbeam]

nonidol!ji changmin x bff!fem!reader

after the death of his best friend, changmin’s been left to grieve and wallow. but when you suddenly come back to him in the form of a ghost, he realizes that this might be his chance to right some wrongs. (aka; changmin has seven days with your ghost to figure out why you’ve been returned to the land of the living.)

▷ genre, warnings. childhood friends au, you are literally dead./major character death, mentions of a car accident, implied past bullying, swearing, fluff, comedy as a coping mechanism, angst, comfort/hurt, grief and survivor’s guilt, so much crying that you might get tired, just telling you now it is not meant to be a romantic plot but there r hints bc i’m a sucker, i’m not religious but ur a ghost(?), getting over one’s best friend’s death is not easy folks so that’s why y/n goes ghost B)

▷ total wc. 16.8k </3

▷ permanent taglist. @tayunji @im-a-big-mess @honeyhuii @y3jiishot @crazywittysassy @seomisaho @stopeatread @enhacolor @rnjfy @jaehunnyy @kpopjackie @spiderrenjunfics @soobin-chois @stayarmytinyzenmoa-l @ethereal-engene

a/n: hey hello! ik this prob won’t get a lot of interaction bc it’s a tbz fic and non-romantic main, but it would mean a lot to me if u reblogged and shared this :’) otherwise, hope u enjoy, and here's some mood songs: yellow (coldplay), last (dvwn), & let's hurt tonight (onerepublic)

DAY ZERO

JUYEON wasn’t really the best at approaching people in this way. There was something about sad people that made him feel helpless, and the fact that this was Ji Changmin, one of his closest friends, the helplessness had collapsed into a sinkhole in the pit of his stomach. Even Chanhee, someone who was arguably closer to Changmin, sat silently after Kevin’s proposed question.

Kevin lifted the straw of his coffee to his lips, eyes glued to a crack in the table they surrounded in the local coffee shop by the school campus. “So… no one has any ideas?”

Sad, drooping heads.

Chanhee blew a puff of air out from his lips as he propped his chin onto his palm. There seemed to be a permanent frown etched into his face nowadays, not far from how Changmin looked. “I wish that we knew how to get through to him, y’know? I think if he would just let us, then we could at least be there with him.”

“He’s grieving, Chanhee,” Kevin replied firmly, but not unkindly. “If he wants alone time, then he deserves that time to himself. But I do think that he needs to come out of his apartment. I mean… his parents will not be happy when they find out he’s skipped almost a month’s worth of classes.”

It had been about a month since that dreadful night you died. Changmin and his friends had all awoken to the news that there had been an Accident. It was on the corner of two streets, on the opposite side of campus, that you had been run down by a drunk driver on your way home from a late shift. Since then, Changmin refused to crawl out of his apartment, insisting on hoarding himself away. He’d only come out of the apartment to let Gana frolic and do his business, but would then proceed to go straight back to his hobbit hole.

This was a far cry from the Changmin they knew—the one who would drag his friends out to the permanent Haunted House attraction in the middle of July, the one who refused to return to his own apartment until he nailed a dance move just right. But the day you died seemed to be the day that Changmin had as well.

Juyeon chewed on his bottom lip, knee bouncing up and down fervently with anxious energy. He hated feeling helpless. As Kevin and Chanhee continued to talk themselves aloud through their own thoughts, Juyeon pulled his phone out from his pocket and sent Changmin a series of texts. When he finished, he shoved the phone under his thigh to keep from constantly checking the screen for disappointment.

“…could always call up Sunwoo and drive him up here. I’m sure he would gladly intrude to cuddle—”

Juyeon was suddenly yanked back out from tuning in when he felt his phone vibrate. His eyes widened slightly in surprise as he watched the little bubbles appear under Changmin’s name.

juyo: hey changminnie~ wanna come get bbq with us tonight? it’s on me !

juyo: ice cream afterward on me too

kyu: okay

kyu: what time?

———

Changmin didn’t know what possessed him to come out of his apartment to hang out with his friends. For far too long, he had refused to hang out with anyone else besides Gana and his lonesome. But something in him ignited at the sight of Juyeon’s texts and offers; perhaps it had been his stomach and dwindling bank account.

Nevertheless, he told Juyeon that he would meet him there, and he wasn’t about to flake on his word.

He exhaled a haggard sigh from his mouth, the breath turning to visible air in front of him. His nose and cheeks were pink from the cold nipping at his skin, but the sensation felt nice, felt normal. He ducked his head, puffy and tired eyes hidden beneath a red baseball cap, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark hoodie as he walked across the street to reach the lively and warm embrace of the bbq restaurant.

He spied his trio of friends lingering just outside the door, small smiles on their faces as they talked about something amongst themselves. Chanhee threw his head back in a laugh at something Juyeon said, and Changmin suddenly felt out of place without even being there. What if he was just going to ruin the mood? He didn’t want them to be sad or walk around eggshells around him. What if he cried, just out of nowhere? That would definitely ruin the mood—

Before he could swivel on his heel and turn back, Kevin caught his eyes from down the road, his face lighting up. He raised a hand to wave him over, catching the attention of the other two who turned to look. “Yo, Changmin! You made it, man.”

Changmin tried for a smile, his shoulders relaxing. This was fine; he was going to be okay. “Hey guys.”

Chanhee immediately rushed over to him and crushed him in an embrace. “I can’t believe I’ve missed you,” he lamented into Changmin’s jacket.

Changmin chuckled, affectionately patting his friend’s head. “Well, I’m not surprised. I missed you, too, though.”

When Chanhee pulled back, there was an expression of stark disbelief on his face. But before he could point out that Changmin actually admitted to missing him, Changmin was greeted by Kevin and Juyeon.

Juyeon pulled him into a small side hug. “How’re you feeling?”

Changmin swallowed. The tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and his inner voice was shouting at him to hold back. He sucked in a breath. “I’m… I’m okay. How’re you guys?”

There was an exchange of looks between the other three as if they didn’t believe him or they were all silently trying to figure out what best to respond with. Kevin was the one who said, “We’re doing okay, too. Come on; our table’s ready.”

And that was perhaps the very response that Changmin was hoping for—and yet, at the same time, he wondered if he would have liked it better if they called him out for lying instead.

———

Changmin stumbled into his apartment, hand flapping against the wall blindly to find the lightswitch. His dark bangs hung in his eyes as the lights flickered on. He winced, digging his thumb and forefinger into the corners of his eyes to stave the brightness. As he kicked the front door shut, he heard the jingling of Gana’s collar as his pup came up to circle around his legs in warm greeting.

He bent down slightly to scratch behind Gana’s ears. “Hi, boy. Yeah, I’m back.”

He let out yet another sigh and dragged himself over to the couch, collapsing onto the cushion dented with the imprint of his butt from heavy use. Gana leapt onto the couch beside him, dutifully taking residence on the cushion and resting his fluffy head in Changmin’s lap.

For the first time in a month, Changmin had smiled, laughed even. He didn’t like admitting that it had made him feel good; he didn’t like that he could be happy when you’d died so soon ago. The devil perched on his shoulder whispered insecurities into his ear and that high he had been on while out with Chanhee, Kevin, and Juyeon disappeared. Replacing it was that gut-wrenching guilt in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t even describe the deep sadness that fell over him like a tsunami wave. Everything had come to deafening silence, like when he would dunk his head beneath water. Everything became muted… he was slipping again.

Changmin leaned his head against the back of the couch and let the tears trail down the sides of his face. He was trying to breathe—inhale, exhale, inhale—but he would only choke on the sounds of his sobs.

Gana crawled into his lap now, warm mass like a hug. It was the only thing grounding Changmin to reality now.

Do you even deserve to be happy? He wondered to himself, shifting to sit up and wipe the tears from his cheeks with the backs of his hands. Did you deserve to go out and be happy when Yn can’t?

Changmin swore under his breath, angrily pawing at his face again, willing the waterworks to stop. “God, stop crying, you fucking wimp,” he growled at himself.

It wouldn’t help; of course, it wouldn’t help.

His frame trembled and quaked and… and…

Changmin gently moved Gana off of his legs so he could make his way over to the little side table beside his TV. It used to be where he stashed yours and his favorite movies, video games, and board games. But now, it had become home to pictures of you and him, tealights, and your favorite plushie that he kept from when your parents asked to meet with him.

All of it. Why was it here if only to remind him of the person he treasured most lost to the cruel hand of fate?

He collapsed before the table, knees pressed between his body and the cold, hard ground. He clasped his hands together, tears pouring down his face. “If I could just see you again, Yn… just one more time,” he managed to choke out. “Just one more time. Please.” Would that even be enough?

DAY ONE

LIGHT filtered in through the shutters of the apartment windows and directly into Changmin’s eyes, but what woke him up was the incessant sound of Gana’s barking. Changmin groaned, body rolling around onto its side as he reached for his phone charging on the nightstand. It was ten in the morning, well past his first lecture of the day’s allotted time.

He sniffled, hand reaching up to gently touch his puffy eyelids. God, eight hours and he still woke up sore as—

“Jesus, it’s still a pigsty in here.”

Changmin froze. Gana kept barking.

He blinked. He must have been hearing things, because he couldn’t have just heard your voice say that from out in the living room.

Changmin shook his head. He really needed some coffee or something. Now he was hallucinating you? How much worse could his mental health get? Maybe he really should have accepted that offer from your parents when they’d asked him if they could pay for any counseling services he needed. He rose from the bed with a yawn, arms stretching up over his head.

Gana had stopped barking at this point, and Changmin mentally thanked whatever it was that was making his dog go mad for…

The thought ran dry in his head like words dying upon his tongue. He stepped over the threshold between his bedroom and the main living space, and his eyes landed on something awfully peculiar… Not something, rather someone. You. He was staring right at you leaning down to scratch Gana behind the ears.

His heart leapt into his throat and his eyes fluttered shut. This could not be happening.

“Holy shit!” Your exclamation made his eyes shoot open. You were gaping at him now as if you were surprised to see him. “You’re supposed to be at class!”

He couldn’t help but retort in his own defense, “And you’re supposed to be dead!” But here you were, in the flesh—in an old T-shirt from your high school Science Olympiad team and comfortable sweats—petting his dog.

Changmin grasped his bedroom door frame, free hand flying to hold his head. “Oh my god, I’m going insane. What was in that ice cream last night?”

There was no plausible reason for you to be standing in his living room right now. Not when you had been dead for an entire month. He had been at the funeral, had sobbed his heart out over the pile of dirt they’d shoveled over your grave. A prickling sensation came to the corners of his eyes and he willed himself to not start crying again. He didn’t even know he had tears left to cry after the session he’d had last night.

“Changmin.”

He shuddered.

Your voice was softer this time as you slowly moved away from Ghana. “Changmin, it’s Yn Ln. You know me.”

He peeked out from behind his hand and sniffled. Nevermind, he was definitely crying. “Stop,” he rasped, shaking his head. “Stop. This is just a figment of my imagination. Yn is not really here; she’s definitely—” His voice broke and he let go of the door jamb so he could bury his face into the palms of both of his hands. He let out a shaky breath. “I need coffee.”

He averted his eyes from looking in your direction as he shook some sense into his head and headed straight for the kitchen to start the coffee pot. He could hear Gana’s collar jingle as he bounded after him.

You could only stand there where you had been before and watch with sad eyes as he kept his back to you the entire time the coffee brewed.

One scaldingly bitter cup of brew later, Changmin leaned his back against the counter to face you. His face was set in a permanent grimace from the gross after taste of that hot bean juice, but the slight buzzing sensation at the back of his head was definitely a sign of alertness. Okay, now to solve all his problems.

“So you’re a ghost?” Were the first words from his mouth.

Your face dropped into a deadpan that was so you, Changmin almost broke out into hysterical giggles. “That’s your first question?”

“It’s a very valid question.”

You sighed. “Yes. Sure, I’m a ghost.”

He narrowed his eyes on you, lifting the mug in his hand to his lips, then frowning when he realized it was empty. “Okay, but how do I know you’re really Yn? How do I know you’re not just a projection of my crippling depression, and that you’re actually my Yn?” He didn’t know where the my had come from, but he was going a little too insane to care.

You made a face at him, nose wrinkling up cutely. He could see you in all the little mannerisms, and to be honest, he wouldn’t be surprised at all if you turned out to be simply a figment of his imagination because he knew you that well. He could probably resurrect you into an animated character if he knew how to animate in the first place. “Changmin, how am I supposed to prove to you I’m actually Yn? You can’t just recognize me?”

Maybe his brain was just tuning into work mode to block out all of the emotions. At the moment, he let his playful, curious side win his body over. “I dunno,” he grinned. “Ooh! What is my middle name?”

“You don’t have a middle name.”

“What is my favorite movie?” He stopped short, his pointer finger tapping his chin. “Wait, that’s too obvious. When’s my birthday?”

You squinted at him in disbelief. “So your favorite movie is too obvious, but your birthday, which is on your birth certificate, isn’t?”

He huffed. “Okay, what did I wear to Juyeon’s fourteenth birthday party then?”

Your hand moved to hold your forehead. “Changmin, how the fuck am I supposed to remember that.”

“THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT YN WOULD SAY!”

“THAT’S BECAUSE I AM YN, YOU IDIOT.”

When Changmin doubled over himself in laughter, your lips settled into a thin line. He thunked his mug onto the counter with a concerningly loud crash so he could brace himself against something with one hand. (Maybe he really was going insane.)

You fixed him with a look. “Are you done messing around, Ji Changmin?”

His eyes, squinting from all his laughter and the biggest grin on his face, twinkled from where he peered over the counter at you. The sight almost brought a smile back to your face. “You’re just fun to mess with, Yn-ie.”

———

Reality came crashing down on Changmin in as little as five minutes.

“So… you’re a ghost?”

This time, when he posed the question, it was smaller and mellow, his body settled onto the couch with his legs pulled up to his chest as he peered up at you through watery eyes and a childlike disposition. Gana had retreated into his bedroom to snuggle into his bedsheets, leaving only you and Changmin in the main living space. You were perched on the wooden coffee table across from where he sat on the couch. You didn’t have it in you to be annoyed at him when he looked so… looked so unlike himself. This wasn’t the Changmin you knew before: ballsy, smiley, unafraid. There was something so blanched about him, like he was washed over in some kind of filter. It was unnerving.

You bit your upper lip, hands drumming against your legs. “Yeah.”

He stared at you for a moment, then pointed at the TV remote next to you. “Move that.”

“Pardon?”

“Move it,” he repeated.

You moved it.

“Why aren’t you just phasing through shit if you’re a ghost?” He asked, hands tightening around his knees.

His logic, or well—some semblance of logic—was trying to help him process this, that much you understood. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “I was literally just manifested here.”

“So you know you’re dead?”

You nodded. “I don’t know how long I’ve been dead for—”

“Three weeks and four days,” he blurted. He averted his gaze for a moment and picked at a stray thread on the couch. “Three weeks… and four days.”

And suddenly, you felt as though you reflected how he looked right now: eyes shining, frown engraved into your face. Your body went numb from the shock and the sudden realization that he had been counting. You swallowed. How were you supposed to comfort him through your own death?

“Can I hug you?”

Your head perked up and you met his small gaze again. You nodded. “Yeah,” you cleared your throat and held out your palms like an offering, “yeah, c’mere, Kyu.”

At the sound of his nickname, he practically pounced across the gap between you two, and into your arms. You were able to grab hold of him and keep your own body upright, and you felt him fist the material of your shirt in his hands as he sobbed into your chest. He could feel you, all of you—could smell your shampoo, feel the warmth of your neck. He could squeeze and grapple onto you as if you were truly here. God, what he would have given to hug you one last time. His knees were definitely bruised from how hard he hit the floor, but he had slid down far enough that he was clinging onto and crying into your stomach, all while one of your arms came around his top half and the other settled comfortably in the nest of his hair.

“I—” he blubbered into your dampened shirt, “—I missed you so much, Yn. I missed you so bad. I—I can’t—I don’t even know what to do without you. I missed you so, so badly.”

You squeezed him a little harder and leaned down to lay your body over his. “God, I’m sorry, Kyu. I missed you, too. You’ll be okay, hm? You’re gonna be okay.”

He shook his head against you in insistent refusal. “Mm-mm. No. Can’t do this fucking shit without you—can’t do this ‘live your life’ shit without my—my best friend.” He wasn’t even sure how he could manage to get words out. Even if he had known he would be given the opportunity to speak to you one last time, he wouldn’t ever be able to settle on the right words to tell you. This moment was no different. All that spilled from his mouth was nothing short of the truth, though.

———

Hours later, you and Changmin laid on the length of the couch with his face tucked into your neck and his body lying atop yours. You’d coaxed him to move with you onto the couch, knowing that his legs were probably screaming in agony for being pressed against the hardwood floor. He hadn’t said anything for a long time; only deigning to lay there in silence as he assured himself that you really were a solid mass beneath him. He came to realize one thing in particular, however—you lacked a heartbeat.

Everything about you seemed perfectly and incredibly human, except for that fact. He felt no pulse aching from where he nestled by your jugular. All of those crime dramas he’d spent hours upon hours watching with you had come in handy in learning how to feel for pulses. He tried to get past the fact that you didn’t have one; after all, you were dead.

His fingers wrapped around a strand of your hair, and he voiced a thought aloud, “Did they lock you out of heaven or something?”

Your laugh came out like a snort. “If anything, I was booted from hell.”

“Wow, so you died and gained a sense of humor.”

You flicked his forehead, and Changmin grinned, rubbing the spot. “Ow. Rude.”

“Bet you wish I could phase through things now, huh?”

He turned his face into your neck again and his voice came out nasally, “That would have been cooler.”

You huffed indignantly. “Don’t think I didn’t miss your little shrine of me, Mr. Cool Guy.”

Changmin groaned and hid his burning face from you. It was suddenly far too hot in this room, and your laughter was a little too bright to be a good representation of the dead. He grunted. “You died, Yn. What was I supposed to do?”

“You kept Bruno for me though,” you said with a soft sort of smile as you ran your fingers through his hair, making eye contact with the angry, little red t-rex plush sitting on the table by the TV. “He seems to like it here.”

“Do you like it here?” He asked then. “I mean, why are you here, Yn-ie? If—if you’re real, then why are you in the land of the living and fully corporeal?” He braced himself on the sides of the couch then so he could push up. When his eyes clashed with yours, he realized just how close your faces were, and reddened, immediately spacing himself from you to the other end of the couch.

You frowned slightly at the action, but thought nothing of it as you shifted to match his seated position. “I’m not sure. I just remember the accident, the world fading to black, and now…” You gestured to yourself and all around you. “Now I’m here.”

“How do you know things though? Like, how do you know you’re a ghost? How do you know you’ve been dead?”

You could only shrug. “Injected into my brain? Can’t really answer that, Changmin.”

Changmin raked a hand through his hair, licking his lips. “Okay, well you had to have been brought back here for a reason right? Maybe to right a wrong? Something you have to finish or satisfy before you’re allowed into the afterlife or whatever comes after death,” he reasoned with his hands gesticulating madly like flapping wings.

“I know that I have seven days,” you offered.

The world crumbled and the blood drained from his face. “Seven days?” He whispered.

You nodded solemnly. “Just one of those things,” your tone went quiet like an apology, “I guess.”

Changmin’s eyes shuddered. Seven days. Seven days. Seven… okay, he could do this. Seven days to think of all the things he was supposed to say to you and to finally say them. And also, to figure out why you were sent here in the first place. Who knew what would happen to you if you weren’t able to accomplish whatever goal you were supposed to reach? He couldn’t bear the thought.

“Okay,” he managed to say.

“Well, I know where we should start,” you suggested with the slight lift of your shoulder.

He glanced at you in waiting.

“We need to clean this messy ass apartment up.”

DAY TWO

CHANGMIN couldn’t possibly sleep when he knew you were just waltzing about the apartment throughout the night. You had assured him that, as a ghost, you didn’t need to sleep, nor eat, nor breathe, nor shower, nor do anything else of the normal human sort. Yet he laid awake in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. Even Gana was fast asleep, curled up at the foot of his bed.

The two of you had spent the entirety of yesterday cleaning up his dump of an apartment. You’d said something about how “spring cleaning isn’t just a spring thing” and handed him a duster. He’d gone along with it, even moving to eventually start playing some music to fill the noise. It was just nice to be in your presence for once.

Even when you were alive, you’d encourage him to clean; maybe even pick up around the place for him when he was too tired from dance practice and his job and his life. But there was no doubt that cleaning around the apartment space made him feel just a little bit refreshed, a little more alive and awake.

But clearly, all that work hadn’t been enough to tire him out.

And he tried to fall asleep, but sleep would not grace him with its mercy.

It was when the sky outside oxidized into a rusted color that his eyelids finally fell. He blinked once, and the next moment, his alarm blared beside him.

An arm shook him awake. “Kyu, wake up.”

He whined, shaking you away. “Nooo,” he groaned and tugged the covers back over his head. The alarm kept going.

“I made coffee.”

He exhaled through his nose and reluctantly pulled the covers down to see you. You were still here, sitting on the edge of his bed in that same, old ratty T-shirt with your hair falling in your eyes, and a sweet, fond smile on your face… “It wasn’t all a dream?” He pondered aloud, voice gravely from exhaustion.

You shook your head. “Nope. Now, get up. Time to go to school.”

At that note, he let out a loud groan, sweeping the covers over his head in protest. You laughed as you exited the room, and Changmin could only smile to himself as he let that sound echo in his ears.

———

“Do I really have to go to class, Yn-ie? It’s Tuesday.”

You sent him a look as you strolled beside him on the sidewalk. “Yes, because it’s Tuesday.”

Changmin pursed his lips as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. While you were able to get him out of bed, you weren’t able to get him to at least look more Changmin. That was, he still walked out of the house in a hoodie and pajama pants and zero product in his hair. You did manage to convince him to slap on deodorant, so you could call that a win.

The sky was just bruising to a purple color as the sun took its sweet time trekking up into its perch in the sky. Changmin knew he shouldn’t have chosen such an early lecture, but he and Juyeon were supposed to weather it together. Guilt suddenly swirled in his stomach at the thought—he’d abandoned Juyeon.

His eyes flickered back at you and your bare arms, wondering if ghosts got cold. But based on the fact you hadn’t stolen a hoodie from his closet, he figured they didn’t then.

As you and Changmin neared the lecture hall, having well stepped onto the college campus for the first time in a month, you both stalled. There were a handful of people milling about, but most of them were too tired to care about other people just standing around anyway.

“Okay,” you began, “remember that when you get in there, you can’t talk to me or about me.”

His breath hitched. “Why can’t I talk about you?”

“Because they’ll think you’ve gone crazy.”

“But I haven’t.”

You chewed your upper lip. “You can see me, Changmin, but they can’t. People are going to look at you weird if you suddenly turn to your side and start talking to the air next to you.”

So that was how ghosts worked? He had to snap his brain into focus. “People already look at me weird,” he muttered, staring across at the path to the entrance of the lecture hall. He could still recall all of the pitying looks he’d received everywhere he went. He couldn’t stomach it anymore. Everyone knew that you and he had been the best of friends, practically attached at the hip. You would sit with him through hours of dance practice and be the loudest one in the audience; he would remind you to get sleep during your worst exam seasons and shuttle you home after late nights at the lab.

His eyes shuttered, and for a moment, that wave of guilt washed over him. He should have been there that night; he should’ve been there to take you home—

A hand on his arm. He sniffed, swiping at his eye. “I’m okay,” he insisted before you could say anything.

He began making his way towards the entrance with you in tow.

When he found the lecture room number, he stopped just short of it. Those feelings of insecurity and fear bubbled up inside of him like bile in his throat. He wanted to turn back and run to the safety and seclusion of his apartment.

But when he felt your hand take his and give it a gentle squeeze, his heart swelled. He glanced back at you, then his eyes widened when he saw someone coming down the corridor. Changmin ducked into the lecture hall, his hand gripping yours tightly.

There were… way too may seats and people, he realized, as he surveyed the room. A couple people recognized him and shot him surprised glances, but otherwise, no one paid him much attention. The lights were dimmed to half-brightness, and the professor had yet to arrive.

“Go sit next to Juyo,” you whispered to him, nudging him toward the left stairs. Up in one of the middle rows sat Juyeon with a hood pulled up over his head, practically nodding off to sleep. “He looks so sad all alone.”

Changmin sucked in a breath, then made the journey up the stairs.

He cleared his throat when he reached Juyeon’s seat, the one beside him always left empty in case Changmin ever did show up to class. Juyeon’s head shot up, and his eyes widened to the size of saucers, a grin slowly forming on his face. Changmin let a small, dimpled smile come to his face.

“I think I’m dreaming, dude,” Juyeon said. “Good to have you back, Changmin-ah.”

Changmin let out the breath he had been holding. “This seat’s not taken, is it?”

Juyeon gave a hard shake of his head. “I’d make a joke about it being some other guy’s, but I’m way too tired. Sit down, for God’s sake.”

Changmin lowered himself into the seat next to his friend, letting go of your hand so he could get settled. He almost turned his head to ask where you were going to sit, but reigned in the urge. He could talk to you afterward, no matter how much he wanted to talk to you now, maybe even ask Juyeon to move down a seat for you.

But then he felt your presence right next to him as you perched on the side of his chair’s armrest. No, you weren’t going anywhere just yet.

About an hour later though, Changmin and Juyeon trudged out of the lecture hall side by side, hands lifting to shield their eyes from the sunlight peeking through the clouds. They had managed to drag each other through the contents of that lecture—mainly Juyeon giving Changmin miniature summary lectures on the points that he didn’t know (everything). No new information from that lecture had been acquired.

“—you should’ve seen when we got our papers back,” Juyeon shook his head with a breathy laugh tumbling out of his mouth. He brushed a hand through his hair, squinting at the daylight. “Absolute madhouse. Professor had to extend his office hours because the line out of his office was so long.”

Changmin smiled widely. “I really should go to office hours, huh? That would be the smart thing to do.”

“You know, I tell myself that everyday, and yet…” Juyeon shrugged. “I never heed my own advice.”

When the two of them reached the intersection where you and Changmin had stood at just earlier this morning, Changmin’s head perked up, eyes searching for you. At some point, it had slipped his mind that you were in lecture with him, and you hadn’t done or said anything to make him remember. He looked across the street though and relief soared through him when he spotted you seated on a bench waiting for him.

Juyeon followed his gaze curiously, but thought better than to question the soft-cornered smile on his friend’s face. “Hey, uhm, did you feel up to having lunch with me and the others today? I’ve gotta go to my social justice lecture right now, but we’re hitting the new ramen place in the district at like, one, I think.”

Changmin snapped back to reality. “Oh, uh…” His eyes drifted back to you, but you were looking elsewhere at a couple who were passing by walking their pups. His foot tapped against the ground as he seesawed between options. Did he feel up to it?

“You don’t have to if you want to go home,” Juyeon assured him with a sympathetic smile. “You should go home and rest.”

Changmin licked his lips. A part of him realized that he was glad Juyeon had been the one to say it. “Sorry, I just…”

“Hey, today was a lot. Don’t sweat it, okay?” Juyeon then gently patted Changmin’s arm with his hand as he turned to head down the road toward his next class. “See you later?”

“Yeah, see you, Ju.”

Something poked at the back of Changmin’s mind as he ducked his head slightly and bounded across the street to where you were seated. He lifted his hand in a subtle wave to you, then nodded toward the road back to his apartment to make a more natural course of action for any onlookers. You fell into step beside him as easily as breathing air.

“How come you didn’t want to go have lunch with the guys?” You piped up.

“Huh? Oh.” Changmin kicked a pebble on the road with the side of his shoe and watched it bounce into the grass next to the sidewalk. “I wanted to spend time with you—Wait, you heard that conversation?”

You tapped the side of your head as if that was enough of an explanation to his question, then moved on. “But you get to spend time with me whenever you’re at the apartment. How long has it been since you last hung out with them?”

“Two days ago, actually. The night before you showed up, we had dinner.”

“Did you enjoy it?” You asked.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, stopping at the traffic intersection to wait for the walking sign to turn on. “I mean, yeah. Yes, I did. I just—afterwards—it was…” He could hear his own sobbing echo in his head, and as if he had projected those memories into your head or as if you could read his mind, your expression grew somber. Changmin’s voice quieted, for fear that adding volume would push out the emotions all over again. “It was really hard, Yn. All I did was cry when I got back.”

You moved closer to him and offered your hand to him. The crosswalk symbol lit up white, and Changmin took your hand as the two of you made your way across the street. “I’m sorry,” was all you could manage to say.

“‘s not your fault,” he replied. He couldn't possibly blame you for your own accidental death. You hadn’t forced that guy to get drunk and drive down that specific road. You had no choice in your death, and for some reason, that made Changmin’s chest hurt just a little more. “I liked having dinner with them and I think I genuinely laughed and smiled for the first time in a while, too, but I just…”

He grappled for the words, unable to admit the truth aloud.

“Kyu-ah,” you said to him, hand-holding shifting to you holding onto his upper arm so the two of you walked closer in a half-embrace. “You can be happy. You’re allowed to feel these things, and you’re allowed to smile and laugh.”

He shook his head, his head tilting back as his eyes closed. The prickling sensation had come back and goddamn it, he didn’t want to cry again. He had to make it back to the apartment at least. “Not without you.”

You frowned, but kept quiet until the two of you reached Changmin’s apartment. He dumped his shoes at the door, backpack thumping to the floor, body crashing onto the couch. You settled down onto the cushion next to him, and he nestled his head onto your shoulder.

“Kyu, can you do something for me?”

He hummed, arms encircling your arm like you had done to him on the walk back. “Anything.”

“Will you go to lunch with Juyeon, Kevin, and Chanhee? Will you at least try for me?”

Changmin stared at your portrait, the one across from his eyes on that little table by the TV. Yours and his smiles were a reflection of each other, framed in eternity behind that clear plastic. He gulped. “Okay. I will.”

DAY THREE

LUNCH yesterday went perfectly well, mainly because you stood behind Changmin’s chair the entire time with your hand on his shoulder to assure him that you were still present and “hanging out” with all of them, too. You appreciated the thought, but you appreciated seeing and hearing him happy. Even if it was at poor Chanhee’s expense (he really had dug himself into a hole when he confessed his crush on one of his peers at the university’s magazine association). It was nice to see everyone, too, of course, even if they weren’t aware that you were watching over them with a fond gaze. As a ghost, you could still feel emotions—that was why you were so human to Changmin, but there was still a sense of ease about you.

When Changmin had finished with his classes for today, you and he lingered in the kitchen while he heated up a pot of ramen on the stove. You hopped onto the counter, arm resting comfortably around his shoulders.

“I’ve connected the dots,” he said suddenly.

“You’ve connected shit.”

He scoffed with a feigned look of offense directed up at you as he pressed his hand to his chest. “Okay, rude! Death has given you so much audacity.”

Your lips curled up into a little smirk. “It’s just an instinct when it comes to you.”

Changmin rolled his eyes. “Whatever. As I was saying, I think I know why you were kicked from the underworld.”

“You say that like the underworld’s an online forum,” you huffed, chuckling. When the pot reached a low boiling point, you tapped him on the shoulder to spur him into action, and he reacted like second nature, even if he had seen that it was ready anyway.

“Hey, I mean, if I had an online forum, I’d kick you out, too.” He giggled as you gently kicked the side of his butt with your foot. “Remember when we were eleven and we thought Omegle was the greatest thing of our naive lives?”

You hummed in content remembrance. “Mhm. Man, we were stupid. But that was a lot of fun.”

He grinned at you over his shoulder. “Wasn’t it?” When he turned back to the pot, he realized how hard his smile pulled at his cheeks. This wouldn’t be forever. Today was day three, and he was already growing used to your presence again—for a split second, panic seized his heart and the smile slipped into the simmering ring of bubbles in the ramen pot.

Changmin cleared his throat. “So what I was saying earlier.”

You blinked at his sudden change of tone. “What about it?”

“Maybe you were sent back here on a mission or a task. You probably have to right some kind of wrong—or, or—or figure out your death?” He whipped out a bowl from a cabinet. “So what did you do wrong, Yn-ie?”

You smiled, amused. “How long do we have?”

He shook his head with a chuckle. “You’re so silly. You were the goodiest-two-shoes of all goodie-two-shoes.”

You scoffed. “Not true.”

“Oh, yes, true,” he quipped with a smug grin. He leaned back against the counter to face you with a full bowl of noodles in his palm. “The guilt after you snuck out with me ate you up alive—”

“Because I broke my parents’ trust!” You sputtered out in protest. You thrusted an accusing finger in his face that only sent him into further fits of laughter. “You’re so lucky I didn’t spill to your parents, Ji Changmin! You should be on your knees because I begged my mom and dad not to tell your parents!”

Changmin had to hold his chopsticks in front of his mouth to keep the food from flying from his mouth. You were fired up, yet all he could see was how the kitchen lights framed your face like a halo. Once the food had been swallowed, he replied, “I feel like I just have to ask: you weren’t a serial killer, were you? Since we’re on the topic of all your wrongdoings.”

Your eyes widened, and in that moment, he knew he was screwed. “Ji. Changmin.”

He giggled. “Don’t hurt me?”

You huffed, nose twitching and wrinkling. “You are so lucky I’m a good ghost.”

The reminder sobered him up a little. “Yeah…” He said quietly.

Silence descended between the two of you as you refrained from saying anything else, so Changmin could finish eating. You hopped off of the counter and went to go find Gana, who was sleeping in Changmin’s bed again. Changmin was left to his noodles and thoughts, his stare blank and spaced out with his mind far off. If you truly had been sent back in order to right a wrong, or even figure out something about your death, then where would he start? Where would you be expected to start if you didn’t have him to help you?

When you were still alive, he was aware of a few nasty people in your lives who weren’t exactly fond of the relationship you two shared, but as far as Changmin knew, their feelings weren’t malicious to the point of death.

Changmin swallowed a bite he was chewing on, mouth slowing as if his train of thought had just eased into the station. All mysteries began from the end, didn’t they? All detectives had to start their investigation from the scene of the crime, whatever that may be when put into context. His hands began to tremble as a thought occurred to him. Clutching the bottom of the bowl and his chopsticks harder to stop the shaking, Changmin forced himself to admit what he didn’t want to.

You emerged from his bedroom cradling Gana in your arms, and when your eyes fell upon Changmin’s grave expression, you couldn’t help but coax an answer from him.

He couldn’t meet your eyes. “I think… we have to go to the site of the accident.”

———

On the night of the Accident, you had been walking home with crisp night air nipping at your nose, your cheeks, your resolve. It hadn’t necessarily been the worst of nights at your shift, but it hadn’t been on the better side of them either. Earlier that day, Changmin had nearly collapsed from exhaustion on the way home, so you insisted on walking home alone. It wasn’t like he could refuse when he pretty much knocked out as soon as his head hit his pillow; plus, your pepper spray made for decent company. You hadn’t anticipated the driver, the screaming tire wheels, the blinding lights. After all, how could you have?

The corner of two streets on the opposite side of campus from where Changmin lived was pindrop quiet. There was one large, framed portrait of you seated against the fence, surrounded by a litter of flowers, tealights, plush toys, and other offerings to the dead. One of your friends from an art class you’d taken in freshman year had made you a sign and nailed it above your picture: In fond and loving memory of Yn Ln—beautiful, beloved, and a heart of gold. May she rest in peace.

Changmin couldn’t move.

He’d been staring at it all for about ten minutes now, shaky hands hidden in the pockets of his hoodie. The last time he’d been here was four weeks ago, in the ungodly hours of the morning, as he chased after your body in a bag, tears flying from his eyes like gushing streams. The red and blue sirens flashed in his eyes and pulsed like heartbeats; his own heartbeat deafened out everything else and thundered in his ears.

Just like now. He… he couldn’t think—couldn’t process anything. He couldn’t turn himself to the street where your broken, lifeless body had laid.

Your smiling portrait glowed in the dim, flickering lights of the tea candles, similar to the very set up he had at home.

For the longest time, he was never able to bring himself to come here. He couldn’t have, of course, he couldn’t have. He didn’t have the stomach to.

Oh my god, he was going to throw up—

“Changmin, hey—hey, buddy. You’re gonna be okay.”

You appeared at his side, hands grabbing out to hold onto his lurching body. He stumbled into you, grappling at your hands, arms, shoulders—anything to anchor him to something. He couldn’t breathe—

“Changmin, look at me! Look at me.”

Your hands forced his head up and his eyes gleamed silver in the gold tea light glow. You had never seen him so afraid. “Inhale, exhale for me. Inhale… exhale… come on; one more time, hon: inhale… exhale… good. Good. That’s really good, Kyu, that’s it.”

Changmin’s entire body trembled as he gripped your hands until, even as a ghost, you could feel his strength. His chest rose and fell at a slower pace now, and the blanched, blankness had melted away into a contorted expression of rage, sadness, panic, and every other emotion in between. Tears cascaded down the slopes of his cheeks in a free fall. “I should have been there, Yn,” were his first words to you, choked out between gritted teeth.

You realized that his anger was not directed toward anyone else but himself at this moment. You held him, mirrored his strength, so he knew he was holding something solid. You murmured firmly, but not unkindly, “Changmin, you couldn’t have changed what hap—”

“Yes, I could have.” He wailed now, his heart-wrenching loathing toward himself echoing against the surrounding buildings, “If I had just been there to walk you home…” You would still be alive, was what he didn’t have the strength to say aloud. To give the world such power over him… as if it didn’t already have him by his neck.

He crumpled to the concrete, his knees buckling from under him, and you could do nothing but fall to the ground with him. You cradled him to your chest as he bawled his entire body out, his conscience no doubt throwing rocks at himself. Your mouth parted, eyes squinting as if you were about to cry, too. And you felt the sensation at the corners of your eyes, and yet, no tears fell from your tear glands. They would not come, no matter how much you wished them to.

Changmin’s arms wrapped around your waist as he tucked himself into you. If he could just—if he could just hold on—if he could just make this right—

Your hand smoothed over the back of his head. “Changmin, it was not your fault. None of it was your fault, so please—please don’t spend your life blaming yourself for something you could not control.”

He pawed at his face, swiped at his eyes, his nose. He sucked in a desperate breath of air, gasping and choking out the words, “I can’t—can’t believe that—that I—I’ll never see you again. The—the world lost you—I lost you too soon.” He gasped for air again: “It’s not fair.”

None of it was fair. Changmin didn’t deserve to feel any of this and you didn’t deserve to die so young. But here the two of you were, a heap of emotions and injustice. Of longing and grief. What might have blossomed to something else in the future had been cut short by the cruel hand of fate. Why had the world set this in motion? What had either of you done to deserve such hurt?

You cleared your congested throat from unshed tears. “I know it’s not fair, but I’m never truly lost.”

Changmin pulled away from you then, still actively trying to tame the emotion rolling down his face. He glared at you then through blurry eyes. Such pain in his contorted features; you hated seeing him so hurt and being so useless to help him. “Cut the sentimental, cliche crap,” he practically snarled. “Please, you know me better than that. I never get why people say shit like that because that’s not how it goes, that’s not how it feels. It’s not the fucking same.”

Your mouth went dry. He was right, and how could you counter that? You weren’t the one who had to live without him now. “You’re right; I’m sorry.”

He was breathing loudly now, more labored. His rage dulled to something of a soft simmer as it dawned on him what he just said. “Wait—I’m sorry. You… you shouldn’t be the one apologizing, Yn. You didn’t deserve that from me.”

“I think I did deserve it,” you shrugged simply, sadly. Just because you were dead didn’t mean you couldn’t be sorry. “And I think you deserved to air that out.”

He sniffed and pulled his knees to his chest. He huffed out an exhale. “I’m sorry, it’s just been a lot.”

You nodded, expression solemn. “And I’m sorry that you’re hurting so badly. I wish I could make everything better.” What was the point of you being here if you were just hurting Changmin more?

Changmin let out another sharp exhale. Slowly, he extended his hand across the gap between you. His fingers still trembled, but he no longer tried to subdue it. “Can I just hold your hand again?” His volume was set almost inaudibly, “Just to assure myself I haven’t been dreaming?”

Everything, you wished you could give him everything. Without hesitation, you bridged the gap and grappled onto his fingers, felt the heat of his palm, and reminded him that you were here.

DAY FOUR

YOU almost couldn’t convince Changmin to go to classes the next day. Almost.

You’d sent him off even as he drooped with his two shots of espresso and puffy eyelids, but he seemed content enough to let you hold his hand all throughout the day. Maybe even tap his shoulder a couple of times to remind him that you were there and that he needed to pay attention. Well, you’d only accomplished such feats because you agreed to his compromise.

“Changmin, you can’t get in without a lab pass.”

Said compromise was chasing after something you were certain didn’t truly exist, but Changmin was set on the idea that you were sent back to the land of the living to “right a wrong”, and he was on a mission to help you accomplish just that.

Changmin stood outside the laboratory building you used to work at with a cinematically narrow-eyed, hands-on-hips pose. He stared up at the looming building, nestled between the massive, glass-faced population health building and the vine-riddled biology buildings as if he could climb up all their stairways without breaking a sweat. “I know, but I’m sure we’ll bump into someone who we can just leech off of to get inside.”

In other words, he would make you both wait until someone came by to open the door and you would then follow them inside. At first listen, it wasn’t an impossible task, especially since this area was relatively populated during business hours. Only, it seemed that the street seemed comically barren. Wherever all your former peers were, you had zero clue.

You pursed your lips and took a seat down on the curb. “Do you even have a plan?”

Changmin poked his tongue in the side of his cheek. “Ha, do I have a plan?”

“Sooo you don’t have a plan; got it—”

“Sh,” he said, turning around to peer inside the glass door of the laboratory building, “someone’s coming!”

You twisted around, silently questioning who?, but as soon as you saw who was making their way toward the entrance of the building, you immediately bobbed your head. This made sense.

Because making his way toward the door from the inside was Lee Sangyeon, your workaholic, grad student supervisor. As usual, he wore a dress shirt appropriate for an office space, hair swept back neatly. In his hands was his phone, while a dark leather satchel bag hung from his shoulder. He glanced up from his phone as he pushed the door open, then started when he realized Changmin was just… there.

“Oh. Sorry, didn’t see you there,” Sangyeon said with a polite smile.

“Uh—wait,” Changmin stammered, effectively halting Sangyeon’s movements. “You’re Lee Sangyeon, right?”

Your eyes widened. “You know Sangyeon?”

Changmin flicked his hand by his leg subtly to gesture at you to wait.

Sangyeon angled his body toward Changmin now, the tilt of his eyebrows curious. “Yeah, that’s me. Can I help you with something?”

Changmin fidgeted with his fingers and rocked on his heels. “Uhm, you were a friend of Yn Ln’s, right? I’m Ji Changmin, she was my best friend.”

At the sound of your name, recognition and something melancholy smoothed over Sangyeon’s features. “Ah, nice to finally meet you, Changmin. Yn-ie used to talk about you all the time.”

“She did?”

“No, I didn’t!” You buried your face into your hands as embarrassment curled in your stomach. “Sangyeon has become a chronic liar, I see!”

Another flicking of Changmin’s fingers. Hush, you! “I actually wanted to talk to you,” Changmin said slowly, “about her. I… I’m trying to uh, piece together some parts of her life, y’know. And I know I wasn’t really able to get to know this aspect of her life much when she was alive, and I thought, better late than never.”

You settled your chin onto your knees. Even if you knew Changmin had an ulterior motive in mind, you couldn’t help but hear the truth laced in his words. Even if he was chasing after this “wrong that needed righting”, there was that twinge of desperation locked in his voice that you couldn’t shake.

“Ah.” Sangyeon nodded. “Well, I’d be happy to talk to you about her. Do you wanna come with me down the road? There’s a pretty neat little coffee place we could sit in.”

You knew this coffee place, you thought to yourself as you followed Sangyeon and Changmin down the road to said coffee shop. It was the place you ran to during dinner breaks and last minute caffeine pick-me-ups. Their banana bread was fantastic, and your mouth watered as you could practically taste it while walking in.

Once the boys were settled at a table, a cup of coffee each, you leaned against the window behind Changmin’s chair, arms crossed and eyes pinned to the steam rising from Sangyeon’s cup.

“I’m sorry for your loss, by the way,” Sangyeon said quietly, sincerely. “I mean, she was important to me, but she must have been so much more to you.”

Changmin gestured vaguely, half-heartedly. His chuckle was the same way. “You don’t have to do that; she’s—was—she was important to both of us.” He nursed his coffee cup between his palms. “Sorry, it’s taken me a while to get the courage to talk about her to anyone but my dog.”

Sangyeon’s eyes shone with that characteristic warmth and patience that made you long for the life you didn’t have anymore. “I… I get that. It’s really tough dealing with the death of a loved one, especially when people expect you to move on with your life.”

Changmin’s head bobbed up and down earnestly. “It really is. It’s so, god, it’s so hard to move on.” He drummed his fingers along the sides of his coffee cup. “Uhm, but I guess I wanted to start with how you knew her—as in, like who did you know her as?”

“Who did I know her as?” Sangyeon sighed, eyebrows furrowing in thought as he grappled for the adequate way to string those thoughts into words. “Well, she was brilliant. She was more than brilliant; she was passionate about what she did. You could see the bags under her eyes and sometimes I knew she took naps in the break room, but…” He blew out a puff of air, his cheek pressed against his fist and coffee forgotten. He lifted his right shoulder in some semblance of a shrug. “I admired her a lot. I didn’t get to work a lot of shifts with her that… that week, but she left these little post-it notes on the break room door with smiley-faces and encouraging messages for everyone to find the next day.”

This time, when you settled your hand on Changmin’s shoulder, it wasn’t for Changmin. Changmin reached up to put his hand over yours, but to anyone else it would look like he was simply holding his shoulder and tucking his chin into his elbow. “Sounds like Yn-ie,” he chimed in softly.

Sangyeon smiled, a breathy laugh following suit. “She was—she shined so bright, Changmin-ah. But I’m guessing you already knew that, huh? She talked about you a lot. She would hear something or do something that reminded her of you, and then she would mention you with that little twinkle in her eyes. The one where she gets all—y’know.”

Changmin inclined his head and felt himself smile. “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.”

A nod. “Yeah. I was kind of surprised that you didn’t introduce yourself as her former partner. I mean, the way she looked when she talked about you…” He shook his head and reached for his coffee cup. “God, sorry. This is probably making you really uncomfortable.”

You lost your breath. Or whatever you had left of it.

Changmin’s thumb brushed over the back of your knuckles. You didn’t know what it meant, didn’t know what he was thinking. You knew you talked about Changmin a lot, but you figured that everyone would assume it was normal because he was your closest friend. Perhaps you had been a little more obvious than you had intended.

“It’s all right,” Changmin replied. You wished you could see his face. “I think a lot of people saw us that way.”

———

Sangyeon’s cup clattered hollowly as it tumbled into the recycling bin on his and Changmin’s way out of the coffee shop. The sky had broiled to a molten gold while the sun began its descent into the folds of the horizon.

Changmin stepped out into the cool afternoon feeling like a weight had been lifted from his chest. There was something refreshing about hearing about you from someone else, as fondly as he saw you. He and Sangyeon had even shared a couple favorite moments of yours; Changmin kept his favorite of all favorites to himself though, of course. Some memories, he wanted to be selfish with. Tears had been shed, too, but a minimal amount. Changmin wasn’t one to cry to strangers, but Sangyeon wasn’t exactly a stranger anymore, was he?

Sangyeon lingered on the sidewalk. “It was really nice talking to you, Changmin-ah. I really needed that, I think.”

Changmin nodded his head. “Me too. Thanks for not being weird about it.”

“Bare minimum, man,” Sangyeon chuckled. He took his phone out of his pocket and offered the new contact space to Changmin. “Hey, maybe we can trade numbers? Any friend of Yn-ie’s is a friend of mine. If you need anything, Changmin, and I truly mean it, don’t hesitate to call or text.”

Changmin accepted the phone from him with his eyes wide like a doe’s. He hoped Sangyeon could see all the gratitude in his silver-lined eyes. “Thank you,” he said in earnest. “I—same to you.” He swiftly put his contact information into Sangyeon’s phone before returning the device to its owner.

Sangyeon mustered up a kind smile, clasping a warm, reassuring hand on Changmin’s shoulder. “Stay strong. You’ll get through this; I know you can.”

Oh god, there was that prickling sensation again. Changmin could only manage a nod without breaking down right then and there in the middle of the walkway. Sangyeon seemed to understand, and took his leave.

Changmin stood there watching his back go farther and farther away.

For a moment, he let himself stand there in silence, soaking in everything that had just passed between him and Lee Sangyeon. He sniffled, knuckles pressing against his nose. “He’s a really cool guy,” he finally said with his words directed toward you.

You were leaning up against the outer facade of the coffee shop, uncertain as to what your role was supposed to be. You felt like you were intruding, like you really were just a ghost now. That you were just a spectator. There was definitely something beautiful about watching two important people in your past life starting a bond, but then… then there was something bittersweet about it, too. “He is,” you agreed.

Changmin hung his head, then raised it up with a tired, dimpled smile. “Let’s go home.”

DAY FIVE

TODAY, Chanhee was the one who got Changmin out of the apartment.

“—I even got Gana a play date—”

Changmin’s neck stuck out from his bathroom, toothbrush hanging from between his teeth. “Huh?!”

Even you spared a laugh from where you were sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter. It was a comical sight for Changmin, seeing that you were making weird, funny faces at the back of Chanhee’s head from where he sat on the couch with Ghana curled up in his lap.

Chanhee nodded enthusiastically. “Yup. Him and my friend Younghoon’s dog Bori. He’s taking them to a dog park nearby.”

Changmin’s eyes narrowed. “So you set up Gana on a blind date?”

“You’re so overprotective, Changmin-ah. Yes, it’s a blind date.” Chanhee waved his hand at Changmin. “Now hurry up! Juyeon and Kevin are already at the performing arts building trying to score a studio!”

Changmin huffed, but stalked back into the bathroom. “Fine.”

While Changmin was finishing up getting himself ready, Chanhee gently removed Ghana from his lap so he could trudge over to the little table beside the TV. You watched him quietly as he knelt in front of it, poked your T-rex plushie, then gave your portrait a small wave.

You craned your head, attempting to see what he was doing. He had picked up one of the tea lights that went dim, most likely from overuse and a dead battery. Chanhee set it back down on the table though.

“Hi, Yn-ie,” you heard him greet your photo. “I see Changmin has dedicated a corner to you, as he should.” Chanhee was silent for a moment, and you thought that maybe he was only voicing his thoughts in his head now. Then he continued, “I miss you. We all miss you. Sometimes I dream about memories of you and it feels like déjà vu. We’ve been trying to help Changmin through this, but it’s been a little difficult getting through to him.”

Your chest tugged as Chanhee slumped his chin onto the ledge of the table. “I just wanna help him. I can see he’s hurting, but I’ve never been good at this stuff. Maybe you can send me a sign that I’m doing okay.”

The light to the bathroom clicked, and Chanhee murmured something else to your picture, blew you a kiss, then turned his head to watch Changmin sweep past him and into the bedroom.

“Let me grab my jacket and we can go!”

“Okay, you slowpoke,” Chanhee quipped, collapsing back onto the couch.

You hopped off from the kitchen counter and walked over toward the couch next to Chanhee. You called out to Gana, immediately garnering a response from the pup. Swiftly, you moved out of the way, hand gesturing to Chanhee on the couch.

As if Gana could read your mind, he leapt into Chanhee’s lap and licked a wet stripe up the man’s cheek.

Chanhee squealed in surprise, a laugh falling from his grinning smile. “Yah! You’re so full of energy this morning, hm? Well, save some for Bori later, okay?”

You smiled, watching the interaction and hoping that that might suffice as a sign.

Changmin hustled out of his room, and you came to the startling realization that he looked so… Changmin today. There was a glow about his cheeks now, the divots of his smile enunciated at the thought of dancing again. He wore something fashionable, as he had always once done, with his black athletic duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He met your gaze as he walked out and you shared a smile for a moment.

“I know I’m pretty, Changmin, but we’re going to be late,” Chanhee teased.

Both you and Changmin laughed, and the two of you followed Chanhee and Gana out to the car.

Gana had propped himself onto the center console of Chanhee’s silver Corolla, while Chanhee and Changmin took up the front two rows, and you sat in the backseat. You leaned your head against the back of Changmin’s seat and gazed out the window at the world passing you by, your hand reaching forward to hold onto Changmin’s.

Chanhee stopped at a nearby park, and after Changmin insisted he was going to stay in the car, Chanhee took Gana out to meet with this Younghoon character and his dog.

The car filled with silence for a beat as the two of you watched Chanhee walk up to a tall, lanky man with a pretty face and pretty pup.

“You haven’t danced since I died, have you?” You released the question into the world and confronted him with it.

Changmin swallowed, his fingers pressing into yours. “No.” In retrospect, maybe if he had continued to dance, he wouldn’t have been holed up at home. A flame in him had died the night you had, but the remaining embers were slowly catching fire again. They hadn’t been wholly swept out or quieted.

Chanhee skipped back over to the car with a boyish smile on his face and he crashed into his front seat with a laugh. “Okay, let’s go!”

The car was turned on, the radio resumed play.

———

Like any other day, especially Fridays, the performing arts building was abuzz with life. People, both solo and squadrons, came to and fro about the large, branching corridors. A smile crawled onto Changmin’s lips as he recalled the familiar route to the practice dance studios in the back half of the building. There was a bounce in his step now, hands gripping the strap of his duffle bag.

Chanhee nudged Changmin with the back of his hand, coughing not-so-quietly under his breath. “Incoming.”

Changmin perked up at the familiar warning. He hadn’t heard it in a little over a month, but the feeling of cold shivers down his arms was no stranger. And the group of girls making their way down the corridor toward them, having just finished with dance practice, were unfortunately no strangers either. Changmin���s mouth pressed into a firm line as he reached out beside him for your hand—fumbled around in the air as if you weren’t there for a second, then latched onto you.

“Changmin-ah!” One of them lit up at the sight of him, and the rest were set off like succeeding lines of firecrackers.

“Well, this should be good,” you mused next to him.

He snuck a glance at you from his periphery, spotted the carefully crafted mask on your face. Even in death, you were trying to put up a brave front.

He turned back to the front, and the group of girls had come closer. “Oh, uh, hi.”

“We haven’t seen you in so long! How have you been?”

“We missed you at the dance rehearsal last week, but we can definitely reschedule.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind doing a private—”

Changmin blinked. Did they not see how absolutely done he looked? Chanhee looked just about the same way, but he knew the drill; there wasn’t really anything either of them could do until they’d said whatever they said.

“—so sorry about her. It must have been so difficult for you to get through, Changmin-ah! But see, you must be all better now!”

He nearly doubled over in laughter. “You’re shitting me,” he said without stopping himself.

The girl who had been rambling on about your death and how it must have affected him, halted in her tracks. “Huh? What do you mean?”

Tongue in cheek, he shook his head. “No, whatever. Keep going. I wanna hear what you have to say.” The muscle in his jaw feathered and his grip on your hand tightened.

To the others’ credit, they tried subtly getting their friend to not take the bait, but she just couldn’t help herself. “Well, it’s no disrespect or anything, of course. But she was completely holding you back, y'know? She didn’t even know what to look for when she watched your practices and she just sat there like a duck, so I don’t know why you even asked her to come with you so often. I mean, you guys were friends—I get that—but we’re friends, too. I would’ve definitely been able to help you so much better.”

Well. That spelled it all out for Changmin in capital letters.

Chanhee arched an eyebrow high. “Wow, you’re a worse human being than I gave you credit for.”

“It’s funny how whenever people say they mean ‘no disrespect’, whatever they say is extremely disrespectful,” Changmin huffed. His eyes narrowed into daggers now, hands fisted. “You not only spat on my best friend, but also on me and my ability to choose friends. By the way, we are not friends, especially not when you shit on mine right in front of me. Dead or not.”

When a rush of silence fell over the corridor, Changmin muttered, “Thought so,” then nudged Chanhee. “Come on, Chanhee. Let’s go.”

When the two boys brushed past the girls, Changmin finally breathed out.

When he no longer felt your hand, his head whipped around the corridor, searching for you—

“Changmin, the room’s this way.”

He coughed. “Oh, uh, right.” His eyes swiveled about the corridor once more, frowning when he caught you slipping into the practice room right behind Chanhee.

The practice room was dimly lit with the far wall lined with mirrors and a barre, floors made of a smooth hardwood. Kevin and Juyeon were by the large speaker in the corner trying to hook up one of their laptops to the sound system. They glanced up and saw both Changmin and Chanhee coming into the room, then lifted their hands in cheerful waves.

“Hey! Glad you guys are finally here,” Kevin exclaimed.

Chanhee snorted, dumping his bag in his usual corner. “We just had a showdown in the hallway.”

Kevin’s eyebrows flew up. “Oh?”

“They were disrespecting Yn,” Changmin shrugged stiffly. He walked over to his own corner, where you were already seated against the wall, and dropped his bag down next to you. He held your eye contact as he said, “They deserved it.”

Juyeon whistled lowly. “I’m sure they did. Wow, the fucking audacity. Do they just lack human decency?”

Kevin pursed his lips. “Apparently.”

“Fucking incredible.”

Chanhee shrugged his jacket off, eyeing the dark look still present in the shadows cast over Changmin’s face. Or maybe it was just the lighting. “Okay, let’s get started, shall we? Changmin, warm us up.”

———

Practice progressed smoothly.

You always liked Changmin’s corner of the room—definitely not because his duffle bag was here (because lord did that thing smell some days), but because it had the best view. (Of Changmin.) From here, even on the floor, you could observe his sharp, calculated movements, the graceful way in which he knew how to use his body and draw art in the air.

It seemed that the harder the choreography was, the more sweat he perspired, the harder he breathed, and the bigger he smiled. It was hard work like this that made his heart full, and thus, made you happy.

Occasionally, he would pass looks over to your corner, always looking for you and your reactions (maybe even your approval). He wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do when this was all over, but… he wasn’t going to think about that quite yet. He didn’t want to give that thought time to sink in.

The music blasted throughout the room louder than your own thoughts when Chanhee threw his head back and declared a break.

Everyone retreated to their separate corners, and Changmin, sweat dripping down his bangs and the side of his face like he’d just showered, came over to you. He leaned down and swept his water bottle out from his bag and guzzled the water down as fast as his throat could accept it.

“Tired?” You asked him quietly as he wiped his mouth with the collar of his shirt.

He broke into a smile. “Yeah.”

Changmin dropped his bottle onto his bag, exchanging it instead for his phone. “Are you okay? From earlier, I mean.”

“Oh. Those girls? Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

His mouth curled into a frown. “What they said—”

“—Can only hurt the living,” you said, brushing it off.

“Just because you’re dead doesn’t mean you can’t still hurt.” Changmin lowered himself beside you now, only stealing glances at you so he didn’t look weird to everyone else. “They didn’t say anything to you when you were alive, did they?”

Your blank face didn’t make him feel any better. “Maybe something here or there, but nothing as direct as what was said earlier. It’s okay though. The past is in the past.”

Changmin swallowed. “How could you say that?”

You held his eyes, and for a moment that was all you could do. Instead of pushing against him and trying to defend your insensitivity, you said, “I’m sorry, Kyu. And thank you for what you did back there. But I guess even when I’m dead I don’t like talking about it.”

His eyes gleamed. “I’m sorry they did that to you.”

“Just don’t blame yourself for something you couldn’t have stopped.”

His throat bobbed. “It’s not that easy, Yn-ie. You know that.”

“I do know, but just try, for my sake.”

DAY SIX

CHANGMIN didn’t sleep. Technically, he slept for half an hour, but those thirty minutes of sleep had been enough to keep him awake for the rest of the night.

The dream he had awoken from was still fresh in his mind. Thirty fast seconds of gauzy, luminescent adolescence. It was the rusty squeaking of the playground swings, the afternoon golden hour sun hanging like a medal in the sky at the end of the day. It was yours and his youthful gazes, cheeks full of love and smiles and that god forsaken discussion about death.

“What comes after this?” A line like this could only come from a child who had yet to experience the beauty of the world or a child exhausted by its horrors.

A shrug from him. “I dunno. Maybe we become ghosts!” He delivered this line with such vigor and delight that you couldn’t help but beam at his antics.

“Like the ones from Ghostbusters?” You asked him.

He bobbed his head, kicked his legs out to gain some momentum on his swing. He fell back whilst gripping the twin chains, tongue lolling out and making you laugh. He loved making you laugh, even as a kid. “Exactly like that. I want to spit out green ectoplasm just like that. Blehhh!”

The two of you mocked the ghosts from the universally known blockbuster. You didn’t exactly like scary movies, but the way Changmin stared up at the screen with awe and dimples big, you couldn’t help but like them, too.

After a minute, Changmin wrapped his elbows around the chains and let himself drift there, his eyes turned to you. “What about you? What do you think happens to us when we die?”

You looked up at the afternoon sky in thought. “Shei from art class told me this story that her mama tells her as a bedtime story. At the end, the girl and boy become butterflies so they can fly together in death because they couldn’t be together in life.”

Changmin blinked, the thoughts bouncing about in his head coming to a slow halt. His lips parted. “Oh.”

“It’s not as cool as ghosts, but I think about my grandpa whenever I see a butterfly now.”

Well, how could he possibly argue against it? He smiled then, reaching across the gap between you two to bump your shoulder. “I think butterflies are cool, too! We should say hi to every butterfly we see then.”

Changmin’s eyes fluttered open like the wings of a butterfly then, twelve years later from that moment in time. The room was dark, the sky outside his window burned to rust and void of stars. He let out a shuddering breath from his lips, shaky from exhaustion and shivers from the memory he had just revisited. How had it been so vivid?

He rolled around in bed to his other side and his eyes screwed shut in an attempt to return back to the land of dreams—maybe even to that very day twelve years ago. When death had only been a conversation, and not a reality.

Sleep would not come. Today was Saturday, day six.

You said you had seven days before leaving him forevermore.

Changmin rolled back over and grabbed his phone off the nightstand and squinted as the light from the screen blinded him. It was three in the morning; that definitely checked out. He opened his notes app, disregarded the title, and began to type out something. Anything to get his body moving as fast as his head.

Things to do with Yn before tomorrow.

His hand came up to rub his lips for a moment, then he yawned wide. His eyes had adjusted to the bright screen by now, and he swiped out of his notes to consult the internet.

Ghosts. What are ghosts? How do you summon ghosts? How can you make a ghost stay?

Changmin’s brows creased as his eyes zipped down article after article—he was pretty sure he must have downloaded about a hundred viruses and bugs onto his phone by this point. Not one article gave him a straight or doable answer. Not anything that he couldn’t do without practice or additional materials. Nothing he could accomplish before midnight tomorrow.

He dropped his phone onto his bed, flopping backward onto his pillow with his hand draped over his forehead. Was it too much for him to want you to stay? All of the things he had thought about doing with you or saying to you when you were alive, shoved under the rug for “another time”… He wished he had known. Goddamn it, he wished he had known.

———

“You’re up early.”

Changmin practically bolted into the bathroom to start up the faucet and brush his teeth. “I’ve been up since three,” he replied, toothbrush hanging from his mouth.

You were sitting on the couch again and rubbing Gana’s belly. “Three?”

“Mhm. Couldn’t sleep.” He spat out his lathered toothpaste and speed-ran his skincare routine, hands slapping the moisturizer and sunscreen into his skin.

You chuckled out from the living room. “What’re you doing in there? It sounds like you’re hitting yourself.”

“I’m just trying to be fast,” he said. When he was done, he took the slightest bit of hair product between his hands and ran it through his dark locks to give it life and volume. When he was decently satisfied with it, he breezed back into the living room and flicked his fingers upward at you. “Come on! Chop chop, Yn-ie! Things to do, places to see!”

You cocked your head to the side, a slightly weirded out smile pressed onto your face. “Huh? How are you so awake right now?”

He was in his bedroom when you asked this and thus, out of your direct sight. He shuddered, the energy slipping off the lines of his face for a split second as he threw things into a bag haphazardly. “I’m just—it’s just one of those days where I’m better off on a power nap, y’know?”

“Okay…?”

Changmin slung his bag over his shoulder and strode over to you to yank you up to your feet. He grinned wide at you. “Well? Ready for the day I have planned?” He stuffed his shaky hands into his pockets.

Your eyes narrowed at him, but you eventually sighed—accepted it. “Sure. What do you have in mind?”

———

Changmin pulled his phone’s notes app up and clicked the checkbox next to “go down to the boardwalk for rolled ice cream”. It was accompanied by about seven items prior to it, also crossed out in twin strike-throughs. It was about six o’clock in the evening now, the sun having well set into the horizon to yours and Changmin’s left. The ocean breeze wafted through his hair, and though the view of the boardwalk below was glittering and beautiful, all he could think about was the next thing on his list.

It wasn’t that you didn’t need to eat, but that you couldn’t… really eat. The food related items were there so Changmin could experience it with you one last time, but his cup of strawberry cheesecake rolled ice cream sat untouched and fast-melting in his lap.

Changmin felt the familiar twin taps on his shoulder and jolted. His head whipped up to meet your eyes. He gulped at the look on your face. “What?”

“Your ice cream is soup.”

He glanced down at his lap and saw the thick chunks of pale pink swimming in an ocean. “Oh.”

You rested the side of your head against your fist, then propped your elbow up on the back of the bench the two of you sat on. “What’s going on, Kyu? What’s your rush today? You have a whole list written out, and we’ve been practically everywhere around the city today. I think I saw you ignore the giraffe statue in the toy store earlier—which, frankly, is not very Kyu of you.”

The last thing you expected him to do was to stare at you until he started crying. You saw the way his face scrunched up, first, then the silver pooling in his eyes. His cheeks had puffed just slightly until he combusted, fat tears rolling down his face and dripping into his ice cream soup.

Your heart sank.

Changmin got up and stalked to the trash can just a little ways away from the bench and tossed the wasted ice cream away. When he came back, you wrapped him up in your embrace, gently cupping the back of his head. “I’m sorry I upset you,” you said quietly.

“I’m sorry for crying again,” he hiccuped. “I just—I’m just so frustrated. And I just don’t know anymore. There’s enough shit to do on that list to get us to tomorrow night—”

The realization dawned upon you. You had a sneaking suspicion throughout the day as he dragged you from place to place, barely taking the time to properly enjoy the attraction, but now that he had finally said it, the truth hit you square in the chest.

Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, before they opened toward the shimmering boardwalk below. “Changmin-ah. Kyu. Let’s go home, hm? Do you wanna go home?”

You felt him nod against you, and that was settled.

When the two of you made it back to Changmin’s apartment, he walked in with shoulders hunched and head hanging. The lights stayed off, the quiet remained unbroken. You sat him down on his worn place on the couch, and you resumed that perch on the coffee table that you had taken on that very first day you had manifested in his apartment.

Changmin leaned forward onto his elbows. He was no longer crying, but his eyes were red and puffy, bottom lip wobbly. The worst thing was that he not only looked sad, but also ashamed. He kept his gaze firmly on the hardwood floor, and his voice was gravelly, “I just wasted an entire day, didn’t I?”

You shook your head. “N—”

“I’ve come to the realization that you’re probably not here to right any wrongs,” he pressed on, his head lifting for this moment to plead with his eyes for you to let him continue, to let this all out. “You haven’t done a single horrible thing in your life, Yn, not in my eyes. And… well, your death was an accident, and maybe for a second, I wanted to believe that there was foul play involved so I could distract myself but…” He picked at one of his fingers. “Now I just want to seize the last of these hours I have with you. And I thought I was doing it right today, but it was the exact opposite.”

He reached out for your hand and you gave it to him as he cradled it with both of his.

“I,” you began, “I understand what you were trying to do, Changmin, and I don’t blame you. I would have done the same thing.”

The breath he released was shaky as he stared you in the eyes with his red and silvery ones—stared you right in the eyes as he lifted your knuckles to his lips and held them there.

Something rocked through you then. You wanted to cry; god, you so badly wanted to cry.

“I wish it was me,” he croaked. “I wish it was me. I wish it was me—”

Your hand tightened around his fingers. “No,” you asserted. The strength and firmness of that single word made Changmin’s breath hitch. “No, Changmin. Don’t.” You shook your head vigorously, trying to wrap your head around the mere thought of Changmin taking your place, and everything in your chest seized. “Don’t say that.”

“God, fuck. Yn—” he stammered, pressing the back of your hand to his lips to stop the flood of emotions to break through yet again. Every time he thought he built himself back up, the dam just happened to be more fragile than he believed it to be.

You swallowed. “Changmin, I have to tell you something.”

He shook his head then. “No. God, no, don’t say it.”

“Changmin, I love you. You know that.”

He released your hand and flew back onto the couch, knees pulled to his chest and his face buried in his hands. “Yn, please.”

You clutched your hand to your chest. “I’m being selfish, and I’m sorry for that, but I… never got to say it to you before I left your house that day.” Not enough times. Never enough times.

“Yn, you don’t understand,” he rasped. One hand gripped onto his knee, the other swiping upwards into his hair so you could see the full brunt of his emotions, clear as day on his face. “I love—d you. I loved you so much that it makes my chest hurt. And—and—god, I think I would’ve wanted to spend the rest of my life with you if we had more time and I came to my fucking senses. Yn, it hurts so bad.”

You lowered yourself to your knees in front of him and coaxed him to unravel himself. He leaned forward, forehead pressed against you as he dry-sobbed until his lungs ached and burned from the inside out.

You couldn’t tell if all of what he just told you was true or in the moment. But what you did know was that the world was so very cruel. It would have been nice to figure this out with him, to see what might have transpired, or enjoyed the journey nonetheless. All of that… you had reached the final destination, and Changmin would go on without you now.

You had one day left.

With that one day… you were still unsure as to how you should seize it, but at this very blink in time, your priority was your best friend. You climbed onto the couch beside him and let him find comfort in your embrace.

You rubbed soothing circles into his back as you gathered your thoughts. “Do you know…” you started lowly and gently, “that I think the world of you? And I don’t say that to make you cry again; I’m saying that so you know, in your heart every day, that you could have never failed me. Like you said, in my eyes, you could do no wrong.”

Changmin sniffled against you. “But what if I do fail you? What if, when you leave for real, I can’t go on?”

“Well, then I’d like you to promise me that you will try your best to keep going. Your best is enough,” you said to him, finger brushing the hair from his forehead. “The Kyu I know is so very strong, and I know that even when the going gets tough, you get going, because you are tougher.”

He held onto your shirt, his chest’s rising and falling beginning to slow and calm down. “I promise.”

“Good. I’m proud of you.” You leaned down and pressed a butterfly kiss to the crown of his head then rubbed his shoulder. “I know this week must have been really difficult for you, but I watched you make steps toward healing. I won’t sugarcoat how hard it might be, but you have people who love you, Changmin. People who love you and care about you and want to be there for you.”

“Thank you,” he rasped. “Thank you for being here. For coming back. It probably wasn’t your choice, but thank you for choosing me in life and in death.”

For a moment, you closed your eyes and (maybe; just maybe) thought you finally felt a tear cascade down your cheek. “I wouldn’t have chosen anyone else, to be honest.”

DAY SEVEN

IT had been awhile since Changmin had invited anyone over to the apartment. Chanhee had pretty much invited himself over yesterday, but this morning, you had suggested to Changmin to host a movie night with the others so he wouldn’t have to be alone when you took off. (For wherever you were off to.) Changmin had recovered slightly from yours and his conversation last night, but there was still a soft spoken air around him.

At about six minutes past eight o’clock that Sunday evening, Changmin let Chanhee, Kevin, and Juyeon into the apartment, with Ghana leaping for joy onto the knees and thighs of these old friends he hadn’t seen in awhile. Before you died, it wasn’t uncommon that Changmin invited the group over to hang out. He thrived on the energy and connection of other people, and when he had shut himself in for an entire month, it was clear that he would not be himself for a while.

Kevin scanned the apartment with a pleasantly surprised nod. “Wow, I’m shocked that you kept it clean.”

“Yah! What kind of guest are you?” Changmin jokingly whacked Kevin with the excess material of his sleeve.

From your perch in the middle of the kitchen counter, you snickered. “If only he knew, Changmin.”

Changmin sent you a look, lips pressed in a smile.

“Man, I missed Gana so much,” Juyeon groaned, leaning down to pucker his lips at the poodle. Gana reacted accordingly, hopping up onto Juyeon’s knees and licking the tip of the man’s nose. “Mwah!”

Changmin rolled his eyes and hopped onto the ledge of the kitchen counter right in front of you. You leaned forward and rested your chin on his shoulder. “Oh please. Gana’s only got eyes for that pretty, white poodle—what’s her name?”

“Bori?” Chanhee’s pink head perked up from the couch. He peered over the ledge with a wide smile as he wielded the TV remote in his hand. “Younghoon says the two lovebirds ought to hang out again soon.”

Juyeon pouted. “Hmph, well I was in line first, so…”

Changmin shook his head with a melodramatic sigh. “Aish… by the way, you weirdos better say hi to Yn over there or I will kick you out right now.” He was only kidding, of course. (Maybe half kidding.) He was tempted to make the joke that you were really behind him and that he wasn’t referring to the shrine by the TV, but he knew they would only give him weird looks and he’d be the butt of the joke.

His three friends immediately jumped to it, raising their hands in cute, excited waves, smiles gleaming under the television light. Kevin scurried over to the table, cooing at the dinosaur plush seated next to your portrait. You couldn’t quite hear the words he murmured to you, but Juyeon was a little louder when he paid your shrine a visit himself.

When they had finished, Juyeon raised the dead tea light in the sky. “Aye! This light’s out, Changmin-ah.”

“That’s what I noticed yesterday, too!” Chanhee chimed in. He shook his head with a playful click of his tongue. “Tsk, tsk. If you’re gonna keep a shrine, you should tend to it.”

“Aish,” Changmin muttered again. (“They’re not wrong,” you added cheekily; “Heeey, shush you.”)

“Changmin, are you not coming to join us at your own movie night?” Kevin teased as he tore off his jacket and settled onto the couch next to Juyeon.

“Hm? Oh, yeah.” He felt the weight of your head lift off his shoulder, then could he slide off the counter and join his friends at the couch.

You smiled to yourself as you scooted up the counter to take Changmin’s old place. From here, you had a great view of the movie anyway. They were arguing between a couple different titles, but it seemed that Changmin was insistent on one in particular.

“—Ghostbusters. Have you seen the original? You haven’t? That’s so insulting; we’re watching it now!” Changmin screeched, grabbing hold of Chanhee’s shoulder to shake the poor man into doing his bidding with the remote.

Eventually, the movie started rolling, the ectoplasm spilled, and on your final night as a ghost, you watched yours and Changmin’s childhood staple movie for the very last time. From time to time, you caught Changmin twisting his head over his shoulder to throw smiles back at you, and you knew he was reminiscing the same as you were. Only, as the night grew longer and time flew by, there were less and less looks thrown back at you.

And just like that, a sense of contentment settled over you. Like a set of ellipses, your time was coming to a gradual halt.

At five minutes to midnight, Changmin jolted up in the middle of The Avengers to a twin set of taps on his left shoulder. Chanhee sent him a mildly concerned look, since his friend’s movements jostled his head off Changmin’s shoulder.

Changmin cleared his throat, quietly murmuring, “I’ll be right back”, then slipped out of the front door.

Changmin’s slippers hit the concrete outside the apartment complex with a dull smack. Crisp cool night bit at his cheeks, but when he saw you standing beneath the rusty-orange night sky, he ran up to you and crushed you to his body in a final embrace. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but his mouth curled into a smile against your shoulder.

“I wish we had more time,” he whispered in a last, desperate attempt to implore the universe.

You cradled the back of his head, eyes screwed shut. “Me, too. You have no idea, but… you’re gonna be okay, Kyu. It’ll all be okay.”

Changmin tucked his face into your neck to catch the lingering scent of your shampoo, to memorize the imprint of your body into his brain so he might always remember what holding you felt like. “I’ll make you proud, Yn-ie.”

Silver lined your eyes, your throat tightened—for fuck’s sake, you wished you could cry. “You’ve already made me proud, Changmin.”

———

When Changmin returned, three heads perked up from the couch to watch him settle down next to Chanhee again. They caught the glistening wetness of his eyes, but he smiled through it, as if he had just come back from seeing a friend off.

Changmin curled up into Chanhee’s side, the latter asking him gently, “You okay?”

Changmin nodded. “I’m okay.”

—fin.

BONUS SCENES. — day seven cont’d.

(“Hey, before you go, can I ask you a favor?”; “Anything.”)

A minute after Changmin had settled back in the apartment, he cleared his throat, inclining his head to the shrine. “Guys, I know you said I should really maintain the shrine better, but the shrine maintains itself.”

Everyone followed his line of sight to the shrine where your portrait glowed in the light of only one tea light. However, they all heard, loud and clear, a distinct tap-tap sound against the base of the dark candle. The light blinked to life, and everyone erupted into madness.

Through his friends’ screams, Changmin cackled in hyena-esque delight. “I told you my apartment was haunted!”

DAY TWELVE

“CHANGMIN, over here!”

The street was alive as university students flooded into all cram into the humble bbq restaurant in the district, this chilly Friday evening. Only a lucky few would be able to score a table without having a prior reservation, but lucky for Changmin and his friends, Kevin was always on top of his Yelp notifications.

Changmin beamed at his friends, his eyes widening as Chanhee practically hurled himself down the street and into Changmin’s embrace. “Holy shit—I could’ve become a pancake on the sidewalk just now.”

Chanhee rolled his eyes with a laugh. “Oh shut up, you drama king.”

“Hey, that’s all you, dude.” The two of them walked back over toward where Kevin and Juyeon stood by the door. A long line had formed down the opposite side of the block, but the four of them stood in the area simply waiting for their reservation notification to arrive.

Juyeon brought Changmin in for an affectionate side hug, and Kevin asked him how he was feeling. Changmin answered with a small, affirming nod and statement; though, the deja vu was awfully strong tonight.

Kevin pursed his lips in a smile. “Good, I’m glad, man.” Then his phone lit up, and so too did his face. “Ooh, fuck yeah! Our table’s ready—c’mon!”

Changmin was about to follow his friends in through the door when he stopped short. His head perked up and swiveled to survey the sidewalk. He thought he had just heard his name being called…

“Kyu!”

He whipped around now, and his eyes locked onto a form on the far side of the street. It was a mass crush of people over there, but he could pick you out of a sea of people—anytime, anywhere.

Something seized in his chest, and he broke into a teary-eyed smile. Before he could wave or further acknowledge your presence, someone passed in front of you, and you melted in with the crowd. Gone, as if never there before.

“—Changmin-ah, what’s up? We can’t be seated until we’re all inside.” Chanhee shook Changmin’s shoulder, then followed his gaze. “What’s over there?”

Changmin shook his head and turned on his heel to duck into the warmth of the restaurant with Chanhee. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I just saw an old friend.”

a/n: thank you so much for reading all the way thru and i hope u liked it ! :') pls do consider reblogging this or dropping a comment/ask &lt;3

#the boyz x reader #ji changmin x reader #changmin x reader #q x reader #the boyz oneshot #the boyz angst #the boyz fluff #the boyz imagines #the boyz scenarios #changmin oneshot #changmin imagines

[femboyhorror]

🌲 pines family headcanons ✨ click the read more for more in-depth headcanon stuff!

this started out as a little silly edit of ford, then i decided to do one for stan as well and once that happened i knew i had to do edits for the pines twins as well. i might end up doing others like soos, wendy and pacifica but for now we have the main four pines.

🌲 dipper has glasses but prefers not to wear them. he thinks they look nerdy but wears them more often with the support of mabel and his grunkles. 🌲 bisexual disaster. 🌲 dipper will always be a transboy in my head. struggled with gaining acceptance from his parents but knows he always has a place where he can be himself in gravity falls. 🌲 CW SELF HARM IMPLIED: his dysphoria and dissociation from his body ends up worse for a while after sock opera. for a while turns to… not so great methods to remind himself that his body is his own. 🌲 became clingy after weirdmageddon, either clinging to his sister and grunkles before going back to piedmont or just staying by mabel's side often after. 🌲 probably has pierced ears but would wear very subtle earrings, to mabel's displeasure.

🌠 big decora kei vibes. so many stickers and hair pins. she also will often wear mismatched socks! 🌠 is the one to suggest she and dipper get a matching hair streak. blue was the only color dipper would agree to. 🌠 mabel gives me big pansexual vibes. starts to discover her own identity around the time dipper does, and ends up dating candy and/or grenda for a hot minute. 🌠 wholly supported dipper when he came out as a transboy and was his biggest ally growing up. 🌠 after weirdmageddon she asks ford for drawing lessons. the two bond over arts and crafts. 🌠 CW MILD ED suffers from a sort of survivor's guilt after weirdmageddon, guilt over being tricked by bill and almost staying in mabeland manifesting mostly in the form of being a people pleaser, forgetting to eat and sleep. the other pines thankfully notice this and put a stop to it.

🎣 i love long haired stan. i like to imagine after the series the guy feels comfortable enough to grow his hair out again. 🎣 stretched earlobes! 🎣 is a transman and also gnc as hell. he also is insanely good at using makeup. (dipper and ford don't really use makeup and mabel just likes to be Silly with makeup.) 🎣 (tbh i can also imagine stanley as being transfeminine as well, they're just That Gender.) 🎣 as soon as mabel saw his "glorious mane" she was practically begging him to let her braid it. he pretends to just go along with it for her sake but he secretly loves having her do his hair. 🎣 the adhd to ford's autism. he definitely suffers hard from rejection sensitive dysphoria and tends to panic if it seems like someone is upset with him. (i.e. ford confronting him over the broken machine, mabel upset with him for lying in the land before swine.)

✋ his sweater is a huge comfort for him. in general he likes heavier clothes to ground him. ✋ i like to imagine him with plenty of earrings and tattoos. earrings mainly themed around space and stars and ends up getting some tattos on his wrists to cover the burn scars from weirdmageddon. ✋ a touch of the tism. has a hard time distinguishing tone. (i.e. not being able to tell if wendy was complimenting him ironically or not.) ✋ while he doesn't mind if people see him as a man, he himself doesn't feel all that attached to the idea of being male. fine with any pronouns but probably likes to use neopronouns. (maybe star/starself?) ✋ achillean, mainly attracted to enbies and men. tried to date a few girls growing up to try and be "normal" (comphet's a binch) but at around high school enough bad experiences made him avoid dating for a while. ✋ he loves loves loves space and astronomy! it's sort of his hyperfixation. used to name constellations with stanley while spending nights on the stan o war and they bond over this on the stan o war ii!

#gravity falls #gravity falls headcanons #stanford pines edits #stanley pines edits #mabel pines edits #dipper pines edits #gravity falls edits #stanford pines headcanons #stanley pines headcanons #mabel pines headcanons #dipper pines headcanons #mutt's edits