#both of them always hanging too close to the princess doesn’t make sense. they shouldn’t be allowed near her

[killsaki]

idk why i always picture hanma as a silly + evil sorcerer in royal aus but it just makes sense to me.

[spencersawkward]

i’m so happy ur on tumblr now!! i love between the lines so much, could you write a blurb or one shot about mgg and a younger co-star, but like very spicy if possible 🙃, idk i just love that scenario🥵.

i was literally about to write "omg i love this concept too!" and then i was like “well no fucking shit, sophi.” lol. YES i can 10/10 write you a one-shot with a similar scenario! also thank you for your kind words that was the first fic i ever wrote so it’s very near and dear to my heart!

summary: reader goes to a holiday party with her co-stars and best friend, Matthew... but all the fun happens in the dressing room.

content warnings: this one is quite dirty but i’m also proud of it lol. unprotected penetrative sex, oral (female receiving), degradation, use of the term “little girl,” creampie, age gap. dirty talk?

pairing: Fem!Reader/Matthew

word count: 4.7k

masterlist

"no."

"what do you mean, 'no’?” Matthew laughs, looking between me and the mirror.

"I look like the Ghost of Christmas Past." I lift up the soft white tulle of the dress, watching it float back down to settle over my skin. he's got his eyebrows raised and there's a smirk on his lips like he's holding back a laugh. I resist the urge to reach around and hit him.

"would you rather wear that?" he points to the punch-stained gown that's now laying pathetically over the back of the vanity chair. I genuinely ponder the idea for a moment.

"honestly, the crime scene vibes might work well with the theme of our show."

"seriously, it's not bad, Y/N!" he insists, drawing my attention back to the mirror.

"you're just saying that because you're the one who spilled on me and you don't want people making fun of how clumsy you are." I cross my arms over my chest. he gives me a dubious expression in our reflection on the wall.

"do I seem like I care about that?" he challenges.

"I--" the truth is that no, Matthew is not the type. Matthew is the kind of person to flounder in front of anyone and proceed to crack a joke about himself. he's humble. but I kind of like when we talk like this, our back and forth.

after a year of working together on the same show, he and I have grown incredibly close. I'm friends with all my co-stars, but he and I just have the natural friendship chemistry that makes me want to spend all my time with him. when we're not on set, we're hanging out on his couch or ordering dinner or driving out of town to check out wacky sites around California. we just have fun. pure, clean, honest fun.

of course, in my dreams it isn't pure or honest. frankly, there's a lot of sordid scandal to what goes on in my head when he accidentally touches my arm or brushes his fingers over mine. the amount of times I have gone to cast parties trying to work up the nerve to kiss him are embarrassing. he's older and more experienced and, obviously, he has no interest in me.

but that doesn't matter.

the only reason I'm standing in a dressing room alone with him is because he knew someone on the crew who could hook me up with a replacement for the night. he left while I slipped out of the old one and came back in only after knocking and checking, like, twice to make sure I was decent. he's so respectful that it's almost like he's afraid of making me think the wrong thing-- which makes me feel absolutely stupid for my almost schoolgirl crush.

"come on, you look great. let's go enjoy the party."

"was this a dress one of the victims was wearing?" I ask with a laugh.

"probably. not like we carry a lot of gowns on set." he grabs my hand, makes my heart leap into my throat. he only does it to urge me along, but it still feels intimate as I follow him out of the room, tossing one more evaluative glance at myself in the mirror. I seem terrified.

we continue to do our rounds at the party, Matthew filling my glass of eggnog even though I hate it. I wince and take a sip while we talk to some of our co-stars.

"what's wrong with you?" Shemar chuckles at my expression.

"lost a bet."

"with whom?" he glances between Matthew and me, knowing damn well already from the mischievous grin on the former's face.

"I told you not to take it." Matthew says over the rim of his glass.

"if you mention it one more time, I'm gonna throw up eggnog all over your outfit." I threaten him, but we're both smiling. Shemar frowns.

"what was the bet?"

"you know David-- the guy I was telling you about?" I reply quickly, determined to give my side of the story. Shemar nods; I told him last week when David oh-so-chivalrously danced up on me at a club and asked me out. usually in those situations, guys just want a one-night stand, so I was impressed and agreed. "anyway, Matthew said if it turned out that he was a weirdo, he would get to pick my drinks for the next week whenever we go out."

"your drinks? that's specific."

"she's so picky!" Matthew teases me.

"leave me alone, you dick!" I elbow him and he dodges just in time.

"tell him why he was a weirdo." he grins. the glare I give could kill. but Shemar is waiting expectantly for me to share the information, so I sigh and set my jaw before telling the truth.

"he collects antique dental tools."

"what?" Shemar laughs disbelievingly. I throw my hands up.

"I don't fucking know. we went back to his apartment and he showed me his whole collection."

"you're attracted to weird people, Y/N." Matthew says. I raise my eyebrows and almost say something that dooms me. I hold my tongue, however, and turn back to Shemar with a reserved smile.

"anyway, how are you?"

...

the cast holiday party is actually pretty fun. I tend to leave these functions early in favor of my couch and some ice cream, but something about the bright colors and the smell of wintergreen in the air makes me want to linger in the studio.

I stuff myself with sugar cookies and Matthew mercifully lets me switch from eggnog to Sprite. normally, I'd drink at such an occasion, but I'm a messy drunk and this is one of my first real jobs as an actress. I don't want to even come close to jeopardizing that by breaking some expensive equipment or something.

my throat gets a little sore from all the talking I do-- Paget and I spend about half an hour horribly belting out Christmas carols at the baby grand piano they brought in. they originally had someone hired to play it, but the guy disappeared about an hour ago.

by the time it hits around ten pm, my limbs are tired. I thought people would be leaving (a lot of them have families), but the party is still very much raging when I start to wind down. maybe it's because I'm sober.

"hey." Matthew sidles up next to me as I sit at the piano bench with a slice of lime in my mouth. I like to suck the juice out of them; sour things are my favorite.

"hi." I pluck the fruit out and drop it back into my soda. he sits next to me, his cologne filling my senses with the kind of sensual warmth that it shouldn't be making me feel. he always smells so good.

"ladylike." he gestures to the movement.

"is that why you call me 'princess?'" I smirk, half-joking.

"once-- I called you that once!" he defends. it's not a lie. he used the nickname when he was mocking me for my somewhat selective food preferences. it was sarcastic, but I wish it wasn't. something about the way he said it in the moment made me blush.

"is there a reason you've come to grate my nerves?" I raise an eyebrow and he turns away from me as he bites back a smile. I pout. "what?"

"you're talking like a Jane Austen novel."

"what's wrong with Jane Austen?" I defend, skin heating up. his proximity is doing things to me that it shouldn't.

"nothing," he glances at me before moving his gaze to the ivory keys. "do you play?"

"elementary level, sure." I giggle. he runs his fingers over them, never pressing down hard enough to release a sound. I'm entranced by the delicate nature of his actions, the veins and the curve of his fingertips, the sheer width of his hand. I think about it too much for it to be healthy.

"show me." it's a direct order, one that doesn't feel directive but still ends with me placing both hands on the piano and wracking my brain for something to play. I decide on a piece that Paget and I were doing earlier, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."

I've never been quite good at piano, and the nearness of his body is like an anvil on my fingers, but I play anyway. and it feels good. his eyes are on me, drawn to my tracings over the instrument as they press and lift and glide.

"sing." I tell him.

"no!" he protests. I don't stop playing, only now getting into the thick of the tune.

"oh, come on. just the chorus..." I plead, turning my head to beg. "please?"

I bat my lashes playfully, fully intending it as a joke, but Matthew softens a bit. for a fraction of a second, I think he looks at my mouth. he turns his head back to the piano and lets out a quiet "here we are as in olden days... happy golden days of yore..."

"there you go!" I egg him on, and he starts to get more into it. his voice is absolutely off-key; he's no singer, and somehow that makes him even more endearing to me.

Matthew has always been this flawless, intimidating figure in my mind. even when we first met, I was certain that he was hiding something because everything else about him is so... perfect. he's funny, sweet, genuinely kind, handsomer than hell. it didn't make sense. but knowing that he can't carry a tune makes me feel a bit better. it humanizes his beauty.

while he sings, I can't help looking at him. his side profile is even more enchanting; the curve of his features meeting a smooth elegance in his jaw and cheek, especially when his mouth is open. he catches me smiling at him and returns it with his own gleeful face, now totally fine with singing like a fool in front of everyone. nobody is even really looking at us-- they're several drinks in and lost in their own universe of drunken laughter.

there's something kind of magical about that, I think. we're sober. when the song draws to a close, I lift my fingers off the keys and into my lap.

"you're quite the Pavarotti." I joke.

"the who?" he furrows his brow with a smile.

"he's a famous opera singer."

"oh," he laughs, "thanks, Mozart."

I twist my face up as I hide my smile. this is also part of the reason I could never tell Matthew how I feel; we just fit together too well. he almost always gets my references and I understand his, even though there's an age gap between us. he's an old soul with a youthful heart.

"how's your night going?" I ask him softly, changing the subject. he sets his hands on his lap, absent-mindedly toying with his fingers. it's not a nervous tendency at all. he does it whenever we're on set.

"as of right now? pretty damn good." he replies with a smile. I get warm again at the implication. he doesn't mean it like that, but god, do I wish he did.

"very smooth." I compliment appreciatively.

"how about you?"

"it was kind of boring, but then this rando sat next to me and started singing Christmas songs and it got a little better." I say flatly, grabbing my glass off the top of the piano and running my fingertip over the rim. he drops his head in a giggle.

"you're something else."

"insult?" I clarify.

"definitely a compliment."

"I like compliments."

"well, I wasn't lying before. you look really beautiful in that dress."

"the murder dress?" I glance down at it to hide the absolute wideness of my eyes at his words. he's completely flustering me and I'm starting to find it hard to breathe. he said I look beautiful. not "pretty," not "great"-- beautiful.

"yes, the murder dress." he gets a little pink in his cheeks, and that makes me want to explode on the spot.

"well, say goodbye to it because I'm gonna go change back into my plebeian clothes," I stand from the piano bench. "it's past my bedtime."

Matthew looks up at me with an unreadable expression and I feel my heart flutter in my chest. I hate leaving him. "do you wanna come with me? like-- walk with me?"

"sure." he nods, stands, and follows behind. I can feel his presence like a delightful reminder of the emotions surging in my stomach. we wind through the crowd of party-goers until we end up back in the dressing room, away from the party. it's quiet.

Matthew walks in with me, carrying our drinks in his hand, and he's about to stroll back out so I can change when I touch his arm. the door shuts automatically behind him.

"wait," I swallow quickly. "can you unzip me?"

"oh." Matthew looks at me, then at the glasses in his arms, then at the vanity. he sets them down and comes back quickly, his frame behind me while his fingertips locate the little piece at the top of my gown. my breath hitches in my throat when he brushes over my spine by accident, one nail dragging accidentally against my skin as the fabric slowly gives way. I don't know if he hears it-- it's nearly imperceptible-- but he definitely hesitates once he reaches the place where my back starts to curve into my ass. he pauses, doesn't breathe until he reaches the end of the zipper.

"there you go." he mutters. his voice is a little more hoarse than usual, and he clears his throat as he steps away. I know he's going to back out. he's going to back out of the room and wait for me to slip into nothing and I know, somehow, that he's going to be thinking about how I look in here with my clothes off. he's going to wish he stayed.

and I'm going to wish he'd done more than stayed.

before I can lose my nerve and allow the moment to be swallowed up by practicality, I shrug the straps of the dress down my shoulders and let gravity take over. it drops to the floor, leaving me in only my bra and panties. I can sense him behind me; he's silent for a moment.

"Matthew." I say, the name sitting on my tongue like a sugar cube. perfectly formed, slowly dissolving.

"y-yeah?" he stutters for the first time since I've met him.

"are you looking at my ass right now?" I ask, still turned around. the way he's frozen in place tells me that I'm right.

"yeah." he admits.

"you can touch it, if you want." I murmur softly. part of me doesn't think this is real, the way each sentence leaves my throat like it's been pre-planned. truly, I don't understand how my brain is moving so quickly.

"are you... sure?" he's hesitant, but even I can taste the longing.

"yes."

his hand smooths over my butt, softly at first like he's still not believing his own eyes, before moving back to grab it. he squeezes the flesh, and a low exhale from him tells me that he's excited.

"do you want more?" my voice barely carries. my head is almost foggy from how good it is to have his grip on my body, even in such a simple way. I can feel myself getting wet.

"how much more?" his lips brush over my shoulder and I get goosebumps. my mouth opens and closes for a moment, searching for the right words.

"however much you want."

it's flint and steel, the way he sparks. the air literally leaves my lungs when Matthew grabs my hips and spins me around to face him. my lips part as I peer up at him, at the lust that now darkens those hazel eyes and the way he holds mine. his touch is certain. he pulls our bodies together, tilts my chin up to kiss me.

it's passionate, strong, the kind of kiss that causes me to lean back a bit just to receive the full force of his desire. but I return the affection easily, moaning into his mouth. I've never been held the way that Matthew holds me. like I'm made of sugar glass, like he wants desperately to feel the soft give of my skin and make a home of me.

the heat between our bodies is almost overwhelming, and I sigh when he subtly pushes our hips together. his erection is against my stomach.

"fuck." I mutter when I pull away for air. Matthew doesn't stop his perfect movements, though, tugging my earlobe between his teeth and starting to leave love bites up my skin and over my shoulder. he chuckles against my throat. I shiver.

"you alright, little girl?" he asks.

"just--" I let out a moan at the sensation of his fingers exploring my bare waist. he reaches behind me to unclasp my bra. "just surprised."

"about?" he slides the straps down my shoulders and looks me in the eye. the lack of physical contact makes me whine.

"that you want me."

"how is that surprising?" he smiles, using one index finger to guide me to look at him.

"you don't seem like it."

Matthew raises his eyebrows as if I'm a crazy person. truly dumbstruck. "what?"

"you-- well, I don't know." I frown, but Matthew takes my hand and moves it over his torso until my palm is resting over the considerable bulge in his pants.

"is this enough proof?"

I struggle for words, sputtering. "yeah-- yeah, it is."

he bucks into my hand a little and I bite my lip, eyes moving up to meet his. something passes between us that I don't fully understand, but feel in my bones. I have never, in my life, wanted someone to fuck me as much as I want Matthew to fuck me right now. my jaw clenches.

"I need you." I tell him like this is the most relevant piece of information that will ever pass between us. he smirks.

"yeah?"

"mhmm."

"then lean against the wall and let me give you what you deserve." he orders. for a second, I try to think through what he means. then I look behind me at the open space and back up, him following me closely. his hands move up to cup my breasts, kneading and tweaking my nipples as he kisses my lips. the coolness against my back causes me to gasp, and he swallows the sound with his tongue before moving down my body.

he's torturously slow, taking one of my nipples into his mouth while he shrugs off his suit jacket. he switches to my other peak, one hand splayed over my stomach, and then proceeds southward with his lips. his kisses are delicate, open-mouthed, as they find their way to the waistband of my panties.

he hooks his fingers in them and looks up at me.

"can I eat you out, baby?" he asks. I bite my lip.

"please." like a beg.

"oh, you're polite tonight." he smirks, tugging the garment down my legs and discarding it somewhere in the room. I don't respond, and he doesn't seem to need me to, because he pushes one leg up for better access to my pussy. "let's see if it lasts."

my back curves off of the wall involuntarily when he holds the flat of his tongue against my clit suddenly, trying to roll my hips against his face. my fingers tangle in his hair, one leg resting over his shoulder.

he starts to flick at my clit. I lose grasp of my own language.

"Matthew, that feels so good, I--"

he attaches himself to my bundle of nerves, seemingly turned on by the sounds I'm making for him. he groans as he laps at the wetness between my legs, dipping into my folds and sucking the soul out of me. I whine and use his curls as leverage to gain more friction. he peers up at me.

"needy little girl." he mumbles against my pussy. I shove him back into me.

"make me cum, then." I beg. I can practically feel the devilish smirk on his face as he devours me like he'll never get enough. every twist and lick of his tongue is sending me to new places. I'm panting, chest heaving, while I grab my own tits and buck into his mouth.

he moans. my orgasm hits me like a wave, causing me to nearly thrash with pleasure as I cry out.

"Matthew, keep going, fuck yes!" I feel tears prick the back of my eyes, the culmination almost too much to bear as we hold contact. he stares into my fucking soul as he eats me out, and I want to stay like this forever. it's hard to support myself with my legs going weak, but I love it. the sensations are otherworldly. it's only when I'm about to collapse that I push his face away from me.

"I love your pussy." he tells me, licking his lips as he sets my legs down. I grin and let my head fall back against the wall.

"thanks."

"come here, princess." he takes hold of my hips and guides me over to the mirror, turning me so that he's standing behind my frame. the pet name causes me to smile.

"what?" I reference our reflection. he stares at me, reaching around to squeeze my tits.

"I wanna fuck you in the mirror." such a vulgar thing, said so beautifully. he kisses my cheek. "if that's okay with you."

"I don't care what position we do as long as you're fucking me." I breathe honestly. he chuckles and draws me towards him so his clothed boner is against my ass. I reach behind and work the button on his pants. he undoes the ones on his shirt. we're silent, him watching my naked body move like he's trying to memorize every detail.

when he's finally stripped, he lets me stroke his cock for a couple moments before pushing my upper back forward so I'm holding onto the sides of the mirror. I see him biting his lip as he lines himself up at my entrance.

"you ready?" he checks. I nod and he smiles at me once. pushing in, the smile melts into a jaw-dropped haze, eyes rolling into the back of his head. "Y/N..."

"it's so big." I try to breathe. he's so deep, I grip the mirror until my knuckles turn white. he's going to snap my body in two with the angle of his cock, filling me easily.

"tight little thing." he grunts as he holds himself inside. I can only watch in shock as I try to adjust to the sheer feeling of him. Matthew runs his hands over my sides, my ass, touching whatever he can. "how's that?"

I start to wiggle my hips and he groans at the feeling of my walls desperately swallowing him up. "Matthew, I need it."

"need what?" he thrusts into me and I have to fight a scream.

"need you."

"fuck... yes." he hisses out, sliding into me. "you're so wet I don't even need to try."

I bite my lip to withhold my sounds and he stares me in the eyes in the mirror as he starts to fuck me harder, building a pace with his hips. he growls a little if he hits certain angles, getting ruthless.

"so many times when I wanted to be inside you, princess..." he trails off. I start to play with my clit with one hand, using the other to stabilize myself with the mirror. the idea turns me on.

"when?"

"whenever you have attitude," he pants. "tonight, in that innocent fucking dress. making me wanna pound you like a little slut."

I make a high-pitched sound at the shudder of pleasure that jolts through my stomach at his words, wanting more. I've never heard him talk this way before.

"Matthew, shit--" I rub myself in circles, caught between watching his face and watching the way his hips slam into mine.

"you're begging to be fucked, you know that?"

"am I?" I smile sweetly in the mirror. we're in our own world, locked in a fantasy that I never want to leave. I can feel him in every corner of my body, sinking beneath my skin. he digs his nails into my ass.

"mhmm." he hums. I can feel the familiar weight in my stomach that indicates how close I'm getting. a knot that screams to be undone by his perfect length. I would do anything for more of this. I can taste everything good in the world on my tongue.

"I'm so close." I whine.

"I can tell," he studies my face in the mirror. "so pretty when you're breaking."

"oh--" I feel my thighs tense and my body pulses, the euphoria almost overwhelming. we move steadily, rhythmically, and he pushes my climax to new levels. "faster." I cry.

Matthew is quick to respond, gripping me closer while he plows into me like he's never going to have my body again. the sound of it is filthy, perfect, a mess. he groans at the sensation of my cunt pulsating around his cock.

"cum for me, princess." he moans, losing himself in the embrace of my core. the foggy stare in his eyes is like drowning in the ocean. I sink below, not caring at all about the consequences of him inside me. fuck working together; I need him. "where should I cum?"

"in me." I groan.

"beg." he commands easily, watching my face contort in pleasure. I could pretend to fight it, to give a little attitude, but I don't want to. I love begging for him.

"fill me up, Matthew. please." each word punctuated by the breathlessness of my voice. he gets even more ferocious with me, beating up my pussy until I'm sure he's going to leave me sore.

"right there, right there," he gasps, hitting the same spot that makes me go cross-eyed. "such a good little slut."

his cum shoots into me, deep and warm and erotically twisted, and I nearly collapse. it feels weird, but so good at the same time. full. he groans out my name and withdraws, quick to grab my shoulders and hold me up as I almost fall. I hadn't realized that most of my body weight was supported purely by his thrusts.

"whoa." he lets out a tired laugh, gentle in his touch. I'm heaving air into my lungs.

"sorry." I apologize, my body unstable.

"are you okay?" he seems genuinely concerned and I nod.

"yeah, I'm fine. just a little overwhelmed."

"here," he scoops me into his arms and brings me over to the old love seat in the dressing room, laying his jacket down before putting me on top of it. "can I get you something?"

"Sprite." I gesture to the glass on the vanity, and he smiles as he goes to get it. I gulp down whatever remains of it. "thanks."

"of course." he keeps glancing at my face and the red marks on my hips where he was clutching me like a lifeline. "I'm sorry."

"what?" I set the cup down. "don't ever be sorry for fucking me like that."

"no, I meant--" he laughs, but then he sees my playful expression and realizes that I'm genuinely alright. I think my legs were asleep.

"you're a saint." I tell him. he frowns and shakes his head bashfully. I'm already getting up and collecting my clothes. "or maybe what we just did prevents you from reaching sainthood. I don't know."

he places his hand on my lower back, kisses my forehead tenderly.

"seriously. you're okay?"

"I'm perfectly fine," I assure him. "but I would be better with a milkshake."

Matthew breaks into a slow grin, staring at me like I've done something miraculous.

"how are you so perfect?"

[neko-rogers]

hey!! I’m not sure if your inbox is still open but I thought I’d send this just in case! what would you think abt a dark!peter who’s obsessed w s/o and offers to have her stay with him during like the stay-at-home pet of covid so she’s not alone then when it’s lifted he’s like lol you’re not leaving. sorry that’s kinda long and super specific. i absolutely love your writing though!!💗

Jamie All Over

words: 2,040 (no, i should be sorry bc this was chaotic)

tags: didn’t expect it to be this LONG, manipulative!peter parker, grooming, overprotectiveness, slight mentions of sex, don’t expect too much lmao its a headcanon

a/n: hi babe! i wasn’t entirely sure if you wanted this as a one shot (but if u do let me know!)

so you’re pretty unaware of every move peter is trying to do with you, you know? you were not really sure if it was a kind gesture, as the gentleman he seemed to be, or was it just a special treatment

ever since second year and until now as both of you were on your fourth year, he was consistent with his efforts

these moves were moments like when he would carry your books to your next class or confidently invite you to a study ‘date’ at the library after – often times he tells that his friends were invited, but would never show up later on

sometimes he would bring you lunch. you tried to turn it down kindly, but he insists that it was purposely packed as an extra for when he stays late around the university.

it was a lie though. anyone could tell by the way it was prepared looking very appetizing and tasted just as amazing at it was presented. 

and as peter had mentioned that he lived alone, you also assumed he was the one to make his meals. you were so sure he doesn’t pack for an extra and intentionally wants to impress you with his skills.

“hey, y/n!,” he calls, “look this eggroll has a cute design!”

he honestly was an epitome of a walking sunshine. his smile seemed so pure and you never felt any ill-intent for every gesture he had done for you

his friends seemed very welcoming the moment he introduced you to his group

you got along with ned who seemed to be just as joyful and funny as peter. meanwhile mj was a bit more of a tough cookie, nevertheless you both eventually got a long better than you expected

however, it came to one point wherein your own group of friends started being disheartened with your lack of communication

“you’ve been spending more time with that parker boy, huh?” “yeah, kinda?” “are you two like... dating?” “oh no! no... no... nooo!”

the moment they frowned at you was then that you realized and felt a little more guilty. you always remembered that friends were supposed to be friends despite the lack of time and effort, right?

somehow you tried to compensate for the lack of time with your friends. but every minute you spend felt more awkward than before

they weren’t sharing the same vibe with you and you were starting to question if it had been always like it – were you only adjusting to them?

you reached out for peter, considering that he became one of the closest and trusted people around the university. plus, he seemed to have genuinely great friends

“do you feel happy when you’re spending time with them?”

“well i used to but recently–”

“then you should stop being friends with them.”

you were upset for a second. the way he instantly told you that cutting ties with them would be the (only) option

he sounded serious on the other end of the line and you were just speechless for a moment. the dead air between lines was evident, but you didn’t know what to say

“sorry,” peter makes up, “i didn’t mean to sound too serious. i just don’t like people who are rude, especially to you.”

“oh, it’s fine. i totally get it.” you felt a batch of butterflies around your stomach. someone actually cared for you!!!

the moment you didn’t hesitate on losing your friendship with your past friends and moved on with joining peter’s group, things felt lighter.

somehow you felt more expressive than you realized. they were open to your ideas and thoughts, just as you were with them. you felt super comfortable and realized that you weren’t holding back on anything anymore

that’s why you had expected your winter break to be better than your past ones

everyone agreed to skate around the ice rink in rockefeller for christmas. along with it, also spending new year’s eve at the time square

news flash: you finally had the cliche new year’s eve kiss, with none other than peter parker!!! hooray!!!

for anyone who had common sense, your feelings for peter had accentuated. you weren’t denying it either, and the boy wasn’t oblivious to it too

he was just so irresistible and kind to you, like, all the time – to surreal, honestly

you felt and KNEW you were spoiled with peter (and his friends, who liked to spend time with you outside too, just not as much as him)

just as you were planning your spring break activities, it had to be postponed for another time

a lockdown had to be implemented around the country as it was under the state of a pandemic

mj and ned told the group that they’ll be with their families since lectures had to be concluded for the mean time

you planned to do the same, but you expected that this situation wouldn’t last long. so you chose to stay in your dorm rather than return to your hometown

completely sucks since you not only don’t get to hang out with your friends, but you weren’t able to see anyone in person...

until you got a text from peter

he was literally inviting you over his apartment since he explained that he wasn’t returning home either

you practically rushed to pack a small amount of clothes for a sleepover whilst not forgetting to wear a mask (bc it’s fucking important ok)

you arrived at his address and a big warm hug ensues 

his unit was so tidy and you were convinced he did it to impress you

peter was so happy to see you, acknowledging that you’re also spending a few nights with him

the nights mostly consisted of eating snacks and binge watching movies

however during one of those nights, both of you got a bonus – making out on his couch and further, completely forgetting the television

making out with peter wasn’t awkward at all. most of the time he was the one in control, which you didn’t mind

his hands treated you so gently but the way he teased you made you crave for more than what he was offering

a lot of whining, swearing, and begging – you weren’t aware but he was enjoying it a lot

on his side, he did praise you from time to time, but most of it consisted of raw tension and actions. the room was full of grunts and short breaths 

just want to include how sexy peter would be while he moans all over you. like his whole sunshine personality just drained away the moment he places his hands on either sides of your waist

the next day you felt like a princess even though you know it shouldn’t be???

apparently peter prepared breakfast for you and you felt embarrassed walking around his place only in the shirt you wore yesterday and underwear

just when you thought the extra lunch he packs for you was already amazing, the breakfast he prepared whilst being fresh and hot was just incredible

“you really like it?”

“of course! you really have to teach me to cook sometimes”

peter laughs and jokes, “yeah, don’t worry. i feel like we’ve got a lot of time ahead.”

ok fast forward to a few more days when you were beginning to feel like a freeloader. he lets you borrow a few of his clothes as yours were in the laundry

by the time you wanted to stop by your place, peter started to be more... clingy

at first he didn’t want you to go but after a few more debates, he felt defeated and instead insisted on going with you

eventually you caved and let him. it wasn’t that bad either, he talked to you about a lot of things on the way leaving you entertained the whole walk without realizing how far it had been

he helped you ‘pack’ more stuff so you wouldn’t be going back and forth from his place and yours. you felt like you were going out of town for a month with the amount of clothes and products

both of you returned to his place around late afternoon. you felt pretty tired and didn’t hesitate to pass out on the living room couch

when you woke up you sensed that you were in peter’s bedroom, meaning he carried and tucked you during the night

plus! an arm was wrapped around your midriff and you could feel peter’s breathing against your side

you closed your eyes and appreciated the moment. it was cute and made butterflies flutter around your stomach, and you tried not to move much to not wake him up

anyways apparently the pandemic lasted longer, and more serious, than expected (fuck the government and their incompetency) 

you spent more time with peter and was thankful that you didn’t spend this quarantine alone

within a blink of an eye, a month and a half already had passed. you couldn’t deny that most, or all, days have been unproductive

eat, cook, watch tv, cuddle, fuck, repeatedly get spoiled??? yeah sounds like the dream

weird though because you haven’t completely brought up to peter if you’re actually in a relationship with him. oh no were you just friends with (a lot) of benefits??

but you also felt like it wasn’t the time to bring it up. neither of you were saying anything so it was best to let it be for the fear that things might go downhill from there

anyways this continued for more weeks, especially since the ‘stay-at-home’ policy was deemed necessary

you started to help him do errands around the apartment just to feel like you weren’t an actual freeloader – but it wasn’t a surprise when he kept insisting that you should relax

more cute moments

more sexy times

and more cuddles during night (peter’s grip became tighter every night, but you shrugged it off assuming that it was just you getting homesick and overthinking)

ok but when you brought up being homesick and mentioned that you planned peter wasn’t entirely happy about it

the way he acted wasn’t just clingy. he insisted that he’d be the one to go and that you were staying

“ok but i’m not a dog, peter?” “i know, honey, but it’s too dangerous outside. i wouldn’t want you to be at risk.” “i wear a mask?? i follow health protocols?? i’ll be fine??” “you don’t understand–”

oh god he was becoming controlling

you tried not to argue anymore, rather ignoring and pushing past him to proceed to the door

and peter instinctively wrapped an arm around your waist and prevented you from walking further

there was a lot of struggling, but you didn’t know he was this strong. literally what the hell.

you tried to scream too but he pretty much threatened you to your core

“let’s talk this out,” he grunts as he secures his grip around you

“the hell? let me go!”

things got more complicated. he did convince you to talk with him (by means of tying your arms and legs to incapacitate you from running and righting)

it was a nightmare. he was really soft and sweet with you, even getting teary eyed after stating, “i only want what’s best for you... for us”

however you could sense the manipulativeness through it despite being making everything else look convincing

“trust me, sweetie, i wouldn’t want to hurt you. it would crush me” “please don’t cry. i’m only protecting you” “people are disgusting, they don’t deserve an angel like you” “don’t worry, i can protect you”

it terrified you to your nerves, sending shivers across your spine

at first you didn’t realize it, but eventually after days of being trapped, you figured he had been grooming you the whole time

he tried to make you dependent of him and somehow he did a fine job. just not enough to completely exploit you

though, it made you question what would have been better in your situation: being conscious of his sly nature with the hope of escaping or being unaware and completely wrapped around his finger whereas letting him continue how greatly he had been caring for you?

[kekoma]

— konoha as your boyfriend.

sigh... can’t resist him for long. tsk tsk. hope you enjoy

waiting for konoha world domination.

PATIENTLY waiting because how could you not fall in love with this man?

anyways, it’s about that time for boyfriend konoha to make his debut here.

won’t get too deep with the crush phase but let’s talk about it for a second.

aki is the kind of guy who’s bold when it comes to crushes, or you in this case. 

doesn’t believe in giving mixed signals since he knows what he wants and clearly it’s you.

also isn’t the type who starts acting funny/avoids you or struggle with trying to befriend you (if you two had been strangers and konoha had one of those ‘love at first sight’ moments.)

yet in this route, you two are actually good friends and he found out had a crush on you when thoughts of you kept clouding his mind along with how he no other person could keep his interest romantically except you.

didn’t rush himself on telling you how he felt towards you. rather, he decided to let things flow just in case his mind and heart were playing a trick on him.

when konoha is ready then he’ll most likely dropped the biggest hits that he wants you.

definitely made more time for you whenever you asked to hang out, didn’t hesitate to reject others and make it known to them that you had his full attention either, and always complimented you more as well.

he finally asked you out when going out to watch fireworks together.

the confession wasn’t tooth rotting sweet yet it wasn’t dry as the desert either. konoha had planned his words perfectly and told you exactly how he felt towards you before asking “will you be mine?”

of course that night led to you two being together now~

which brings us to how the relationship is like.

for starters, i firmly believe akinori is the kind of boyfriend who wears hair ties/scrunches on his wrist for you.

he never knows when you might ask or text him about needing one so he keeps it on him just in case.

doesn’t care if some dudes get on him for it either. same with friends.

in aki’s mind at least he thinks what he does is normal and deems himself as a good boyfriend for it.

most definitely likes getting his nails done with you or by you.

if you mention going to the nail salon, best believe your boyfriend is tagging along and getting his done.

although the first few times he went with, aki went for clear nail polish because he wasn’t ready for color yet.

only started going for it for when you jokingly said you two should get matching nail colors and he was like “yeah. sounds good with me.”

and didn’t mind it. actually fell in love with the concept.

as for home, if you’re bored and just want to play pretend nail tech then aki is already sitting at your little set up ready.

“make my nails look extra pretty, princess. i want to show them off later and brag about how you did them.”

“of course~ since you said that, i’ll add a design on them. my initials.”

“sounds better than doing plain. think i can get a heart too?”

“mhm!”

i FIRMLY believe he’s also the kind of boyfriend who lets you use his face to do makeup looks you saw online.

although he may complain sometimes, deep down he actually loves it since he gets to stare at you up close and find amusement with how focus you are about making sure the look comes out just like the picture.

“close your eyes aki. please”

“then i can’t see you.”

“you’ll see when i’m done. now close your eyes unless you want eyeliner in them.”

“fine fine.”

vvv  supportive and uplifting. konoha loves and i mean LOVES the idea of being there for you, helping you out whenever he can as well.

the relationship is filled with jokes. mainly a lot of inside jokes that outsiders find it so odd— even going as far to question what some mean, but ofc none of you talk about it.

konoha wasn’t into face care/didn’t think much of it before he met you.

so if you’re someone who LOVES face care or generally taking care of your skin then you definitely changed his mind.

dude will indulge in your little spa nights at home. asking you what each products does for his skin and what some do to yours (assuming you two have different skin types).

will definitely take pictures of moments like those and make them his lock screen because he finds its cute even those the face mask on you both looks hella weird.

loves LOVES spoiling you. 

whether it’ll be with actual gifts, physical affections (which is limited) or his words— he’ll spoil you without hesitation.

konoha enjoys the concept of making it known he’s truly in love with you and doesn’t plan on stopping either.

also loves when you spoil him too.

something about you doing it makes his heart and mind do about 2937748 backflips and laps around the track.

don’t know if this will make sense, but aki still likes to woo you over as if you’re still in the beginning stage of dating when you two aren’t anymore.

suppose this can be labeled as him just being extremely affectionate which i strongly agree that he is but it’s only around you.

it’s been hinted at during the crush part, but i’ll make it known now— he’s extremely loyal to you.

ever since aki decided to commit himself to you. 

which is rare due to the fact that commit to him is something that shouldn’t be handed to just anyone. even in previous relationships, he never really gave much of it since he’ll either notice things about that partner that were hidden (by that partner), he just isn’t into them anymore due to lost of feeling or things seeming boring.

so any thoughts of konoha cheating or looking at anyone else is impossible. his heart belongs to you and only you <3

something to quickly add.. arguments with him are extremely rare.

aki isn’t into conflict so he’ll do everything in his power to avoid.

however, if it still occurs then he’ll end up speaking his mind without filtering himself. now that can either put out the fire or fuel it even more. truly depends on how you take it, but if it gets worst then apologizes will be issued in a means to fix it.

anyways— can’t convince me this man doesn’t binge watch those weird videos that are recommended to you on YouTube or any of your favorite shows and/or movies on Netflix with you.

sticking by that statement because it’s true.

now let’s quickly talk about nicknames, pda, and dates.

starting with nicknames, i’ve mentioned one but aki main nicknames for you: princess, my love, gorgeous, juliet (after romeo and juliet. it started off as a joke to call each other that but now it stays), and peach.

pda with konoha isn’t much.

in public and private, it’s just the basic. private may be a little more ahead depending on how aki is feeling, but it’s not much.

not because he doesn’t like your touch since he does yet physical affection just isn’t something that gets his interest most of the time.

so don’t take it personally when he doesn’t want to do much, but i’m sure if you beg a little then he’ll give in.

with that out the way— time to talk about dates.

dates with him range from almost anything and everything.

konoha is someone that is adventurous and likes change once in awhile so of course that’s going to incorporate itself within dates.

although do except picture to be taken while on those dates. aki finds it heartwarming to capture those moments together and he can always look back at them if you are far each other. 

can’t think of much so i’ll call this the end.

overall: a relationship with konoha is enjoyable. things are always changing within the relationship so it never turns boring.

you’re the luckiest person ever to date this cutie <3

[petalsonmoon]

purple

pairing: jj x fem!reader

summary: the three times you save and defend jj from a fight and the one time he fights for you.

warnings: VIOLENCE. and swearing. 

a/n: i have this thing that i think that everything i write is bad and it sucks. anyways, i really don’t like writing rafe being this aggressive. it’s long but is good, you won’t regret it. i’m doing my best i promise!

gif by @anakin-skywalker​

hating the kooks was just a natural thing. if you stayed locked in a room with one in 10 minutes tops you’d already want to kill him. they are mean and ignorant, just a bunch of assholes really. everything they do or say is annoying, like they live to make the life of the people from the cut miserable. and you know that for a fact because you were one.

yes, you were annoying and stubborn but not in a kook way. at least you think so.

the kooks knew you hated them and the pogues didn’t like kooks so your only friend was sarah cameron. the one who gets the best of both worlds.

when she started dating john fucking b you panicked. you where sure she was going to forget you and actually think you were a terrible person.

“y/n don’t be dramatic, they’re going to like you.” sarah says parking the car in front of the famous chateau. 

“how do you know that, huh? you’re dating one of them. i have nothing to offer them besides my cooking skills.”

“you’re overreacting. they’re good people. just be yourself! be nice!” 

“pick one sarah i can’t do both.” you mumble. 

“jeez y/n” sarah says laughing and leaving the car. 

she was right. they were surprisingly nice to you.

mostly because of what sarah told them but since that day you started to hang out with them more. from long trips on the boat to spend the day doing nothing on the chateau. you weren’t there as much as sarah but you knew they were there for you and you for them. you felt belonged.

the first time...

kook parties were the worse. it was comical how you and jj were feeling like outsiders and pope and john b were drinking and laughing looking genuinely happy.

“we could be sleeping right now.” jj leans on your ear from your left side. you both were just watching people having fun leaning on a wall.

“and miss all this fun?” you point at the drunk teenagers unable to walk on a straight line. “never.” you say and he chuckles.

“ten bucks the party ends in a fight in two hours.”

“fifteen that rafe ruins everything after coming from the basement stoned in a hour.” you reply and he snorts. “dammit that’s a good argument.”

“yeah, and your argument involves fighting and fighting usually involves you.” you say turning your body to face him.

“are you worried about me?” he smirks. you just roll your eyes. “don’t worry princess you know i can throw a punch.”

“and so can they. it’s like you always have a purple bruise on your face.” 

“it's my charm.” the boy is impossible.

“this is charming. girls don’t like that, you know?” you say and he shrugs.

“it never stopped me before.” he winks at me. “and it’s not like i care about their opinion.” 

you furrow your eyebrows but don’t get the chance to respond because you hear a voice behind you. 

“y/n! pogue! i don’t remember inviting you guys.” you and jj share a look and you notice his jaw clenches. 

“rafe! what a bad surprise!” you say turning to him and smiling. “please don’t be so happy to see us. your other guests will feel bad.”

he looked like a mess. you felt bad for him.

“oh but i am.” he comes closer to you. “why don’t we go upstairs and i’ll show you how much.”

“the only way i’m going to bed with you is if i’m drugged. like you right now... or anytime am i right?” you say and in a blink of an eye he grabs your arm. “you listen to me you little-”

“you let go of her right now or i’ll swear i’ll kill you with my bare hands.” you hear jj’s steady voice behind you. 

rafe pushes you aside getting face to face to jj. “i’d like to see you try, maybank.” that’s it.

“rafe you touch him and i tell your father you’re using drugs under his roof.” you say and all his anger is now directed to you. you two have a silent eye-fight until he whispers “get out of my house.” you hold his gaze a little more showing that you’re not afraid of him, grab jj’s arm and leave.

finally some fresh air.

“really, i could be sleeping right now.” jj complains once you’re out. 

the second time...

you could feel the sweat on your back even though the night was cold. you already felt a little dizzy but the boneyard was only getting more crowded. the music was loud and everybody was slighly drunk by now.

“i’m gonna get more beer!” you shout and sarah nods. you walk towards the keg leaving sarah dacing behind you. 

it was like a sixth sense warning you that something was going to happen. as soon as the keg is visible you see jj and topper bodies close to each other’s and both with a furious look on their faces.

there wasn’t many people around them and you only spot john b trying to stop them, you looked around again not knowing where pope and kie were. well damn, peace was never an opition.

“here we go again.” you mumble to yourself and run to them.

“you dirty pogues think you own everything here!” topper says and laughs coldly. “face it maybank, you don’t own shit nor will. just look at your dad, he’s your future.” that was low.

and just when jj took a step to murder topper you get in front of him. “jj.” he locks his eyes with yours. he was raging. 

he looks back at topper and intends to take another step. “don’t.” you put your hand on his chest. you were brave enough to put yourself in front of him when he was about to punch someone so he knew you wouldn’t leave without him. even with a gaze that could open someone’s head open you felt his body relax a little. 

you look behind you to see that john b was pulling topper away from you two and that the people around you went back to the party, upset they didn’t have a show to enjoy.

“you should’ve let me kill him” he says. 

“and let topper has the privilege of getting hit by jj maybank’s hands? no way.” you say and turn back to look at him. he was shaking his head and looking down. 

you knew exactly what he was thinking.

“you know he was wrong.” you say.

jj laughs still not looking at you. “was he though?”

“yes.” you answer with a steady voice. “look at me maybank.”

he doesn’t. yeah sometimes he’s like a 8 year old boy.

“maybank.”

he looks up with a certain anger in his eyes. not at topper. not at you. at himself.

“you already are better than he’ll ever be. he’s a shitty person and money can’t change that. but you... you’re- indescribably wonderful. no one on this island has a heart as good as yours jj.” you really meant these words.

it took a few seconds but the anger vanished. his eyes were now shining and you could see a little smile forming on his face making one appears on yours as well.

“you worry about me.” he pokes your belly with his finger. you roll your eyes. “don’t flatter yourself.”

he pulls you into a hug and whispers a ‘thank you’ on your ear. you just hug him tight. for someone who entitle himself as non hugger his hug was pretty nice.

the third time...

you enter the chateau seeing red.

“i can not believe you sank rafe’s boat.” you say looking directly at jj who was laying relaxed on the couch smoking a pot next to pope.

“yeah pope, how could you man!?” jj says taking a hit of his blunt. pope looks at him in disbelif.

“i told him not to do it y/n.” pope says standing up. “he never listens to me.”

“he never listens to anyone. goddammit jj!”

“now you’re here y/n i’m leaving. john b is at sarah’s so the house is yours to end him and throw his body on the water without any witnesses.” pope says giving you a tap on the shoulder.

once the door is closed you raise your eyebrows at the boy. “so??? why???” 

he just sighs. he just fucking sighs. “he deserved it.” why is he like this? so stubborn.

“maybank you shouldn’t have done this. he knows it was you, you know? you can go to jail!!” 

“i’m not going to jail.” he stands up and walk towards the bathroom.

“tell that to the cops that are in front of his house right fucking now. if he mentions you jj-“

“y/n he can’t prove it was me. it’s very simple.” then he closes the door. what was he? 12? “and don’t leave! i’m gonna take a shower and then we can hang out.” he screams.

you don’t even know why you worry about that boy so much. 

you complain but you wait for him, it’s not like you had any other friend to hang out with.

you always liked the chateau. looking around you notice how there’s things from everybody thrown by the house. the boys and kie make this place feel like home.

suddendly you hear a car door being closed from outside and check from the window who it is.

fuck fuck fuck

you run outside before he gets close.

“where is he?” rafe tries to pass through you but you doesn’t let him. “he’s not here, i’m looking for him too.” 

“then you tell that son of a bitch that he’s dead. my father is going to fucking kill me because of what he did.” you try not to look scared by his estate. 

“you don’t even know if it was him.”

“IT WAS.” he yells and you flinch. “of course you’re defending him, he turned you into a stupid pogue.” 

“you say that like we didn’t grow up together!” you raise your voice. “i didn’t change! you’re the one who started to have this obsession of being a replica of your father! well, guess what rafe he’s not a good person-” you didn’t finish because he punches you. 

you couldn’t belive that this was happening. it was like time had stopped. the same feeling of waking up of a nightmare and not being able to forget about it.

you look back at him to see his shocked expression. he looks like he’s trying to formulate a phrase but you don’t let him. you knee him on the stomatch. 

he squirms in pain. you put your head next to his ear. “get out of my house.” you say and go back inside of the chateau without looking back. 

your mind was racing. your emotions were all over the place.

you thought rafe was capable of a lot of things but not hitting a girl. you didn’t want to see your kinder garden friend as a villian so you always avoited the fights or even talking to him. well, that’s too late now.

you don’t even think about putting an ice on the bruise. you grab the blunt jj was previously smoking light it up and bring it to your mouth. leaning on the kitchen counter you breathe. you needed to slow your accelerated heart.

your right cheek bone stings and you don’t even know what are you going to tell jj.

and as if he was hearing your thoughts he opens the bathroom door. walking to the living room you notice he was only wearing a shorts and looking at something on his hands.

“hey i just found 10 bucks on my pockets! i didn’t even-” then he sees you. “what the fuck y/n!?? what happened???? who did this???” he comes to you and grabs your face with such a delicacy, like you were made of porcelain.

“you should see the other guy.” you smile but he doesn’t. you’ve never seen him this serious actually.

“who?”

“who do you think?” you answer and he eyes darkens. even his posture changes.

“i’ll kill him.”

he takes his hand of your face and starts searching for a shirt. “jj-”

“no y/n he crossed the line now. who hits a girl??? how could he even think of lay a finger on you!???” he puts his sleeveless shirt on.

“if you go he will be sure it was you. let’s just stay here and watch a movie, it’s not worthy.” he just looks at you.

“y/n you can’t be serious-”

“c’mon... stay.” you just look at him in the eye and his face softens. he walks to you and pulls you into a hug.

“you have a really nice hug.” you say and he just kisses your forehead.

“i’ll let you pick the movie.”

...and the last time.

there’s nothing more boring than midsummers party. it was everything you hated together: kooks, rich food and heels. your night was only tolerable because kie, sarah and pope were there.

“i need to get drunk fast.” you say when you ended another glass of champagne.

“don’t we all?” kie says.

“are we going to be like that when we grow up? i mean i don’t want to spend the night in an annoying party talking about business and golf.” sarah complains and you and kie chuckle.

you were about to answer when you see jj maybank on the other side of the room entering the mansion. he wasn’t supposed to work tonight.

you should be payed for being his life savior all the time.

“i need to go to the toilet, i’ll be right back.” you tell the girls and walks fast to where jj entered.

as you entered the place you hear some inaudible noises coming from the toilet.

you walk in there in time to see jj and rafe looking at each other like they were animals about to attack their prey. jj was way too angry and rafe was alone which it was very unusual.

“it’s sad you don’t have timon and pumbaa today but at least now we can have a fair fight.”

rafe’s next phrase surprised you. “maybank, i don’t wanna fight today.”

“i don’t care. should’ve thought about that before hitting a girl.”

rafe’s expression turned to pure sadness. you almost felt bad for him. he just needed to go to a phychologist or get some serious help.

“it was an accident. it’s never going to happen again.”

“i know it won’t.”

suddenly jj punches rafe on the face. rafe even stumbles from the force of it. he was going to attack jj when you got in front of him.

“one move and i scream.”

you analyzed him. rafe looked tired. and he couldn’t look at you in eyes. he seemed ashamed, probably because of what he did to you.

“i’m so sorry y/n.” he whispers then just leaves the room with a hand on his face.

“what is it that you’re always in the right place at the right time?”

you turn to jj. “it’s a gift.”

exchanging looks you add “and i appreciate you defending my honor but no fighting for me anymore maybank. or i will fight you.”

“i’m gonna be honest i’m not sure i can promise you that.” he replies and your face is serious. “and you’re one of the few people i’d let fight me.”

then he looks at you up and down with a sweet smile on his face. “your dress is purple.”

you look down at it and blush not even knowing why. “yeah- my mom picked up for me i don’t really like purple-”

“you look perfect.” he says and you look back at him to find him still smiling. his gaze was intense and sweet at the same time. “at least the color is not on our face today.” he completes and you laugh finally understanding his smile.

“yeah... you’re a bad influence on me maybank.” you take a step towards him.

“maybe... but maybe you’re suppose to bring light to my life like that yin yang thing you know” he says and you make a face. he laughs and takes a step as well. you were inches from each other now.

grabbing you’re hand he whispers “can i kiss you?” you nod way too fast.

the kiss was slow and filled with emotion, like the both of you needed that for too long and didn’t know. unlike romantic books your heart wasn’t racing, you were calm and peaceful. if you could put into words you would say you felt home.

pulling away from each other to breath you hide your face on his neck. “are you embarrassed right now?” he asks and you could feel the smirk on his face.

“yes.”

“why?”

“i don’t know...” you say. “i don’t wanna be a one time thing.”

he moves his shoulder and you understood that it was for you to look at him. he grabs both of your hands. “you’re not. i can promise you that.”

“how?” you ask.

his eyes were shining. exactly like when the sun reflects on the sea. “i’ll never get a purple bruise on my face ever again. for you.” he says and you smile.

you kiss him gently on the cheek and hug him. you really liked his hug.

[deiliamedlini]

WIP Wednesday

I’ve mostly been just writing the newest pirate chapter that I posted yesterday (subtle plug hahaha), but this was what I was working on just before. This is from the same fic as this WIP Wednesday. I don’t want to post this one yet because it still kind of sucks (like this, which is not edited at all), so I’m still fixing everything I have so far before actually posting. But today isn’t called Post a Fic Wednesday, it’s called WIP Wednesday, and this is a WIP!

Essentially, Link is tasked with training Zelda to defend herself after a series of Yiga attacks on her life. After some time, they’ve become good friends. She has him come to her room for lessons she doesn’t want ‘on the record’ basically, which is why Link is chilling in her room in this section. Totally not to make things unnecessarily dramatic.

~~~

When Link arrived that night, Zelda wasn’t in her room. He poked around for a moment just to make sure, and then relented to sit on her bed to wait for her, setting down his belt on the chest at the foot of her bed as he always did.

It was unusual that she wasn’t there. However, for the past several days, he’d been finding her waiting for him at the window, usually watching him scale the building with a look that betrayed her awe and her horror.

By her bedside were notebooks and tombs, all with marked pages. They ranged from geography, to biology. His hand reached out to take a book about plants, but he heard footsteps in the hall, followed by the booming voice of King Rhoam.

“Shit,” he muttered, looking around quickly before he slid into the closet just as Zelda’s door opened.

“—with the new treaty. I think that would be useful.”

“Yes,” Zelda agreed, softer than her father. “I think that would work, but we’d have to find a way to incorporate the Gerudo as well. Urbosa is instrumental, and I don’t believe we should keep her out.”

“That’s favoritism.”

“That’s being practical,” she challenged.

Rhoam chuckled. “You are learning well, Zelda. We will contact Urbosa immediately to inform her and see her position.”

“Thank you.”

“Well,” Rhoam said, “I’m going to head to bed now. Is there anything you need, or are you all set?”

“I’m fine; thank you.”

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he said wistfully.

“Since the Yiga attack? Yes, quite a while.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been as attentive.”

“No, but it’s really okay. I know the thought is there.”

There was the sound of rustling fabric that Link assumed was Rhoam hugging Zelda.

Then, “What’s that?”

Link peeked his head out to see what the king meant, and when he saw his belt still on Zelda’s trunk, he groaned as quietly as possible.

Zelda was fast, though. Her eyes darted around, looking for him, but she simply tsked, a lie springing to her lips far too easily. “It’s Link’s. He left it after we trained, and I didn’t feel like searching for him afterwards, so I just brought it back with me. I’m going to return it in the morning.”

“Ah,” Rhoam said, picking it up. “You should have gotten it back to him immediately. Looks like there’s some stuff he needs on here. I’m surprised he didn’t seek you out.”

Zelda swallowed and shrugged. “He’s diligent. Maybe he didn’t want to leave his post. Or he has spares. Or, most likely, he knew I’d just return it in the morning.”

“Hrmm, true.” Rhoam examined one of the daggers. “You should keep it in your wardrobe rather than laying around. What if someone did manage to get in here? A Yiga, or some other threat? Then you’ve just left a whole arsenal at the foot of your bed.”

“Then I’d just have weapons at my disposal to defend myself.” Zelda took it and made her way to her closet. “But I understand your point, father. You’re paranoid but—” Zelda yelped in surprise at the sight of Link innocently standing hidden in the closet, his head between two of her dresses.

“Zelda?” her father asked, hurriedly turning to her. “What is it?”

With a quick motion, Zelda pulled the dagger out just a bit and slid her thumb along it.

She turned to Rhoam with a light stream of blood moving down her wrist. “I cut myself. Don’t worry.” Handing Link his belt, as if she were hanging it up, she closed the door, giving him an exasperated look as she did.

Rhoam bit his lip nervously and handed her a nearby cloth. “Good thing you two haven’t covered blades yet. Make sure Link gives you all the safety protocols first. We don’t want that to happen on a larger scale.”

“Yes, father. I know.”

“Need any help with that, or are you all set?”

“I’m just going to wash it out. It’s fine, but thank you.”

“Okay then. Goodnight, Zelda. May the Goddess watch over your sleep.”

“Goodnight, father.”

Rhoam looked her over one more time before closing the door behind him with a tell-tale thud.

Zelda breathed out a sigh of relief. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Stepping out of the closet, Link grinned at her and tossed his belt right back onto the chest at the foot of her bed. “You were late.”

“I’m the Princess of Hyrule. I’m not late.”

“Terrible logic,” he said, snorting. But he grabbed a wash basin and brought it to her.

“Thanks.”

He watched her dip her hand into the water and flinch as it lapped over her wound. Resisting the urge to help her, he grabbed the top book from her pile instead.

“No, wait!” Zelda said, crossing the room quickly to try to snatch the book from him, hand dripping still.

“Plants and Horticulture of Hyrule Field.” He raised his eyebrow and flipped to her bookmark. “Are you planning to start a gard—oh!” A grin spread over his face as he read the words on the page. “Guardian technology? Hoarding your blasphemous texts, are we? Are you going to start tinkering with them again?”

“You know I’m not allowed to, so give it back!” Zelda burned red and grabbed his arm to try to pull at him, but with one hand, it was a losing fight. Still, she tried feebly, knowing he’d already seen it, so there wasn’t much reason to really fight anyway. It wasn’t as if he was going to rat her out either. She was simply at the mercy of his teasing for a few moments.

“How did you even get ahold of this?” he chuckled, turning the page at random as his eyes scanned over the words. “Isn’t half of this stuff forbidden to be this close to the castle?”

But they both answered at once, the obvious answer hitting him immediately as Zelda was ready to confess: “Purah.”

This time, Zelda just crossed her arms. “I wanted to… experiment. So, I have a fake cover on it in case someone nosey decides to grab the book! You know my father is paranoid.”

“I do know that.”

“It’s just harmless fun!” she said, still feeling the need to defend herself and her thick tomb. “I’m never allowed to have fun, especially with the books they make me read. I want to read about the blast radius the Guardians have while powered by a massive ancient core! And I want to know the components of a Sheikah slate, so, so badly. My father won’t let me do any of it. I just want to read something that isn’t so political!”

Link hummed and nodded. “That’s true. Those books are the worst. My favorite was, gods, what was it called? An Economic History of the Merchant’s Guild of Hyrule. That’s the one that only spit out rupee facts that you kept telling me, right?”

She blushed a bit more fiercely this time at the level of attention Link had paid her without her realizing, and she pushed him by the arm. “Okay, get out.”

He watched her turn redder by the minute and turned back to her to tap his fingers against the hardcover book tucked in her arms. “You know I’m not making fun of you, right? I think it’s admirable how much you prepare.”

Letting out a breath, she threw herself back onto the bed and slammed her book into her forehead with a groan.

Link chuckled and pried the book from her hands. “I’m serious. You’ll make a good queen.”

Her eyes suddenly darted up to his. She wasn’t sure she’d ever heard anyone tell her that, except maybe her father during her moments of absolute despair when he knew she needed to be cheered up.

Flipping the pages of the Guardian text, Link narrowed his eyes, flipped another page, glanced at her, and then flipped the page again. He waved the book in front of her face. “You wonder why the Goddess doesn’t like you; it’s because you write in your books. Ink is permanent you know.”

She ripped the book from his hand and hit him in the arm with it, doing her best not to let her laugh at his jab break through her angry façade. “I’m aware.”

Watching a drop of blood trail down her finger, Link reached out and cupped her hand in his just before the long trail dropped onto the page. “That’ll stain almost as much as ink. You should wrap that up.”

Zelda let him lead her back to the water, keeping the blood in his hand until they were safe. He dipped his hands in first and shook them out, noticing that there was only one rag.

“Thank you.”

“You really shouldn’t have done that, you know,” Link said, watching the water turn redder.

“I had to think fast, okay? Try ‘thank you for not letting me get caught in your closet, Zelda.’ If I can do it, so can you.”

“Fine. Thank you. I appreciate you covering for me, but you didn’t have to injure yourself to cause an appropriate distraction.”

“You’re so annoying,” she breathed. “End it at ‘thank you.’”

“Why do you put up with me?” Link laughed, handing her the rag.

She wrapped it around her finger, letting the wound clot. “Because.”

“Because--?”

“Because. Because I just do.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Fine. Because I think you’re amusing. Whether that’s a good thing or not is dependent on the situation.”

Link grinned softly, barely noticeable in anything but his eyes.

Zelda watched him, content in their mutual silence.

But even that had to end.

After her cut had stopped bleeding, Zelda pointed to the empty space in the room. “Okay. Get on the ground.”

“Demands, demands, Princess.”

[wincestation]

Just Tonight

Prompt: Stanford Era

Pairing: Sam x Dean

Summery: Inspired by the song "Just Tonight" by The Pretty Reckless. Sam drunk-dials Dean in the middle of the night and tells him he needs him, but after a year apart, is one night enough?

Word Count: 2,059

Written For the SPN Trope Round Robin 2021 (@spn-trope-round-robin) - Round 3 (Remix/Inspired By).

A/N: My first SPN writing challenge ever! I really enjoyed this one. Hope you do too! also, @stanfordsweater your brand is in there for a moment ;)

Read on ao3

Sam’s world is narrowed down to the sound of the dial tone. He waits in the cold, his breath forming visible little clouds. Finally, someone picks up on the other end.

“Sam.” he sighs heavily. “It’s 2am. On a Wednesday.”

Good, Sam thinks. He’s in the same time zone as me. “Dean, I need you.”

“What?” Behind Dean’s voice, Sam can hear the engine of the Impala rumbling to a halt in the background and the familiar sound almost makes him cry. “What do you need me for?”

That question has too many answers, and Sam can’t think straight, he just knows he’s cold and alone and tired and he needs his brother. “I need you to take me home,” he says in a pathetic, tiny voice, leaning against a tree to keep his head from spinning.

Dean tries to sound sympathetic, Sam knows this, but his words come out patronizing. “Can’t you get a cab or something? Or... walk?”

“Dean, please.”

“It’ll take me forever. I’m in bed.”

“No, you’re not. You’re in the car.” He feels sick. Dean never lied to him before.

His brother might be thinking the same thing, because he doesn’t reply.

“C’mon, De, please.” Sam is begging but he doesn’t care, he’s the one who left, he’s the one who hurt Dean, and if Dean wants him to beg, he will. He’ll do anything. “Start the car and take me home.”

*

“You’re drunk.” Dean says in disbelief.

Sam slides into the Impala and slouches against the seat. “And a bit high,” he confirms.

“It’s like I don’t even know you anymore,” and Sam knows he meant it as a joke, but he can’t say anything because the lump in his throat threatens to overflow if he does. He gives Dean the directions and leans his head on his brother's shoulder, ignoring the voice of reason that screams at him to stop making a fool of himself.

If Dean minds, he doesn’t show it. He drives slower than usual, as if he doesn’t want this ride to end, and for a few minutes, Sam lets himself feel a little hope.

The car stops too soon. “Looks like we’re here,” Dean says. It’s an unnecessary comment just to break the silence and Sam drags his pounding head away from his brother’s shoulder.

When he doesn’t move, Dean adds, “Need me to walk you inside?”

Sam nods. “Please,” and Dean agrees, because he could never say no to his little brother.

They both blink when Dean turns on the living room light. Sam groans and sinks into the couch while Dean looks around.

“Nice place. How can you afford - “ he stops abruptly and Sam raises his head.

Dean is holding a framed picture of Sam and Jessica, both smiling happily at the camera. She’s wearing his Stanford sweater - the one he has on right now, in fact. Dean looks at him and Sam knows he noticed that. “Didn’t know you had a girlfriend, Sammy.” his voice is bitter and he puts the picture down as if it was burning his fingertips. “So you two live together, huh? Where is she?”

“She’s - not here.”

“Is she out partying on a Wednesday, too? When is she coming back?”

Sam winces. He doesn’t want to talk about Jessica right now. “I don’t know,” he says.

Dean turns to him with a cold smile. It’s the smile that Sam fears most - the one that doesn’t show his teeth, doesn’t reach his eyes. “So you invited me in, for what? So we can wait here for your perfect little girlfriend and - “

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Sam cuts through his words. He stares at Dean angrily. “Not anymore.”

Dean looks genuinely surprised. “What, she… left you?” Sam nods. “Like, for good?”

Sam pauses for a moment. “She’ll come back eventually.” Before the cold smile can return, he clarifies, “To pick up her things, I mean.”

“Oh.” Bitterness gone now, Dean looks a bit lost in the middle of Sam’s Stanford living room, and Sam almost laughs. Dean was always better at dealing with broken bones than with broken hearts - but it’s not like Sam himself was any better. The memory of the last time he saw his brother starts to creep back at him, and although he banishes it away, it kills any chance of laughter.

“So…” Dean starts, looking at Sam, as if he wants him to say something. When he doesn’t, Dean continues, “Unless you want to cry into your pillow while I stroke your hair...”

“No - don’t go.” Sam blurts out.

Dean just stares at him. Eventually, he says, anger underlining his words, “So you want me to stay, and, what? Get you through your hangover, help you get over your breakup with college Barbie? Is this what you meant when you said you needed me?”

Sam’s too hazy to properly respond, can’t even see straight. “Just tonight, Dean, please.” His hands reach out to the edge of Dean’s jacket and he grabs handfuls of the leather, bringing Dean as close to him as possible, trying not to sob his next words, throwing any inhibition away. “Please, De, need you to stay with me.” He knows his eyes are probably leaking. He doesn’t care. He looks up to his brother’s face, trying to memorise it so he can remember it tomorrow, because right now he can’t decipher what that look of his means.

Dean grips Sam’s hands and holds them for a moment. “Just tonight.” He says at last, and lets Sam drag him onto the couch and wrap himself around him. The anxiety that bubbled up in him is settled down, and Sam allows himself to relax into his brother's arms; even if it’s just tonight.

*

The light hits Dean’s eyes and he blinks furiously before finally making out his surroundings. A moment later, last night’s memories come back to him and he sits up, completely awake.

He can hear the shower running. His nose picks up the scent of coffee - and toast, too. His watering mouth is what makes him get up eventually, and when he does he feels his clothes stick to his skin, a reminder that he slept in them last night. Sam did, too. They didn’t even bother with as much as kicking off their shoes before drifting off to sleep - together, legs tangled, arms holding each other close.

Because that’s normal, right? Nothing says “Hey, Sammy, I missed you” like a casual brotherly spooning, Dean thinks grimly and sits at the kitchen table.

He nibbles on a slice of toast while contemplating his next move. Sam is bound to leave the shower soon - it’s taking him forever, what a princess - and Dean has to be ready when he shows up. He let himself slip last night, lost in the face of Sam’s desperation, that genuine need… But he shouldn’t have stayed. He should've tucked Sammy safely into his bed, say goodnight and drive the hell away from this stupid prissy college.

Dean braces himself when he hears the water stop. Any moment now, Sam will enter the room, apologize for calling him up, and send him on his way.

Dean is already thinking of a way to tell his father about this (cuddling excluded, of course) when Sam steps into the room, casually rubbing a towel over his wet hair, completely naked.

“Dude, what the - “

“Oh - shit, Dean, I thought you were still asleep.” Sam flashes an embarrassed, apologetic smile as he wraps the towel around his waist. Dean feels heat creeping up his cheeks and tries his hardest to repress it, seriously, it’s supposed to be Sam who blushes like a girl, while Sam sits in the chair in front of him and grabs a piece of toast.

Trying to keep his eyes away from his almost-naked brother, Dean stares at the clock on the wall, trying not to think of it as counting away his time. Finally he asks, eyes still fixed on the clock, “Don’t you have classes or something?”

Sam shrugs his shoulders. “Professor is sick,” He says with his mouth full. “Want me to show you around campus later?”

“Show me aro - aren't you going to apologize?” Dean snaps, moving his gaze back to his brother. He lets more anger into his words than he intended and he curses himself for it, but it’s too late to back out from this conversation now.

Sam swallows his food, troubled, and sets the rest of the toast aside. His hands drop to his lap, where he plays with the towel, until finally he says, “I’m sorry, Dean. I shouldn’t have done this.”

Disappointment starts to bloom in Dean’s chest like blood stains through a t-shirt and he pushes it away violently. This is exactly what he was getting ready for, so how come he still has any glimpse of hope? “Yeah, you shouldn’t have.”

“I was just so - “ Sam won’t look into his eyes, and traces of last night’s desperation start creeping into his voice. “When you told me all those things, I, I panicked. I was already pretty unhappy for a while - you know me and dad, always butting heads - and that was kinda like a final push or something.”

Dean has a weird feeling in his stomach. “Sam, what are you talking about?”

“I’m trying to apologize, Dean. Please, just let me finish.”

“For drunk dialing me last night and dragging my ass out here in the middle of the night,” Dean says, not asking, trying to convince himself that this is all the conversation is about.

“What?” Sam looks at him. Dean notices tiny tears hanging from his lashes, like fish caught in a net. “No. For leaving you.”

The silence thickens while they look at each other. The clock keeps ticking away in the background.

“I told you to forget everything I said,” Dean says eventually. His voice is hoarse even to his own ears.

“But that’s the thing, Dean,” Sam speaks quietly, “I just couldn’t. Even here, all those miles away from you, I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said. I tried to put it all behind me, find a girl, build myself a normal life… But I couldn’t.” His eyes are focused on the towel and Dean’s head is working overtime to make sense of this.

Sam sniffs. “I know I hurt you.” He says in a small voice. Dean sees right through him - sees his teary-eyed baby brother, who simply did something he isn’t proud of and now aches for his forgiveness. “I said things I regret.”

“Called me sick,” Dean reminds him, mercilessly. “Said I needed to go see someone to fix everything that’s wrong with me.” Many other things were said, too, but those are the only ones he can bring himself to repeat.

“But that’s the thing, Dean,” Sam lifts his head at last and meets Dean’s eyes. His eyes tell Dean he’s right - this is his best, desperate attempt to fix this. “I don’t think you’re sick anymore. I think I know how you feel.”

What is he saying?

“I tried not to, tried to run away from it. But nothing else was enough, no one else was.” He’s visibly crying now but he continues, and Dean realises Sam needs to say those things, not just to him but out loud, to make them true, to make sure there’s no turning back. “De, you’re my big brother. And I love you. I don’t care if people think we’re sick, okay? I want to be with you - “

Dean doesn’t know how he got there - he doesn’t remember getting up - but he’s kneeling next to Sam, reaching up to brush away the tears, and it’s hard to reach his face because when did his baby brother get so freakishly tall? “It’s okay, Sammy. Don’t cry.”

“Mean it, Dean. I need you. I can’t - not without you.”

Dean stands and hugs Sam’s teary face to his chest. “Not going anywhere, Sammy. I’m right here with you.” Sam wraps his hands around his big brother and they melt into each other, bright morning sunshine and the smell of burnt, forgotten coffee, and little drops of water and tears mixing together and they don’t know where Dean ends and Sam begins but that's exactly what they're craving, wouldn’t have it any other way.

[cosmiclatte28]

Feeling(s) (Prince!Taeyong x guard!reader)

a/n: back with the Prince Taeyong x guard reader series... for my maple sister @charmingyong !! I really hope this makes sense... I kinda cut it short here, but I am always letting all of you continue the story or add scenes according to your imagination

PRINCE TAEYONG X GUARD READER DRABBLE COLLECTION

tagging @neopalette too :*

shine your sword, and here we go guards!!

“(y/n), make sure you keep an eye on Taeyong for the whole day. We don’t want anything bad to happen to him on his special day.” the Royal Majesty queen just ordered you your quest for this week.

You nod, not that your job ever changes. It’s always being the prince’s personal bodyguard, but this week your work is extra hard because you really have to make sure he is always near you because it’s his 21st birthday this Sunday and everything about it has to be perfect.

You order for the carriage to be prepared as the prince will be visiting the town to pick up his clothes. Well, the tailor is already old but he makes the best attire and the royal family wasn't planning to change to any tailor at the moment.

"Are you finished?" You knock on his elm wood door and step back when he opens the door still in his bathrobes

He shakes his head and points at his body "Is this what you expect me to walk around the town with?"

You grin "I don't say anything, but it you're going out like that… i am not taking the duty."

He frowns "Why?" And you chuckle "Because I'm sure the whole town girls will be running after you and I am not risking my life to die in a girl mob chasing after their bathrobe prince."

Taeyong laughs at that and walks inside the room again and you stay put in the door frame.

"Okay, just give me time to change." He walks behind the screen and you only shake your head

"5 minutes or you're buying me a drink." You close the door behind you after hearing a scream of disagreement from him.

He comes down to the grounds late and you're already waiting next to the carriage.

"You don't know how precious time is!" You mutter to him when he climbs in and sits nicely in the cabin

You follow him and sit across him. Taeyong keeps his face to the window and stare at the pretty and colorful flowers. It's spring and the road is covered with spring blooms.

“I wonder what it’s like to just sit on the green grass and stare at the pretty flowers.” his gaze shifts to you and you just give him a “seriously” look

“Um you never do that?” you ask slowly, afraid that you offend him.

Taeyong scratches his neck, suddenly shy that he has to tell you this. “So, mom doesnt want me to play under the sun for too long or I’ll have a tan and she doesnt want that.”

Your jaw falls open and you have to shut it close before Taeyong feels more offended “Pardon my rude behaviour. Well if the Majesty Queen doesn't allow you then you should listen."

He fiddles with his long sleeves and whispers "Can you take me to sit on the grass one day?"

You notice his hint of desperation and you simply nod "Yeah sure as long as there's no sun." You giggle and he groans about your attempt to sound funny. It's not.

"But hey didn't you enjoy a tea under the sun usually?" You suddenly remember the small date he made for you on your duty.

Taeyong rolls his eyes "That was tea time! With loads of food. And chairs and gosh I was not even laying down on the grass!"

You stay silent, not knowing what to answer. The ride to the town remains calm with Taeyong casually asking you about things he doesn't notice before.

With the scenery changing to houses and tiny cottages, your eyes glimmer when you finally see what life beyong the walls looks like. You never really gotten the chance to grow up here, you were sent by your family to work in the castle since a young age. They have no money to send you to school, so giving you to the castle was their best option. Though you were never sitting in a class learning numbers and ABC, you are smart enough to know you belong here and not in the castle like Taeyong.

"I wonder what it's like to live here." You whisper to yourself when you see the town girl hanging around in a market stand laughing with a commoner

Taeyong only hums, not really listening to your words as he too is intrigued by the people here.

The ride ends in front of the humble store of the best tailor. Taeyong jumps down right after you get off and knock on the door.

"I'm sorry we're late, but the prince is here." You notify the tailor's wife and she quickly opens the door for the prince to enter.

Taeyong has been here several times to get his birthday outfits. His daily outfits were usually sent directly to the castle because not much fitting were needed for that. But for special occasions they've been measuring him here and there asking him if he wants more garnish or not.

"I like this. What do you think (y/n)?" He turns his body to face you and you're baffled. You look around wishing that the tailor can just answer him or his butler can say something. But the question was directed on you and only you should answer that.

You nod "Looks very nice." That's the simple comment you made. You always remember the rule that you shouldn't be talking too much to the prince. Your job is to guard him not talk with him. And that's what all of the town also knows.

Taeyong squints his eyes, he really thinks this cloth is too plain, but if you said it's nice that's all he really needs to hear.

"The whole crowd will like you no matter what you use. You’re always the center of the attention Taeyong, why bother.” you let that out and you internally slap yourself for saying that outloud.

The young prince definitely looks surprised, so does the tailor and his butler too.

“Can I have a word with this young lady. Alone.” his voice is deep and dangerous enough. The butler and tailor quickly scurry off the room and close the door so both of you can have the private talk.

You gulp when you notice that you’re doomed. Once everyone is away, Taeyong steps closer to you and you can only keep your eyes on the ground.

“Sorry, that was not supposed to be said out loud. That slipped out of my head.” you quickly bow and keep your eyes on the ground.

Taeyong scoffs “But still you have that thought in your head. Can’t you see it” he sighs in exasperation.

You bite your lips, oh no is this how everything will end? Is he going to be mad and ask you to be thrown away from the castle. As much as you wish to know what it’s like to live in the village and town, you’re not ready yet.

He takes a seat on one of the chairs and takes off his crown. You still stand but several feets away from him. He puts his face on his hands and groans “I don’t want to have the world’s attention, yours is enough.”

You feel heat creeping up your cheeks. Why is he always playing with your heart? He has never clarified what his intention is, flirting and playing around with your emotions. Were you too carried away by his words, what if he only sees you as his guard and he’s just playful to you?

You know you stand no chance to be his significant other, maybe the prince is even banned to think of being interested in someone not a nobel or a princess. You should bury this butterfly and tingly feeling down before it blooms into flowers and suffocates you figuratively and literally. Well who knows how you’ll be punished if the court finds out what’s between you and the prince.

“Please stop whatever this is,” you plead to him “I am supposed to be your guard and you’re the prince. You should be looking for the crowd’s attention and not mine.”

His eyes shake and his shoulder feels heavy, why should she come up with that at moments like this. “Please call them back, I don’t know why you’re always saying that, but can’t you for once think of my feelings.”

You want to lash back and say well what about my feelings, but you keep quiet and do as he says.

He returns to his friendly self, he sounds like nothing happened between both of you. He orders his requests upon the garnish with enthusiasm in his voice. He’s so excited about designing his clothes and of course about the next fitting schedule.

You shake your feelings aside and focus back on your duty. You wait for him outside of the shop when he is bidding his final farewell to the tailor.

“We have time before going back to the castle. I am sorry if I snapped at you earlier,” he tries to reach out for your hands when both of you are already sitting facing each other in the carriage. “It was the tension. I know your feelings are also at stake, or you were thinking I am making fuss out of this.” he chuckles nervously because what if you don’t like him more than what he imagined?

You still pull your hands away and tuck it on your thighs “Sorry, we can’t afford someone to see us holding hands. Come on you’re the prince and I am your personal guard. My job is to only protect you and make sure you’re alive and breathing.”

Taeyong wants to deny all of that but his tongue didn’t move at all when his eyes catch the sign of a bar. “A drink! I owe you a drink.” his eyes glimmer.

You look at him with a big question mark “I was just kidding about that.”

But he shakes his head “I owe you one, let me make up all my ignorance with one drink. What do you say tonight when the guards change shift, meet me in the horse stable?”

You want to say no, and reject his offer. What he’s doing can put him in big trouble. First, breaking the rules of going out at night, second sneaking out, third sneaking out with you for a drink. But once again with his big eyes and sincere smile, all you can do is gulp and nod your head.

“I promise I’ll get you to spill all of your secrets tonight,” Taeyong speaks in his heart as a small smirk appears on his godly face.

Next : expect to find what the “secret” is and maybe some fun with Taeyong but of course angst. If you forget about the secret, head to third post

[starlightsearches]

i’m not sure if you’ve written something like this before, but if not, can i request a Hux ficlet post-TROS (where he survived the blaster wound bc i refuse to acknowledge canon) where he comes back to a woman who he was in love with who joined to resistance and it ended REALLY BADLY, but he’s come to make amends and to tell her that he was the spy? is that too much for a ficlet 😬 i’m sorry

Absolutely friend, no need to apologize!

Armitage Hux x GN Reader / Warnings for angst and some injury stuff

You should have pulled the trigger.

Before you saw the cane, the bandages—the sorry look in his eyes that stilled your finger. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen Armitage anywhere but the jittery holos of pre-recorded speeches. Your eyes rake over every facet of his features now in the same way they usually did in those private moments, like you’re still searching for a sign of the man you once knew.

If you kill him now, you’ll never see that man again.

He stops just on the edge of the trees, one hand up in surrender; his weight rests heavily on the cane, but you’re not inclined to believe him totally helpless.

“Cuff him,” you jut your chin in Armitage’s direction, and Dav—your second-in-command—moves forward, approaching him cautiously. You keep your blaster raised when you look him in the eye.

“What are you doing here?”

“Please,” he winces as Dav cuffs him, shifting his weight more heavily to the uninjured leg now that he can no longer hold the cane, “I want to speak to Dameron.”

You kiss your teeth as anger sparks your senses. It shouldn’t bother you—shouldn’t annoy you that he doesn’t seem bothered, seeing you here, after all this time. But still, it does.

“General Dameron hasn’t returned. Last we heard, they were trying to rescue Chewbacca from your people.” A ripple of pain travels through your chest at the word captured, a bubble of anxiety swelling as it moves from the tips of your fingers to the space inside of your lungs. After everything that had happened, you couldn’t lose Poe, too.

“They’re not back yet?”

That catches your attention. You look up sharply, watching as he flinches again in response to Dav’s failed attempts to help support his weight.

“We didn’t know they had escaped,” you give up on the blaster, holstering it at your side and moving closer, plenty confident that Armitage couldn’t fight a stiff breeze in his condition, let alone you and Dav together.

“What happened?”

“Dameron and the others were captured, but I helped them escape,” he raises his hands, brushing open the front of his uniform with delicate fingers. There’s a flash of white in the gap created in the fabric—a bandage, marred by the slow creep of red, the dried blood so dark it has stained the bandage black, “I was found out; they shot me for it.”

He meets your eyes for the first time. Flickers of something familiar pass between you—embers you can’t stomp out beneath the soles of your boots. Against your better judgement, you release the cuffs, and you already know that you’re bound to regret this.

“Go back to the base, Dav,” you say without looking at him, “try and get in touch with the Falcon, if you can.” Or the spy—words you think but don’t dare say, although Dav seems to understand, resting his hand on your shoulder before he leaves. You erase the thought from your mind; there’s only so much energy you can spend on worry.

“Come on, then,” you gesture for Hux to follow, setting a steady pace, unwilling to let the silence settle. After a moment, you hear him move, trailing awkwardly behind you as he tries to walk over the uneven ground.

There’s a heavy sadness that still hangs in the air around the base, clinging to your friends as they cluster in small groups, talking in hushed voices. More than a few teary eyes look up as you approach, their sadness momentarily taken over by curiosity, mouths dropping open at the sight of the enemy general strolling through the camp.

“The princess . . .” Hux’s voice startles you, closer than you had anticipated, and you stop for a moment, allowing him to catch his breath. He’d never been particularly empathetic when you knew him before, but damn if he wasn’t observant.

“We’re . . . we don’t know how much longer she’ll be able to hold on,” you whisper, a few traitorous tears making their way down your cheeks before you’re able to swipe them away. “I’ve been running things, so that she could rest, but . . .” you graze your teeth over your bottom lip, nibbling on it absentmindedly. There were no words for this, no way to make someone like him understand how afraid you were. How unprepared you felt. And, gods forbid, if Poe and Finn didn’t make it back, how alone you’d be. In a million lifetimes, you’d never feel ready for something like this.

His touch is cautious, as he rests his hand on your shoulder—the comforting gesture totally foreign to both of you—and so startling you have no choice but to find his eyes again.

There’s no linearity to the flood of feelings that meets you when you look at him, no kind of order or sense. You miss him; you hate him for letting you leave, for not coming with you when you begged him to. You want him to go. You need him to stay. You’re angry and you’ve already forgiven him and you want to punch him right in his perfect jaw. A small part of you wants to kiss him, but that’s the part that you bury first.

You shrug his hand from your shoulder, not totally unkindly, gesturing for him to follow again.

The makeshift medbay is empty when you arrive, as you expected, but you pull the curtain that serves as a door closed behind you anyways.

“Take a seat,” you instruct him as you gather your supplies: some fresh bandages, a pair of scissors, bacta, setting them on the low bench next to him before kneeling down to get a better look at the wound on his leg.

“Don’t you have droids for this?”

You don’t need to look at him to know that he’s nervous. His hands fidget in his lap, the tips of his gloved fingers scraping against his palms, and he jumps a little when you wrap one hand around the back of his leather boot, trying to hold him steady while you cut at the bandage.

“Med droids are expensive, and it doesn’t take a lot of training to wrap bandages,” you look up at him, hoping to see his reaction to your next words, wondering if it might teach you anything, “but I can get someone else to do it, if that would make you feel better.”

“No, that’s not necessary.” He stares resolutely at the far wall, and there’s a faint flush of pink around his hairline. You try not to let it distract you.

You make quick work of the injury on his leg, cutting off the singed material and wrapping the bandage tightly around his skin before standing again.

“I’ll need you to take this off,” you say quietly, tugging at the collar of his uniform. He nods without looking at you, and the space between you is charged as you help him shrug the garment off, the skin of his shoulders and chest turning red in response to the cool air.

You unwind the bandage, clenching your teeth in a weak attempt to steel yourself, but you think you might be sick. The smell alone is enough to make you light-headed—blood, and blaster residue and the sharp sting of antiseptic, but its the sight of the wound that turns your stomach. It’s painful just to look at, dark red and aching in the very center of his chest. Despite all your anger, you’ve never wanted him to hurt like this.

“I can do it,” he says, misinterpreting your pause, reaching for the bandages, but you catch his wrist in your hand, taking a few deep breaths through your mouth.

“I’m fine,” you say, reaching past him for the bacta and gathering a thick glob of it on your fingers, “I’m fine.”

He nods again, looking back to the wall as you press the medicine into his skin, soothing the wounded flesh without ever looking directly at it. Your eyes linger on his freckled shoulders instead, or the other scars that litter his torso—nicks and bruises and cuts. Wounds that were never given a proper chance to heal.

“The Resistance made contact with an informant aboard the Supremacy not long ago,” you say, attempting to distract yourself, “were you aware?” There’s a long pause before he nods in confirmation.

“We’ve lost contact with them recently,” you continue, swallowing to keep your voice steady, “ and were concerned that they might have been found out. Do you know if they're . . . safe?"

Damn it, your hands are shaking. There's so much you're not able to say, millions of other questions hiding within the only one you’re capable of asking.

"I believe that they are," he says quietly, and you're able to breathe again, a small weight gone from your chest.

"Good, good," you the off the bandage before you begin clearing up the supplies, "that's good news."

It's not a confirmation. It's not the answer you were hoping for. But it's something.

"Stay here. I'm going to find you something to wear." You're at the curtain when he says your name—the same way he used to say it, in nightmares and dreams. Your vision swims before you can blink away the tears.

"Everything I did," he whispers, "it was always for you."

Ficlet and headcanon requests are open 💖

[kitkat1003]

Everything is Blue

Chapter 1:  His pills, his hands, his jeans

MK just wants everyone in his life to be safe and happy, to never leave him.  He'll do whatever it takes to make that happen.

And, luckily for him, the voice in his head has the perfect plan to make that happen.

(Or, the author contemplates how slow the possession was for DBK in episode 10 and considers how MK would fall)

Ao3 link

This is a 13k monolith of a first chapter, but I'm very proud of how it turned out!  I threw it together in 4 days with the help of my beta reader @imnotcameraready on tumblr, famous for the Chivalry is Dead sanders sides au.  Give it a read, it's on Ao3 and tumbr!  It even has a sequel!  Seriously, she’s a great writer and edited this thing in like 2-3 hrs after I threw it at her.  A godsend.

Anyway, happy reading!

When MK knocks the canisters off of DBK’s back, he thinks that’s the end of it.  He wasn’t exactly given the rundown on how the cannisters worked, nor does he know why whatever was in them caused DBK to go crazy, but at the very least he only had to fight the one guy instead of the entire family. It was weird to fight with Red Son and Princess Iron Fan (shouldn't she be Queen, at this point?  She's married to Demon Bull King, after all. Do they not have the paperwork?) but not unwelcome. He wishes they could be on the same side all of the time.

Because he was raised on stories of Monkey King’s adventures, which frequently discuss the Demon Bull Family, and he’s always thought they were interesting in those stories.  He thinks Princess Iron Fan is super cool, even though she’s scary and actively wants him dead.  Red Son is...well, he wasn’t what MK expected, but that isn’t exactly a bad thing.  If anything, MK thought he’d be older.  He doesn’t understand how demon aging works.

Tangents aside, he watches them disappear in a gust of wind and groans, flopping forward as he bemoans the fact that they left again, when he’d just beat them.  Well, he hadn’t actually fought all three of them, this time.  DBK had fought more people than he had.

He jumps as the cave begins to crumble from all the damage that it took from the fight, scrambling to find a way out, when—

A New Vessel?

A voice curls into his ear, a soft whisper.

Young.  Powerful.  Weak.  Freedom.

He looks down, and he sees a white light sink into his skin.  Cold seeps into his every pore, bone, and nerve, his muscles tensing as the temperature drops.  His teeth chatter, and when he lets out a startled breath he sees white air drift in front of his face.  The warmth of his powers—his Monkey King powers—is smothered, and soon all MK feels is the cold that keeps him in place, rooting him to the spot.  It’s a miracle he’s even standing.  

What is this?  

What’s happening?

His eyes dart to the cannisters.  The empty canisters.  There was something in there, earlier, right? Where did it go?  

Is this?  Wher e it w  e n    t?  

Wha t   i  s  . .   .  ?

It’s hard to think.  His thoughts are newly cracked ice upon a lake, pieces crashing slowly against each other and fracturing further, splintering into nothingness.

New Vessel.  Rest.

His eyes slide shut, out of his control, as his consciousness, like everything else, is smothered by the chill.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He wakes up on the shoulder of the Monkey Mech, as the last rays of sun are streaking across the steadily darkening sky, like a lighthouse beam against the dark sea.  He sits up, staring far into the horizon, as confusion pulls him out of the just woken up daze.  How did he get here?

“MK?” He jumps, startled, and turns to realize that Mei is right next to him, a concerned smile on her face.  He stares at her, trying to figure out why she’s here, how she got here.  Then again, he doesn’t even  know how he got here.  He feels dizzy just trying to remember. 

“You alright, kid?” Pigsy’s voice comes from his other side, and he forces himself not to jump, turning to look at his boss.  Tang and Sandy are there too, and Sandy waves while Tang smiles in greeting mid slurp, bowl of noodles in hand.

“What happened?” he’s missing time.  He defeated DBK, and then...then nothing.  There’s a feeling of coldness, at the thought, but the memories don’t come.

“I found you on the ground after the Bull Clones all sort of fell apart. I figured you passed out after trouncing DBK, so I picked you up and got you out of there.” Mei doesn’t seem concerned, but MK is, just a little.  He’s never passed out after using his powers; rather, using them often results in him getting an energy boost.  He thinks back on it, trying to remember any time this has happened before.  Macaque comes to mind but even then he wasn’t tired once his powers returned.

His ruminating on the ordeal is cut off by a bowl of noodles being shoved unceremoniously into his hands.  He blinks down at it, and then turns to Pigsy  

“Here, kid.  Eat. You look pale, and skinny as ever.  Can’t have my employee lookin’ half starved.” He smiles at Pigsy’s attempt to hide his soft side, picking up his chopsticks with a grin.

He eats, and the loud conversations of what they’d just accomplished arrests MK’s attention so that the questions about DBK, the cannisters, the voice that he swears he can hear in the back of his mind, fall away like sand in an hourglass, time never able to be reclaimed.

The sun finally vanishes and stars dot the sky like sequins on a gown.  MK curls in on himself, hunched over the bowl a little, missing the sun's rays and the finished soup’s warmth.

He shivers, but there’s no breeze.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The bonus of living in such a technologically advanced age is that city reconstruction is pretty fast. Hospitals are rebuilt first, people are brought in en masse. MK spends his time volunteering there, because noodle shops are low on the list of things to be rebuilt and he needs to be useful.

MK tries not to be too guilty about the wreckage, though most of it had occurred because he was late to stop DBK. He'd been kept at Flower Fruit Mountain for a few weeks because Monkey King was worried after the incident with Macaque. Wanted to be sure MK's training ethic wasn't too messed up, wanted to be certain Macaque hadn't left any lasting effects or impressions.

It was a punishment, MK knows, for being a two timing student and for making Monkey King have to deal with a demon enemy when he’s made it clear that he’s retired. Doesn't matter that they only ever trained in the morning and early afternoon, then spent the rest of the day hanging out. MK has watched Monkey King: The Animated Series fifty-three times now, most recently with Monkey King during the duration of his solitary confinement at Flower Fruit Mountain. They'd both piped up with commentary, MK about the production and animation, and Monkey King about the inaccuracies that MK filed away for his sketchbook.

But even so, it was a punishment for MK’s failings. Why else would Monkey King keep MK close, keep him away from his family and friends, keep MK away from the outside world?

It takes two and a half weeks after the battle with DBK for MK to go back to work delivering noodles. He'll sometimes buy extra and drop it off at a random hospital nearby, for the medical staff. They're overworked because of him, because he was away for so long.

He has to be better next time. He doesn't know when DBK will be back, doesn’t know how to sense him. Is he able to do that? Can he learn to sense when his enemies are nearby? That would solve a lot of problems, near rid him of worry. Maybe Monkey King knows?

That thought has him swinging by Flower Fruit Mountain on the weekend, with a promise to Pigsy to be home before midnight.  MK is an adult only by age, after all; Pigsy still treats him like the 16 year old he found half dead outside his shop.

When he steps onto the mountain’s sand, though, he feels unwelcome.

The mystic energy that had beckoned him in the first time he’d arrived has shut its doors, like a silent way of saying 

Leave. 

Not a single monkey comes to greet him, but he can see their eyes, hidden in the trees. They regard him with suspicion. He frowns at them in confusion.

He hears a hiss in the back of his head and winces at the ensuing headache, stepping forward in hopes of pushing past the pain. Every step he takes makes the pounding in his head louder and more painful, and MK closes his eyes and focuses, reaching for the well of power he knows he has, the power that makes the staff feel lighter than air. 

It’s like sticking his hand through a well of ice, and his wrist is paralyzed by the time his fingers brush that warmth, the light curling around his palm.  Gold sparkles in his vision, and the unwelcome air starts to recede, as if the island recognizes him again.  He heads in deeper, and lets out a breath as the headache ceases.

He doesn’t have to head in too deep, because Monkey King comes through the waterfall in a rare moment of MK’s mentor leaving the inner sanctum of the mountain.  The waterfall itself moves like a curtain out of Monkey King’s way and the sight has MK focusing on that rather than the expression on Monkey King’s face, until he looks up.  

Monkey King’s eyes are sharp, darting around, an expression MK only recognizes from the suspicion and distrust Monkey King gave Macaque.  MK fidgets beneath that gaze, though it isn’t directed at him, uncomfortable.  He hasn’t done anything wrong, has he?  He wracks his brain for any new missteps, but finds very little.  Still, his anxiety skyrockets by the second. 

The look vanishes, though not completely, when Monkey King’s eyes catch on the sight of MK.

“Hey bud!  Impromptu visit?” Monkey King greets.

MK tries not to shy away from the air of suspicion that colors Monkey King’s tone.  Is MK really that untrustworthy? He did mess up badly by trusting Macaque, and Monkey King is right to distrust him.  He bites his lip and tries to ignore the swell of guilt that sets like a stone in his stomach at the memory.

“Yeah, just-uh-just wanted to train, y’know?  Don’t know when DBK is coming back.” He shrugs, and Monkey King nods, only half listening.

He still looks on edge. “Cool.  You uh...you bring anyone with you?” 

Now that’s concerning. MK scrambles to find a supposed intruder, hands gripping his staff tight in preparation for battle. “No?  Unless-Oh no, is there someone here?  Is it a demon guy?”  What if he led a bad guy here?  What if he messed up again?

He jumps as a monkey lands on his head, picking through MK’s hair in typical grooming fashion, and then Monkey King laughs, loud and almost relieved.  MK turns back around to face him.

“Nah, must be my nerves.  Maybe DBK left something on you, messed with my senses.” Monkey King waves a hand, nonchalant, and MK perks up in ease at the reminder.

“Oh!  That’s actually why I’m here!” He takes careful steps forward, trying not to jostle the monkey on his head.  “I was thinking-I didn’t know DBK was in the city and destroying stuff, and a lot of people got hurt.  But!  If I could sense him, like you can, I could stop him quicker!  Right?” He’s bouncing on his toes, nervous and excited all at once, and Monkey King smiles down at him fondly.  

“Sure, why not?  If you’re up for some meditation, that is,” Monkey King turns, waving at MK to follow. 

The monkey on MK’s head hops away, and MK sprints after his mentor with a wide grin.  “Totally!  I’m, like, the best at meditation.  I’m like a meditation wizard!”

Monkey King laughs all the way to the training grounds.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Training actually is easier than he expects.  MK blusters a lot, but he isn’t dumb or unaware of his limits.  Sitting still isn’t his strong suit, so sitting still while not being able to talk, tap, fidget, or do anything else other than think is basically torture.

But, when he gets into the meditative position with Monkey King, something clicks.  A cool blanket settles on his shoulders, eases out the desire to move.  It’s so easy to be still, and quiet.

Frozen.

“You weren’t kidding,” Monkey King tells him, and MK grins a little, face warmed by the praise.  “Now, when you’re like this, you have to let every other sound and feeling fade out.  Nothing else matters but the energies around you.  Mine’s pretty easy to see cause, yknow,” 

MK can practically see Monkey King scratching his chin and grinning with barely hidden pride.  “I’m a pretty powerful guy.  DBK would be similar, he’s got a pretty loud aura too.  Now, just try it, kay?”

MK nods, and takes a deep breath.  The sounds around him-bugs, monkeys jumping around and talking to one another, the wind, the ever present sound of something in his head—those all start to fade away.

Wait, what was that last one?

He lets them all go, and then forgets the feeling of the cold, the grass, the fabric touching his skin.  Nothing exists except his own mind, and then.

He gets to see the bright light that is Monkey King.  Golden and red and royal in its feel, it’s near blinding.  He has to blink a few times to get used to its light.

“Woah,” he murmurs, and Monkey King opens one eye, before blinking both in surprise.

“Woah, already?  You sure you haven’t done this before?” Monkey King crosses his arms over his chest, almost offended, and MK is reminded of how betrayed Monkey King looked when MK had shown off the skills he’d learned from Macaque.

“Nope!  Maybe defeating DBK gave me a confidence boost?”  He shrugs, and then stands, looking around.  Monkey King’s expression sits in the back of his mind, and MK bites his lip.  “Did I, uh, did I do something wrong?  I didn’t…,” he trials off, worried.

“Maybe,” Monkey King mumbles in response to his first reply, mostly to himself.  “Oh-no, no, you’re fine, bud.  I think I’m just a little paranoid,” he laughs it off.  MK is too busy glancing back towards town to process Monkey King’s pensive expression.

“I can see Mei!  She’s...very green.  Did she always have a dragon?” It’s curled around her, like a protective barrier, snarling and poised to strike.

Monkey King chuckles. “You’ve got yourself some powerful friends, kid.  Not surprising.  Like knows like, even when they don’t know what like is.” He puts a hand on MK’s shoulder, and then starts.  “You’re freezing.  It’s not that cold, is it?”

MK blinks a few times, and everything comes back, the colors and sounds and feelings of the world returning to normal.  Monkey King keeps looking at him, as if MK is a puzzle he’s yet to solve.

“I don’t know, maybe?  I’ve been feeling a bit chilly, lately.  Maybe I’m coming down with something?” He’s been a bit stressed out, between Macaque and DBK and the reconstruction, and he’s heard stress can cause illnesses.

Monkey King sighs, after a moment, and scratches his head.

“I think I’m becoming an adult,” he says, like it’s a crime, and he shrugs again.  “You’re probably fine.  Just, take it easy the next few days, alright?  Practice meditating at home, or when you’re on the job.  When you’re as good as me, you can turn it on whenever you need to,” Monkey King puffs up with pride, and his tail swings back and forth leisurely.  MK watches his tail more than he listens to what Monkey King is saying.

“Okay.  Anything else for today?” It’s only been an hour or two, they have plenty of time.  

Monkey King deliberates.  Then, he grins, stepping back to position for MK’s inevitable first attack. “Tell you what.  We’ll spar for a bit, and then you can bring up that new show you kept ranting about a few weeks ago.  Kay?” 

MK’s eyes sparkle.

“Heck yeah!”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

MK’s muscles aren’t sore when he gets home.  He actually lasted a couple minutes sparring this time around, and Monkey King had rewarded him with peach chips and an arm around MK’s shoulder as he eagerly pulled up the show he had dove into during his free time on the TV.

Pigsy sent him upstairs with a bowl of noodles and a stern reminder to sleep early so he wouldn’t be late for work. He finishes the noodles in record time and, once he has showered and put on his warmest pajamas, pulls out all of the blankets he can find.  He just wants to be warm, just a little, even though it doesn’t make sense that he’s feeling this cold.  He’s not tired, he doesn’t feel achy, his sinuses are clogged—none of the other symptoms of being sick are popping up, so why is he so cold?!

He’s practically buried in blankets by the time he feels comfortable enough to rest.  For the first time in a long while, he doesn’t dream.

Things go back to normal, somewhat.  There’s a niggling something in the back of his head, and there’s guilt and the ever present chill that has MK wearing long sleeved shirts, but otherwise MK falls back into his typical routine, which is nice.  He missed his friends, between Macaque and DBK and training.  It’s good to see them again.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The first time he starts hearing the voice in his head, he’s getting yelled at by Pigsy.

It doesn’t happen as often, anymore.  MK is scatterbrained, but he genuinely tries to do his best at work.  Sometimes, he gets mixed up, because he’s only one kid and he’s never been good at focusing, no matter how hard he tries.  It’s hard for his stressed out and ADHD ridden brain to remember whose order is whose, especially when it’s the dinner rush and he’s running behind.

Today was a particularly bad day.  He’d accidentally given a customer an order with peanut oil in it, when they had an order specifically without peanuts due to their severe allergy.  Pigsy had gotten a very angry phone call, and he passed that rage at MK, rightfully so. 

MK can only apologize so much, so eventually he quiets and lets Pigsy let off steam.  Luckily the customer hadn’t tried to sue, but MK knows the review Pigsy likely got was scathing.  He deserves a bit of a tongue lashing for that, he thinks.

It was an honest mistake.  Cruel, to yell at one so young.  Why is he so mean?

The voice in the back of his head, new and different, nearly makes MK jump.  Pigsy notices the change in MK’s expression and mistakes it for fear, and that gets him to quiet down.  He dismisses MK with a sigh and a wave of his hand, and MK heads upstairs, feeling guilty and confused.

 That voice….it didn’t sound like him, did it?  When he tries to recall the sound, it mirrors his internal voice, but in the moment it seemed different.

 It’s probably nothing.  After all, if something was wrong with him, wouldn’t someone else have noticed by now? Wouldn’t he have noticed by now?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The voice keeps popping up at random intervals, random moments.  When Mei gets annoyed at his ramblings.  When Tang pushes him away when he’s begging for a story, because Tang is busy eating.  When Pigsy yells at him for being late for work, for messing up.  When Sandy awkwardly pushes him to leave because MK can’t take a hint, some days.  When Monkey King looks at him with something akin to disappointment, exasperation.

They’re tired of you.  They want you gone.  They’re plotting against you.  They’re going to betray you!

And, see, that would bother MK if he didn’t already know that.  He knows people don’t like him, find him annoying.  He knows he pushes too much, messes up a lot, misses social cues.  He knows that he’s not a good enough successor.  And that just makes him want to do better.  

As for the whole betrayal thing, plotting against him, it makes sense.  He isn’t offended or anything if they are, in fact he’d be more surprised if they weren’t, you know?  He’s the Monkey King’s successor.  He has all of the powers, has all of the strength and invincibility, with a caveat or two, but he’s also still just a teenager.  If they aren’t worried that he could go rogue, mess up and decide to be selfish, then that’s stupidity on their part.  Trusting him with anything is never a good idea, so knowing that, should he mess up, his family will be able to enact swift justice is a comfort rather than a worry.

And yeah, it’s a bit embarrassing, knowing just how annoying and useless he can be.  He flinches more often at their glares, gets quieter.  He doesn’t want to make them mad at him, he doesn’t want to lose them because he isn’t good enough.  He just needs to focus, be better, help out more often.  If he does that, hopefully they won’t leave.

The voice, after a few months or so, had backed off for a week.  He’d felt a weight lift from his shoulders, and smiling was easier.  Pigsy had seemingly relaxed at his good mood, and Mei seemed cheerier when they’d gone out to the arcades.  He hadn’t realized he’d been worrying them.  

Are you so sure they’ll stay?

A single phrase that pulls the rug out beneath MK’s feet.  He knows he isn’t good enough, but everyone knows that he at least tries, right?  That should endear them to him enough for him to prove he’s worth their time, right?  He can be good enough, he can do better, he just needs time!

Not fast enough.  They’ll get tired of you, and then they’ll leave.

The cold feeling in his chest feels so much heavier, as he panics in his room.  He’s supposed to be asleep, but the blankets don’t do much anymore.  He’s losing feeling in his fingers.  He keeps fumbling with things, even the staff, and everyone is getting annoyed at him.  And he’s so tired, all the time, and yet it’s so hard to sleep.  He doesn’t understand what’s happening to him, but he knows that whatever it is, it’s going to ruin the equilibrium he has between being a failure and being good enough to keep around.

What happens when he loses it all?

You can be better.

Can he?

Wouldn’t everyone love you if they were safe?

Well, he can imagine not having to worry about DBK would make them far less stressed out.  If he can do that, then maybe they won’t get so easily annoyed at him.  He knows stress can make people snappy, and there’s a lot to be stressed about, like the economy and death by demons.

You can make them safe.

How?  

Listen to me. 

And MK knows it’s weird to make a pact with your own mind, but he thinks he’s pretty good at following directions, so he nods, and doesn’t sleep at all.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The plan isn’t an easy one, and MK doesn’t know if he really wants to follow it.  The words turn over and over in his head. He doesn’t know if they’re right or not.

Maybe it would be better, if he wasn’t so nice.  He beats the bad guys, sure, but he isn’t that violent with them.  They try to kill him, but it’s never personal.  He’s the successor to Monkey King, it just makes sense that they’d go after him.  He’s not upset, really!

Even though the calabash has him looking over his shoulder.  They have earthquakes a lot, they live near a ring of active volcanoes, and each one puts him on edge, expecting a lie to turn his whole world apart. And the spider lady tried to eat his friends, tried to kill him.  And Macaque nearly hurt Monkey King because MK let him get close.  And DBK and Princess Iron Fan won’t stop, not until they get revenge or something.

Red Son is...he’s MK’s age.  And MK has noticed just how much DBK and Princess Iron Fan belittle Red Son, and he’s their son.  It’s too familiar for MK’s liking, and it makes the desire to bring Red Son to justice lessen.  Maybe, if he got Red Son’s parents out of the way…

You could have anything you wanted.

All MK wants is for his friends and family to be happy.

This is how you’ll do it.

MK doesn’t give in.  Not yet.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

MK considers it when he goes over to see Sandy, one afternoon.  They’re just doing some leisurely painting practice, nothing like painting the whole boat.  After the whole clones thing, Sandy had learned that he should probably figure out which color he wants to stick with in the long run before asking for help in such a task.  So, he asks MK to come over and brainstorm.  You know, sketch out some ideas, test paint samples on different areas of the boat, see how it looks in light and dark.

MK also helps with the many litter boxes around the ship, as well as top up the water and food bowls all around.  He gets appreciative nuzzles from the myriad cats around the barge, so it isn’t so bad.  Then, he and Sandy will have tea, and Sandy will listen to MK ramble on about anything and everything until either Monkey King or Pigsy or Mei calls him to go do something (he gave Monkey King his number.  Occasionally he will get an incomprehensible text.  He’s pretty sure Monkey King has a Nokia phone).

Today, when they’re having tea, MK considers.

“Hey, Sandy?” He starts, more hesitant than when he’s ever asked the man a question before. 

Sandy notices, and MK sees him soften his pose even more, looking warm and welcoming. “Yeah, MK?”

“Do you think I’m too soft on villains?”

Because he beats them, but he always lets them leave, lets them escape.  They get to heal, recoup, and come back stronger every time, and people get hurt.  MK doesn’t want to be the type to attack first, to never ask questions, but at this point there aren’t too many questions to ask.

“You’ve got a good heart, MK.  You don’t have it in ya to go at ‘em too hard,” MK clenches his fist, his other hand gentle against the teacup lest he break it.  He did that a few times when he first got his powers, unused to the extra strength.

“That kinda doesn’t answer my question,” MK tries not to say it through gritted teeth.  He can feel his tea getting frigid, and bites back the burst of white air that would make Sandy ask questions.

He wouldn’t know how to answer questions about that, which is why he can’t deal with them.  That’s the reason.

He’s saying you’re weak.

MK hides a grimace, and lets his heart ache silently.  He sips the tea.  It’s ice cold.

“What brought this on?” Sandy asks, instead of answering the question, which grates on MK’s nerves more than it should.

“I let DBK get too powerful,” he says.  “He destroyed the city again, and people got hurt.  If I’d just got rid of him before, those people would be okay.”

Sandy sighs, taking a sip of his tea.  A cat hops into MK’s lap, curling up, but after a few frigid moments hops away.  Apparently MK is too cold for its liking.  He tries not to get offended by that, but the hot well of shame and longing persists. At least the feeling is warm.

“MK, you’re still learning.  Mistakes are bound to happen.  Those who got hurt will get better, and the city is rebuilt better than ever!  You don’t have to carry everything on your shoulders.  And,” Sandy looks away, and suddenly he looks a lot older than MK thinks he is.  “Honestly, being too harsh to make an enemy stop can feel good in the moment, but it does more harm than good, especially to the person who does the fighting.”

And MK leaves it at that, but thinks he doesn’t mind if it harms him, if it keeps everyone else safe.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Another story!” MK begs, spinning on the barstool.  Pigsy always tells him not to, something about wearing down the seat joint, but at the same time Pigsy never really stops MK when he does it either, because MK only does it when he’s very excited and hyper.

Tang finishes his bowl of noodles with a chuckle, pushing up his glasses on the bridge of his nose in a practiced motion that MK is oh so familiar with.  MK taps the front of his sketchbook with his pencil impatiently.

“Alright, alright.  Tell you what, I’ll tell you the story of the Baigujing, or White Bone Spirit,” Tang’s voice falls into storyteller mode, and MK is immediately entranced.  Pigsy, from the kitchen, slams down a pan and groans.

“Not that one, Tang.  I hate that one, you know that,” MK turns to his boss and is surprised to see an embarrassed flush on his cheeks.  What in this story would Pigsy have to be embarrassed about?

“Hey, MK wants to know all the Monkey King stories.  I’m not going to rob him of knowledge,” Tang argues back.  He leans close to MK and whispers “Pigsy couldn’t sleep for a week after I told him this one.”

“That is not true!” Pigsy barks, indignant, and MK laughs.

Tang chuckles to himself, and Pigsy turns back to his work with a grumble.  Right now is a lull in business, right after the lunch rush and before early dinners get called in, so MK is taking his break and Pigsy isn’t too upset by it.  It’s just enough time for a story.

“Okay.  The Baigujing was a shapeshifting demon, who saw Monkey King and his group of traveling companions as they passed by.  Her eyes caught on the human monk, Tang Sanzang,” MK perks up.

“Hey, that’s like your name!” he points out, and both Tang and Pigsy look startled.  Tang coughs, awkward.

“Yes-well-uh, it’s a family name,” he amends quickly.  MK tilts his head to the side.  “Anyway, she decided she wanted to taste the monk’s flesh.  So, she disguised herself as a little girl, coming up to the group and offering them poisoned fruits.  Because she was so powerful, only Monkey King could sense her treachery, and he hit her with his staff, seemingly killing her.”

MK gasps, doesn’t understand the fury that builds behind his eyes.

Tang glances at him, for a moment, and then jumps.

“MK?  You okay?” He asks, and MK blinks.

“What-yeah!  What happened next?” Tang looks him over, gaze catching on MK’s eyes, before he sighs and continues.

“The Monkey King’s companions were shocked and appalled.  They thought he had killed an innocent girl!  He tried to explain, but they didn’t believe him.  The Monk buried the girl, who turned back into the spirit.  She tried again, once as the supposed mother of the little girl, and then the grandfather.  Monkey King managed to show her as a skeleton spirit during their last encounter, clearing his name, but then his companion, Bajie, told Sanzang that Monkey King made it up.  Thus, Monkey King was abandoned, at least until the Monk was captured by a demon Wujing and Baijie couldn’t defeat, and Bajie had to apologize to bring him back,” Tang finishes, and MK’s face settles into a pout.

“Bajie’s a jerk!” He crosses his arms.

“He apologized,” Pigsy mumbles, from his place in the kitchen, where he slices scallions violently.  “More than once.  Not that it matters.” 

“Monkey King didn’t exactly endear himself to his peers,” Tang amends.  “Perhaps if he had been less full of himself at the time, they all could have gotten along better.  But, all four grew to be better people by the end of their journey.”

MK finishes a sketch of the scenes Tang had described with a flourish, and he tilts his head to one side.  “Kind of rude to just attack the lady, though, couldn’t he have tried to talk it out?” He doesn’t know why he feels the need to defend the demon, but she doesn’t seem too bad.  

Tang makes a face.

“She wanted to eat a person, MK,” he says, and MK makes a face that mirror’s Tang’s expression.

“Right.  Eugh, gross.  Anyway, thanks Mr. Tang!” he hops off the barstool and puts back on his collared shirt, making sure his headband doesn’t slip down.  “Any orders, Pigsy?”

Pigsy jerks his thumb to the few on the counter.  MK picks them up, and continues on to work, the story sitting in the back of his mind.  He stumbles a bit while walking.  He doesn’t feel the key in his hand, his fingers numbed over time.  He should be concerned, but everything else seems fine.

He kind of wishes he could have met the Baigujing.  She doesn’t seem too bad, besides the people eating.  Maybe they could have worked it out.

Who does Sun Wukong think he is, deciding to serve justice anyway he sees fit?

MK frowns and buttons up his shirt.  His chest feels like ice.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He’s so, so tired.

MK looks at himself in the mirror when he wakes up and his skin looks paler, his lips a little blue.  He has bags under his eyes that vanish by the time he leaves the bathroom, a bottle of concealer and a tube of lipstick on the bathroom sink that he doesn’t remember buying.

His memory’s been growing spottier, too, missing minutes, hours.  Mei talks to him about a high score he beat at the arcade and he nods along, no clue what she’s talking about but not wanting to worry her.  He hasn’t gone to see Sandy in what feels like years, but gets a text from him thanking MK for taking care of the cats one afternoon.  There are sketches in his sketchbook he doesn’t remember drawing, from stories Tang told him that he can’t remember hearing.

He’s lost feeling in his hands and feet.  He’s dropped enough bowls of soup for Pigsy to go from mad to worried, and he shoves MK off to Flower Fruit Mountain because it’s warmer there, and MK always looks cold.  

He stumbles when he hits sand, nearly bowls over with how much the island rejects him, how much it wants him not to be there.  This is supposed to be a safe place, but the sand feels like needles and the wind slices at his face.  Monkey King comes rushing out like a bat out of hell, teeth bared, but he sees MK, kneeling on the beach, and runs over.

“You okay, bud?  You look…,” he doesn’t say awful, but MK knows he’s thinking it.  MK looks awful, feels awful, is awful.  And the solution to that is right there, waiting for him, but he doesn’t want to take it because he’s a coward.  The voice in his head gave him an ironclad idea, a perfect plan, and he’s been ignoring it because he’s scared.

Weak little vessel.

The hiss in his ear makes him wince, and he trembles as Monkey King helps him up.

“Tired,” he manages, leaning against Monkey King because he hardly has the strength to stand.  

“I can see that.” The try at levity has MK chuckling, but Monkey King is soft and warm and all MK wants to do is suck that warmth into himself, so he can stop being cold for one second.  “Why don’t we head to my place and watch something.  There’s always my show, right?”

MK nods, blinking slowly, and Monkey King takes a step forward.  Suddenly, they’re at Monkey King’s house.  When did they get there?  Why are they here again?

He’s set on the couch.

“There’s something off about your aura, kid.  Touch anything mystic or weird back at home?” Monkey King runs his fingers through MK’s hair, and MK leans into the touch.  Warm.  Safe.  

He shakes his head, a full minute after the question is asked.  Monkey King hums in thought.

“How do you even see auras?” MK mumbles, words slurring a bit as he talks.  “Teach me?”

Monkey King’s hand stills, and MK whines a little, prompting his mentor to continue the motions.

“I already have, bud,” Monkey King whispers, more to himself than to MK.  MK blinks in confusion.  He doesn’t remember that.

Rest, Vessel.

The voice whispers so sweetly in his ear.  It’s nice, sometimes.  Mean other times.  MK wonders if that’s his fault.  Is he so bad that even his own head is mad at him?  How can he be better?  He’s trying so hard.

The TV is turned on.  MK doesn’t register the sound, but the light makes him turn his head away.  Monkey King turns down the brightness with his remote.  Another monkey rests on top of MK for a moment, before jumping off.  It shivers at the temperature of MK’s jacket, his skin, and moves over to Monkey King’s shoulder.

MK rests his head on Monkey King’s lap, and closes his eyes.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He wakes up in a dream.  He stands on ice.  Each step he takes is careful, lest he slip, and even still he stumbles and fumbles.  He can see something in the distance.

“Hello?” he calls out, but the person doesn’t answer.  The closer he gets, the more he can make them out.  “Mei?”

It is her, but then her head drops, straight off of her neck.

“NO!” MK screams, running to her, and he stumbles and falls.  His knees hit ice and they burn with the chill that sinks through his pants.  He slides to her body, cradling it and her head as if he could put her back together with hope.

He turns, looking for a reason for this, and when he looks up, all of the adults in his life are standing around him, their faces covered in shadow.  Tang, Pigsy, Sandy, Monkey King—they’re all looking down on him.

“Look what you let happen,” Pigsy growls out.

“She’s dead,” Tang continues.

“You didn’t save her,” Sandy drones on.

“You let her die,” Monkey King spits.

“No…” MK breathes, and the tears build in his eyes and down his cheeks, freezing on his face.  It burns.

You have a choice, vessel.

The figures of his friends vanish into mist, and MK curls his arms around himself.  He misses the contact.  He hates to be alone.

A woman wreathed in white kneels down in front of him.  It hurts to look at her, and MK averts his gaze until she tilts up his chin so he can look nowhere else.  Her face is ice cold, yet inviting.  He can’t look away from her eyes.

Don’t you want them to stay?  Don’t you want them to be safe?

MK nods, quickly.  Of course that’s what he wants.  More than anything, he wants that love, that adoration.  He wants his family to be safe, to never leave.

You know what to do.

It feels like ice is creeping up his skin, encasing him in frigidity.  She holds out his hand, and he can do nothing else but take it.  The cold reaches its peak, and suddenly it’s warm.  It burns, and yet the warmth is inviting, a relief after months of being so, so cold and confused and tired.  He is past the point of cold, of freezing, of sub zero.  He is warm.  He is ready.  

He is hers.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He wakes up well rested, and the cold that had settled into him still feels like the burn that is a welcome respite from before.  Monkey King is still asleep, and MK leaves him there, leaving the house and walking slowly out of the inner mountain.  

He leaves footprints of ice where he steps.  The monkeys watch, from the trees, trembling as their eyes gaze upon something inhuman, sitting in MK’s skin.  MK has never felt better.  He knows what to do now.  He knows how to make things right.

The staff in his hands feels heavier, for a moment, but MK grips it tight and bends it to his will.  He pogos out of the island with ease, letting the wind whip his hair back.

He hasn’t blinked in a while.  He forgot he had to.  He blinks because the wind makes his eyes sting, and touches the ground with a gentleness he didn’t know he could master.

He lets his eyes glow gold, searching.  He remembers, now, how to look at auras.  He remembers a lot of things now.  It’s like the pressing weight of being weak for the sake of niceties has vanished, and now he is sharp and ready.

The only question is which of his enemies does he go after first?  He needs to get all of them, keep them secure.  It’s the only way the town, the city, will be safe.

The small fry first.  We’ll work our way up to the demon king.

Right, that makes sense.  MK grins to himself.  It’s so nice to have someone constantly helping, constantly making sure he’s doing the right thing.  He’s useless on his own, but give him a direction and he’ll follow it to the letter.

He can see gold and silver, in the distance.  He forgets their names, at first, but their auras jog his memory.  Yin and Jin.

They put him in the calabash.  They weren’t good at it, but they were good enough.  They’re demons.  Dangerous.  He needs to make sure they don’t hurt anyone else.  

He heads to their home, not in a hurry.  There’s no rush to the inevitable.  Is this what self confidence is?  The feeling of knowing you can do it, that you will do it, that no one can stop you?  It feels very gratifying.  He lets the glow in his eyes vanish, because he doesn’t want to startle everyone around him.  

His phone buzzes.  A text from Pigsy, demanding to know where he is.  He responds with ‘Dealing with Monkie Kid stuff.  Be back soon!’ and a string of emojis that Pigsy will find incomprehensible, before continuing on his trek.

He reaches the door, and hears a conversation.

“So, our plan has three steps.  That’s an improvement,” Yin seems to be pacing, from what MK can hear.

“Step one, capture the monkie kid,” Jin pipes up, and MK fights back a laugh.  “Step two, take the staff from him.” 

As if they could.  MK almost has to admire their tenacity.

“Step three, take over the world!” Yin finishes, and MK takes that as his cue to step in.

He knocks in the door.  Polite.  He still has manners, after all.

“Huh?  Jin, did you order out for dinner again?” Yin barks out.

“We don’t have the money for that!” Is the response.

“Hasn’t stopped you before,” Yin grumbles, moving to the door.

Here they come!

MK counts the steps Yin takes to the door, itching with anticipation.

“Hello?” Yin opens the door, and then jumps in surprise.

“Hi!” MK waves, and taps his staff on the ground.

There’s a thunk; not a thud of a body, but a thunk of a block of ice.  MK pats the statue with a fond look.  He’ll chip away the extra pieces later.  This is his first attempt, it’s normal for it to be less precise.  He can get better at it with practice.  Jin turns, from his place at the desk, and his eyes widen when he sees his brother, frozen on the floor.

“Yin—what did you do?” Red eyes glow dangerously, and MK wonders if they would be more ferocious if he threatened one over the other.  Jin gets up, teeth bared.

“This,” MK replies, tapping his staff on the ground.

Jin takes a step forward and freezes in place. Or, is frozen, MK supposes.  He looks at the brothers, safely imprisoned, and wonders.  Where is he going to put them?  There’s not enough room here for all of his enemies to be placed.  What’s a good place to set everything up?

The cave?  The old villain hideout?  

That’s perfect!  After all, it would be the funniest form of irony, right?  Turning a villain hideout to his base for his world saving plan.  Gosh, he’s so smart.  Because this is him, all him.  He finally is smart enough to know what to do.  He has to clear out the cave, first.  It’s not far away, hidden beneath the sewers.  There’s a path to it from the area where the staff used to lie.

He sets Yin and Jin next to each other, considering their poses.  He thinks they look a little off, but he can fix that, right?  He can fix anything, given enough time.  That’s what all this is, fixing the problem of demons who’ve escaped because of DBK��s release.  He nods to himself, and heads off.  He has rocks to clear out, he has a cave to excavate.

But, he promised Pigsy that he’d be back soon.  That stops him short.  He can’t skip work!

This will make him far happier in the long run.

Still, what’s a few hours of work to make Pigsy happy now?  He shakes off the one track mind and puts his staff away.  The ice won’t melt fast (or at all) and he’s got time.  The flash of cold he gets in response to that thought doesn’t inspire comfort, and he second guesses himself a few times, but he heads to the shop anyway.

“Hey Pigsy!” he waves, and Pigsy glances at him and jerks a thumb over to the pile of orders on the counter.  “On it!” 

MK swoops them up and sets them all on the delivery cart.  Pigsy glances at him again, and then freezes.

“MK?” he asks.

MK turns, blinking a few times.  “Yeah?” he responds, and Pigsy peers at him, almost suspicious.

MK tilts his head to the side in confusion.  A part of him is glad that he has concealer on, because they don’t have the time to chat about MK’s new skin tone, not with all these orders.  He watches Pigsy shiver, muttering something about the A/C acting up, before Pigsy shakes himself off and sets his hands on his hips.

“I thought-your eyes-nevermind.  Get those orders out!” Pigsy barks, and MK stands at attention, giving Pigsy a salute.

“On it!” He promises, sliding out of the shop and hopping onto the delivery cart.

It only takes an hour, which is much faster than he usually is, but focus comes easy when he’s driven.  The faster he gets this done they faster he gets to get back to his real work.  The work that will make things better for everyone.

Right. Of course.

His shift ends when the store closes, and he’s gone before Pigsy can say anything about his work ethic or ask where MK has been or is going.  He rushes to the construction site, dives below, rushing past the decaying plants where there once were flowers and a growing tree.  Without Monkey King’s staff, there’s nothing making sure the plants live.  MK frowns at the sight but stays focused on the task at hand.

Aim.  The staff can be as large as a mountain if it needs to be.  Crush what’s in your way.

He nods to himself, breaking through the rubble that has blocked off the tunnel.  The ground shakes, the whole underground rumbles with power, and he hopes he’s not keeping anyone up.  Then again, it’s not too bad if it’s just for a night, considering how many nights later he’s going to keep quiet.  Everyone will be able to rest easy once he’s done.  

He huffs a breath, and it comes out white.  He should be concerned, but honestly it looks cool.  He remembers to blink, because his eyes are starting to burn.  He doesn’t know why he keeps forgetting.

He makes his way to the cavern, and uses ice to keep the ceiling up.  Pillars rise, frost fills the spaces between rocks that would have cracked and splintered eventually.  The floor remains untouched, save for when he fills in the cracks that could trip someone up.

He doesn’t remember when he got these ice powers.  They seem new?  Why hasn’t he used them before?  How come Monkey King never told him about them?

Monkey King’s always had ice powers.

Has he?  MK isn’t so sure about that.

You’re his successor, not a carbon copy.  It makes sense you would have different powers than him.

Right.  MK nods to himself.  Now, time to get Yin and Jin!  Carrying them is going to be a challenge.

It takes him an hour to get them both there, and another half hour to figure out where to put them.  He has to consider DBK’s size.  Wait, does he have to go and get the spider demon lady?  He shivers at the thought, a deep well of terror sinking in his gut.  Even as self assured as he is now, spiders still terrify him.

I can take care of that.

Really?

Yes.  But first, rest.

Right.  He needs to head back to his house.  Pigsy will be worried if he doesn’t come home soon.  He heads out of the construction site, skipping all the way home.

He barely sleeps.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The week is certainly a busy one.  MK spends any time not with his friends searching, and he spends far less time with his friends, nowadays.  The spider demon isn’t easy to find.  He does manage to get some small fry lesser demons he hadn’t met before and now never will.  He doesn’t need to meet people who will inevitably try to kill him and those around him.  Far better to prevent the attack than deal with the aftermath thereof.

His collection of ice sculptures is growing.  MK likes to spend time chipping away at the blocks to them more polished.  It’s like sketching, in a way, or cleaning up a sketch.  It also gives him an opportunity to practice a more precise use of his ice powers.  He can make a mean ice chisel now, and he’s learned how to force the limbs of those frozen into the position he likes.  Yin and Jin stand on top of each other, like they did in their introduction.  The expressions on their faces aren’t what he likes, but he can cover it with frost and it’s like it was never there.

He meets up with Mei, one afternoon.

“Hey, MK!” She barrels into him, and immediately jumps back.

He reaches out, missing the contact, but she shakes out a shiver.  “Dang, you’re cold!” She slugs him on the shoulder, and he laughs.

“I feel fine.  Maybe you’re just being dramatic,” he shoots back, and she laughs with him, before her eyes glance at his face and she freezes.  “What?”

“Your eyes,” she murmurs, all joking replaced with concern.  He tilts his head to a side in confusion.  “They’re blue?” She adds.

“Oh!” he says, and the words that come out of his mouth don’t sound like him at all.  He doesn’t think he thought of them, and he doesn’t feel his lips move but the sound comes out anyway.  “I’m trying out some contacts.  Do you like them?” He bats his eyelashes at her, all in jest.

Her confusion melts into a smile. “I like your regular eye color better,” She admits.  “But those look cool!”  

She grabs him by his wrist, using his jacket as a buffer, and drags him to an arcade.  Every machine he touches sticks a little, the joystick and button a tad frozen by his touch, and he doesn’t win a match by any means, but he doesn’t mind.  Every time Mei leans close to him it feels like a victory.  Even though he feels warm, at least a sort of freezer burn warmth, the people around him have pulled away.  He’s too cold for them.  

He needs contact.  

Someone trips Mei as they’re running around the arcade.  Her nose bleeds, and MK feels his hackles rising.  Someone hurt his friend.  A demon?  A scan of the area reveals no such thing.  Just a mean person.  He can hear them snickering as they walk away.

Mei is more important than MK’s anger, so he takes her outside and finds some tissues, cleans her up.  He takes her out to her favorite restaurant (not Pigsy’s, though they’ll never tell him that) and they end the night with a race around town.  Her bike is an electric green streak, and he’ll never catch up, but he gives it his all before they finish outside his place.

“See ya later!” Mei still sounds a bit stuffed up from the nosebleed, and MK waves until she’s out of sight.  When she disappears, his expression shutters, anger against her unrecognizable assailant returning in a flash.

He’s been getting rid of demons, but that’s not enough!  Mei still got hurt, because people are unpredictable.  He heads to his room and paces.  How can he fix it, how can he make it better?

Maybe more than demons should be frozen.

MK stops in his tracks.  Now, there’s an idea.  But to freeze them forever, that seems like too much.

Not forever.  Just until they know how to behave.  Think of it as a pause button.

It would be nice if things just stopped for a moment.  Then he could have all the time in the world to fix it.  Once he gets the demons out of the way, he can do that.  Then, once everyone learns to behave, they can come out.  However long that takes.

He can be patient, for his friends.  This is all for them, after all.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A day after that, and he’s found the Spider Demon’s lair.  Every step he takes inside makes him shake, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to take her.  He’s so nervous, so scared.

I can help, remember?  Just take a deep breath.

He takes a deep breath.

Close your eyes.

He closes his eyes.  

He doesn’t open them, but they open anyway.  Everything is washed in a soft layer of white, like frost, and his body moves but he doesn’t tell it to.  The fear he felt is muted, and he settles into the comfort of its absence.  He asked for this, right?

The spider demon—she wanted to be a Queen, right?  MK hadn’t been really paying attention when she went on her rant, too petrified to listen—skitters out, and when she locks eyes with him, she smiles.

“Aww, is the little monkie boy back to play?” She giggles, and MK’s body throws the staff at her.  She ducks with a yelp, and scrambles back.  “Ooo, we’re rough, now?  Seems you’re not so scared anymore,” She purrs, but he can hear the nervousness in her voice as the staff comes back to his hand.

“Iͥ ʷgͣˢoᶰtͤ ͮoͤvͬeˢrͨ ͣiͬtͤᵈ.” The sound comes out of his mouth, and it doesn’t sound much like MK at all.  Huh.  His body takes a step forward, and ice spreads out from beneath his foot.  “Tͭuͧrͬᶰnˢs ͦoͧuͭtʸ,ͦ ͧyˢoͪuͦ'ͧˡrͩe ͪnͣoͮtͤ ᵇtͤhͤᶰeʷ ͦsͬcͬaͥrͤiͩesͣᵇtͦ ͧdͭemͫoͤn ͥoͫuᶠtͬ ͤtͤhere.” 

The Spider Queen’s expression shifts, and she tries to run, but MK’s legs are faster. He watches himself move, jumping over stones and cliffs and any obstacle.  The webs she tries to trap him in freeze, and he slides across them as if his feet were skates.

Eventually, he corners her.  MK watches his body close in, and suddenly he’s back in control, staring her down.  Satisfaction crawls up his back, a cold grin splitting his face in two.

“ʷWͪhͦˢoˢ'ͨsͣ ͬsͤcͩaᶰrͦʷed now?” He grins, and she screams.

Ice, it turns out, is a great muffler.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Finding DBK’s hiding place is harder.  MK locates it just outside the city limits, in an abandoned scrapyard.  The perfect place to get parts for new bull clones and other random things Red Son can come up with.

He decides to go on the weekend, but as he prepares the night before Monkey King makes an appearance in his room.

“Hey, bud,” MK jumps at his arrival.

He must have been hiding as a bug or something, like when MK first found the staff.

“Monkey King!” He grins at his arrival, hopping up.  “What’s the occasion?  Is there something new you wanted to teach me?  Is there a demon we have to fight?”  We, not as in MK and Monkey King, but MK and himself.  Because he’s not one, not really, and that’s fun!  He hates being alone, after all.

“No, no,” Monkey King chuckles, overly fond.  Right, MK hasn’t been to Flower Fruit Mountain for a week.  “It’s just-you left pretty early, and, uh, you didn’t say anything about our next training sesh, you know?  And, uhh, pretty sure you shouldn’t be slacking off on that.”

The half hearted scolding aside, MK almost thinks that Monkey King missed him.  But that’s ridiculous.

“Well, you were sleeping when I got up, and I had to go to work,” The lie slips easily off of his tongue.  “I didn’t want to wake you, so I left!  Um, we’re busy tomorrow, but Sunday works for training, if that’s cool?” He rocks back and forth on his feet, ever excited.

“We’re?  Who’s cooler than me to hang out with?” Monkey King reaches out to ruffle his hair, and MK can feel the shiver that jolts through the monkey’s body at the touch.  Monkey King doesn’t comment on it, though.

“I promised Mei we’d hang out.  It’s been a busy week at the shop, so I haven’t been able to party with her,” He doesn’t know where these lies are coming from.

Sometimes he talks and it’s not him at all.  He should be concerned, but honestly he doesn’t mind if his other self takes the reigns.  He fumbles over his words way too often to be annoyed that someone is smoothing him out.

Polished like an ice sculpture; MK thinks he could be beautiful if he was like that.

“Alright, fine.  You and your friend can….do whatever it is kids do these days.  Am I an adult—oh my god I’m an adult,” Monkey King flops back onto his nimbus cloud with a groan while MK giggles.  

“Anyway, get some rest, bud.  You look tired,” is the last thing Monkey King says to him.

“On it!” MK salutes, and Monkey King floats through the window and then rockets off.  The papers in MK’s room all swirl from the blowback, and MK grabs one of the sketches that floats back down.

He doesn’t remember the last time he asked Tang for a story. The last time he sketched anything else at all.  But, a hero doesn’t need hobbies so trivial.

He plans.  Plans for how the city is going to look like, when he’s finished with it all.  He doesn’t need to write down the steps to get there, he has his head voice for that, but the city.  How it will look, when he’s done.  He has to figure it out, draw it out, and pin it to the wall so he can look at it every morning and evening and remember why he’s doing this.  So he sketches.  Pins the piece to the wall.  

Squints.  He doesn’t like it.  

Back to the drawing board.

His wall is covered by the time the sun rises, and MK still isn’t satisfied.  But there is no time to waste.  So, he picks up the outfit that feels all the more new—blue isn’t a color he expected to like, but blue is cold is safe is good is the burning warmth he needs, so he leaves the orange jacket and red headband hanging off of his desk chair.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he can barely tell the difference!

He is gone before Pigsy comes up with breakfast, before Pigsy calls for Tang to look at the mess MK left behind, enough drawings of the same thing for anyone to get the picture.  He is gone before Pigsy and Tang investigate, speak in hushed tones, and call for Sandy, Mei, and eventually Monkey King.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Getting to the outskirts of town is the easy part.  Infiltrating DBK’s base is a bit harder.  It’s not heavily fortified, but MK thinks that’s more because he has never tried to infiltrate such a place.  He doesn’t really attack first, he just protects.  But that’s not good enough anymore, clearly.  He can’t just be protective, he needs to be proactive.

He slides past the guards, freezes them for good measure.  After all, they’re going to be made useless once he takes their leader down, so it’s not as if he’s wasting anything.  There’s also always the chance they get wise, and MK doesn’t want his entrance ruined.

The inner sanctum of the base looks more like a house, made large to accommodate DBK’s figure.  There are pictures on the wall, from painted portraits to black and white to color photos.  MK supposes that the Demon Bull Family has been around long enough to have portraits taken in all sorts of mediums.  He wonders if they have statues, a shrine?  He bites back a giggle at the thought.

The booming sound of cloven footsteps alerts MK to DBK’s arrival, though by the sounds of two voices approaching, Princess Iron Fan must be with him.

“Red Son has been pulling away from us,” the gravel in DBK’s voice is soft, somehow.  MK listens in with interest.  What is it they are doing to their son now?

“You tried to kill him.  He can’t help but take it personally,” is Princess Iron Fan’s reply.  “He barely knows you, and he’s young.  He’ll grow out of it,” she waves a hand, unconcerned.

MK glares at them.  The temperature in the hallway drops, until Princess Iron Fan shivers.

“Darling, I thought this house had a heating function?” Princess Iron fan curls her arms around herself, and DBK picks her up and sets her on his shoulder, suddenly on guard.

“It does, the boy made it so,” he growls, sniffing around for intruders.  MK decides to let himself be known.

“Hi!” he says as he pops out from around the corner.

“Noodle boy?” Princess Iron Fan questions.

“Little Thief,” DBK growls.

“Actually, I go by MK,” he corrects cheerily.  “But, anyway, could you hold still?  This will be harder if you move,” He twirls his staff casually.  DBK growls, and Princess Iron Fan places a hand on the side of his face to silence him.

“MK,” Princess Iron Fan starts, with a forced air of politeness.  “We are in your debt for helping save my husband.  However, if you attack us, we will have no choice but to fight back, and we will not be kind.”

She grins, self assured, and continues  “And you know what happened the last time you tried to fight me.”

Fire.  Volcanoes.  She had tried to kill him and, more importantly, she had made his friends cry.  But things have changed, haven’t they?

MK giggles.  The sound echoes, and the hallway gets colder.  Frost crawls over the walls, and MK looks up with eyes that glow.

“Aͣcͨtͭuͧaͣˡlˡlʸy,ͥ Iͭ ͪtͥᶰhᵏiʸnͦkͧ ˢyͪoͦuͧˡ'ͩllͬ ͧᶰfiͥᶠnʸdͦ ͧmᵏeᶰ ͦʷtʷoͪ ͣbͭˢeᵍ ͦhͦaͩrᶠdͦeͬrʸ ͦtͧo ᶰbͦeͭatͭ ͪtͣhͭaʸnͦ ͧbeͨfͣᶰorͤˢeͨᵃᵖᵉ,” He jumps up with a smile, and sprints forward.

Something dawns on her face, and Princess Iron Fan stands.

“Darling, we need to run,” She says, quickly, but MK jumps and bounces off of the walls and is eye to eye with her before she can explain.

She doesn’t even have time to grab her fan.

DBK jumps back as the block of ice slides off his shoulder and he roars.

“Father?!” MK hears Red Son’s voice from afar and ignores that for now.

“I will tear you to pieces you ingrate!” DBK shouts, and MK laughs.

“ʸYͦoͧu ͨcͦoͧˡuͩᶰlͭdnͤ'ͮtͤᶰ ˢeͭvͦᵖenͫ ͤbʷeͪaͤᶰt ͥmʷeͣˢ wͥᶰhʸeͦnͧ ͬI ͪwͤaͣsͩnʸ'ͦtͧ ᶠtͦrͦˡying!” he shouts back, dodging a blow that sinks DBK’s fist in the wall.

The frost slides from the wall to DBK’s arm, gluing him there.  He fires the gun on his other arm, and MK dodges. 

“Nͥiͩcͥeͦ ͭshot!” He dances around the room.

DBK takes a step in the wrong direction, and slips on the ice cube that is his wife, dropping to the ground.  MK wastes no time, and DBK’s roar is silenced abruptly.

Finally.

Finally.

“Noodle Boy!  What on earth are you doing?!” Red Son looks rather steamed, if the smoke coming off of him is any indication.

“Hi, Red Son!  I was just taking care of your parents,” MK gestures to the popsicles on the floor.  Red Son stares, face a mixture of confusion and horror, and MK barrels toward him.  “Now they can’t be mean to you anymore.  You can make fun inventions and not have to be a mean guy all the time!” Honestly, if anything, Red Son should be thanking MK, but MK doesn’t do this for thanks.  He takes a few hairs and blows on them, and his clones start to work on moving the new additions to his cave.

“You—” Red Son is at a loss for words before landing on “Give me back my parents!”

See, MK was worried about that.  He would likely have responded the same, when he first left his parents.

“But I worked hard to get them out of the way!” MK pouts.  “But, I get it.  You don’t understand.  You just need to ᵍcͤoͭolͦ ͧdͭowͦᶠn,ͦ ͧoͬkʷaͣʸy?” MK reaches out, places a hand on Red Son’s shoulder before he can be stopped, and Red Son is going to freeze too, when—

Red Son explodes, and MK burns.

It’s not enough to melt the ice, no, but MK is thrown back against the wall, eyes wide.

The chill in his bones vanishes with a screech, and all he can hear is screaming.  For a moment, something rises within him.  

This is wrong.

He shouldn’t be doing this, he can’t be.

He isn’t a bad person, he isn’t cruel. He wouldn’t do this.  

He needs to stop, he needs to—

And then the flames vanish, and so does Red Son, and the cold slips back into place with brutal efficiency.  MK blinks, tries to remember where he is.  Right, DBK and Princess Iron Fan.  He got them!  Great.

His clones have been destroyed in the blaze, so he makes some new ones, and heads back to base.  

A shame he couldn’t get Red Son to understand, but they all will soon enough.

Good job, vessel.

MK feels warm.  It burns.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He’s deliberating back at his hideout about where his newest statues should go when he hears a sharp gasp from behind him.  He turns, and Mei is looking at him with something that looks like horror, but that can’t be right.  Why would she be horrified by something so beautiful?

“MK?” she starts, cautiously.  “What…happened to you?  You look really bad, why are you wearing blue?”

“I like the color!” he asserts.  “And I’m fine!”

She purses her lips, and then tries again.

“Um...MK.  What is this?” She points to the frozen menagerie behind him.

MK does not pout, even though he feels like he should.

“You ruined the surprise,” he grumbles, arms crossed over his chest.  “I stopped all the bad guys!  See?” he gestures to them.  “Now they can’t hurt anyone.”

There’s a pause, before Mei can catch up, where MK asks, “Hey, do you think people would want to put them in a museum?” He taps his chin with his index finger, deliberating.

“How did you...does Monkey King have powers like this?” she tries, a third time.

“No, I don’t,” MK jumps at the sound of Monkey King’s voice.  Monkey King floats down on his cloud, hopping off and looking at MK with an air of suspicion.  “Kid, how are you doing this?  Why are you doing this?”

“‘Cause they hurt you guys,” MK has been itching for a chance to explain, to get someone to understand.  “And the-my head voice gave me the idea.  Once these guys are all gone, everyone can be safe, and no one will leave!”

“Head voice?” Pigsy comes from behind a pillar.  “MK, what are you talking about?”

“You know, the voice in your head that sounds like you?” He explains.  “It-it told me how to do it.  And I’m not a carbon copy of Monkey King, it makes sense that I’d have a few new powers, you know?”

“No,” Tang appears, from somewhere.

When did all of his friends get here?  He can see Sandy, Mo in tow on his shoulder, peeking in. 

“You shouldn’t have any deviations.  Maybe your transformations would be different, but to go so far as to have ice powers?” Tang pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, and his glasses flash.  “That shouldn’t be possible, given Monkey King’s power set.”

“What’s going on, kid?” Sandy’s voice is very soft, as he approaches, just like when they were on the boat.  

“Nothing!” MK’s voice is cheery as ever.  “I’m just fixing things, okay?  I think you need to ˢcͪhͧiͭllͧᵖ ʷoͧʲuͥᶰtᵍ,” he reaches forward, and Sandy and Mo are ice.

Mei screams.

“What?” MK looks on, bewildered, as his friends stare at him in horror.  “He’ll be fine!  It doesn’t hurt.  I’ve been freezing for ages!  It gets warm after a while.”

His eyes glow, and Tang pales.

“Baigujing,” he breathes, and MK turns to him.

“What about her?” he asks, and Tang puts a hand to his mouth, biting his lip and glancing between the rest of the group and MK, unsure.

“Bud,” Monkey King takes a few cautious steps toward MK, as if MK were a cornered animal.  His feet slip a little on the ice, but not enough to stop his careful approach.  His tail is poised and very still, not so much as a twitch from it.  “I think you’re feeling a bit...um, scrambled right now.  Why don’t you hand me the staff, and we can talk about this?” He gives MK a soft smile, but MK frowns.

If he takes the staff you can’t finish your work! Does he think you don’t deserve it anymore?

“But I need it,” he responds, simple and to the point.  “It’s mine.”  Right?  Because Monkey King gave it to him.  Gifts can’t be taken back, right?  MK’s still worthy, right?

Monkey King takes a deep breath, like he’s biting back a retort.

“Preeeeetty sure I let you borrow it.  ‘S called ‘Monkey King’s Staff’ for a reason, bud.  C’mon.” 

Another step forward.  MK grips the staff tighter.  

“MK, please,” Tang calls from his other side.

Don’t let him take it!

“We need you to let go!” Mei’s voice hits his ears.

They’re all lying to you!  

“Kid-I-c’mon, just let ‘em have it and we can go home,” Pigsy’s voice breaks, and MK feels like he’s going to break with it.

Is he even going to let you keep your home?!

Monkey King is close enough that MK can feel the heat of his power emanating off of him, of the great Sun Wukong.  His paws are soft and somehow even warmer than his power as he curls them around MK’s grip on the staff.

They don’t understand! They’re going to abandon you!

“That’s it, easy does it,” Relief colors Monkey King’s tone, and he smiles at MK as if MK were the sun.  It’s too soft to be true.  “Just hand it over, and we’ll make sure everything’s okay, alright?”

He starts to tug, pulling the staff out of MK’s grip ever so gently, and MK flinches as the voice rings loud in his ear.

YOU NEED IT DON’T LET HIM TAKE IT FROM YOU HE’LL RUIN EVERYTHING—

“It’s MͫIͥᶰNͤE!” MK shouts, and he slams the side of it into Monkey King’s stomach and launches his mentor across the room.

Monkey King crashes into the wall, groaning as he pushes away the falling rubble.  MK’s eyes are wild.  

“It’s mine, and you can’t have it!  I need it!” Ice crawls over his right hand, cementing his grip.  

Tang sees it, takes a step back, and turns to the two horrified bystanders.

“Run!” he shouts, and Mei bolts.  Pigsy stares, motioning for Tang to run, but Tang is too close to MK to do anything.

“What’d you do that for?” MK frowns, lowering a hand onto Tang’s shoulder.  Pigsy makes a choked sound.

“Go!  Bajie, get out of here!” Tang shouts, far more desperate than MK expected.  Why is everyone so terrified?  This is just a misunderstanding.

“Okay, tͭiͦmͦeˡ ͣoͭuͤt ͭfͦorͬ ͧᶰyˢoͣᶰuᶻᵃᶰᵍ,” MK pats Tang’s shoulder once, and Tang is rooted to the spot.  MK freezes him slower, because Tang isn’t strong, merely smart.  And if he does it slow, then he doesn’t have to chisel away the extra later.

Mei comes roaring in on her bike, and she picks up Pigsy by the back of his chef’s coat, throws him on the back of her bike, and zooms off.

“Tang!” Pigsy screams, but his voice gets farther and farther away.

“What’s wrong?” MK is so confused.  He looks to Monkey King, who is just sitting there on his cloud, horrified.

“Sun Wukong,” Tang says, voice hard.  The ice is up to his chest.  “Get out of here.  Bajie is going to be a wreck after this.”

“Can you make sense!” MK throws his hands up, tired of being ignored, talked over, walked over.  “Or at least ˢsͪtͧoͭp ͧᵖtalking!” And Tang goes silent, frozen.

MK turns back to Monkey King, and finds that his mentor has vanished.

Well, that won’t do.

After them!

MK jumps onto a disk of ice and slides across stone, feet still as the ice barrels over any obstacle, leading him past the dead sliver of a great mountain and up onto the streets.  Mei just has made her way to ground level, aided up by Monkey King, and MK zeroes in on them.

They pass by cars, and MK ignores the blaring horns as he slides over city streets.  The ice trailing behind him makes cars swerve out of control, but he needs to get to his friends.  They have to understand.  This is all for them!

The ice shoots forward, and he gets closer and closer, until Mei’s back wheel hits frost and the back of the bike jerks one way, the front the other.  The bike slips onto its side with immediacy, and Pigsy and Mei go sprawling as Mei’s bike falls apart, skidding across the ice.

Oh no.

“Mei!” he runs to her side.  

She groans, her bike suit torn.  He doesn’t even think about Pigsy at the moment, too worried about his best friend to think of the other person he hurt.  Plus, Pigsy’s a full grown adult, and MK has never seen Pigsy hurt like Mei is, so it doesn’t even register that Pigsy could be as injured as she is.  Her left arm has a large patch of skin that’s been burnt off by the road, and her legs are bleeding from various places.  Thankfully, she was wearing a helmet, so MK doesn’t have to worry about something so serious.  

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.  Are you alright?  Where does it hurt?  I’m sorry!”

Some ice might help with the pain.

Right, right, icing the wound always helps.  He goes to make some, the power swirling in his hand, when a horn from a car blares, making him wince.  

Gosh, humans.  They’re so annoying!  If they could just stay out of the way, because he needs to fix this, that’d be great.

Remember the pause button?

It seems very inviting.  MK nods.  

Right.  A pause button.

“Just a sec, Mei,” he leaves her groaning on the ground, turning to face the city.

He slams his staff into the ground.

Ice shoots out in a wild dash.  It crawls over and into everything.  Cars, buildings, people—everything freezes.  He hears some screams, and watches people try and run for the hills, but the cold is faster. It billows down the streets, kicking up a white haze that is almost impossible to see through, that the pedestrians tripping on ice and solidifying get lost in, but it’s a snowy sheen that MK sees through perfectly. He can see the polished figures of buildings, glistening beneath their ice, the little mounds that must be people beneath the thick layer of ice. 

It’s all so pristine. So perfect.

Finally.

Finally.

MK is glad for the quiet.  With him and himself in his head, it’s hard to deal with outside noise. He just needed a moment of calm, to get to the task at hand.

The task at hand...Mei!

“Mei, are you—” he stops.  Mei and Pigsy aren’t there.  

His eyes search for them, and he can see Monkey King hurriedly pulling them up onto his cloud.  “Wait!”

Monkey King looks at him, and MK’s face is pleading.  He just wants to do right.  Why don’t they understand?  Once he fixes it all, everyone will be happy.  Can’t they wait?

“Sorry, bud,” Monkey King says.  

MK doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for. A rush of panic tries to grip his brain, something that was once so familiar, something that was once so him, but it disappears in MK’s desperation to act.

The cloud zooms off. He throws a hand out, running after it.

“NO!”

This is just like his dream.  At the edge of the city, a wall of ice rises.  It sparkles in the light of the setting sun, and MK raises it higher, and higher, as Monkey King and Mei and Pigsy and everyone he cares about most gets farther and farther away.

Monkey King punches through the ice, and they disappear into the horizon.

MK drops to his knees. They land hard on the frozen ground.

“You said they wouldn’t leave,” he whimpers out, crying because it hurts and he doesn’t know exactly why.

It’s more than just regular pain.  Something warm and different and yet familiar stings.  Something knows this isn’t right, this isn’t how it’s supposed to go!  If this was the right thing to do, why would everyone leave?

“I have to stop!” The words are forced out of his mouth.  

MK doesn’t know when the words are him and when the words are something else.  He doesn’t know who he is.  What’s right?  What’s wrong?  How can he tell?  

He’s just been listening to his own head, but his own head is arguing with itself.  

He slams his free fist into his temple, to try and make things settle.

Chains drag him to the ground, leaving him stuck.

You are doing everything just right.

The voice is soft in one ear, but on the other side MK hears No! On repeat.  No, this isn’t right.  You froze good people.  Innocent people!  You froze Tang and Sandy!  You made Pigsy cry!  You hurt Mei!

They don’t understand yet.  Monkey King is notoriously stubborn.  He isn’t ready for his successor to pass him yet.  All you have to do is wait for them to come back.  And they will.

It’s harder and harder to hear the argument against this.  

The voice sounds so self assured.  The warmth that doesn’t burn gets weaker and weaker, like a fire out of kindling.  

He wheezes, and tears turn to snowflakes on his skin.  He chokes on his own breath.  It comes out white and fogs his vision, but he can’t find it in himself to care.  

Everyone’s gone.  

He’s alone.  

This can’t be right.

It is.  You just haven’t done enough yet.

That, MK understands.  The need to do more, be more.  It makes far more sense that he hasn’t done enough, than anything else.

“They’ll come back?” He asks, and his voice sounds so loud in the quiet.  He feels a hand brush his hair back.  He leans into the touch, but it’s gone.

Of course.  

MK stands.  The chains vanish, and he smiles.

“Okay then!  Let’s get to work!”  

He hasn’t let go of the staff in ages.  He doesn’t think he can.  He turns to the mess he’d made in his rush job, the frozen city’s statue.  He has to fix that, it’s unsightly!  Mei and Pigsy and Monkey King won’t like a mess.

As he plans, as he hopes, he feels a smile in the back of his head.  It feels like a snowball to his skull, chilling and yet a comfort, somehow.

Wonderful work, Vessel.  We’re going to do great things together.

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Big Decisions | The Mikaelson Boys

Hey my lovelies! I know, right, another story in the same week as my other one?? What has the universe come to! I had this idea the other night and I kind of just rolled with the punches. I'm not sure how good it will be, I haven't written in a while and I had an idea of where I wanted this to go and, as usual, it wrote itself and ended up somewhere else. I'm not sure how much I like it but regardless here it is. I tried to make it as fluffy as I could because that's what I need right now lol. Anyway's I hope you like it! Sorry in advance for how long it is!! All my love until next time <3

Description: Y/n is from an influential family like, but not as powerful, as the Mikaelson's and her father is running for the governor of Virginia. In order to increase voting in favour of her father both families decide to merge. In order to do so Y/n agrees to marry one of the Mikaelson boys. The only problem is that she loves all three of them and can't possibly choose between them.

Pairing: The Mikaelson Boys x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None, seriously, don't be afraid of having all three at once, that doesn't need a warning

Word count: 5032

Tags: Fluff (or at least attempted fluff)

(Pics aren't mine but the moodboard is :) )

Your footsteps echo softly down the hallway of the Mikaelson’s mansion. Your heels click the beat of a song you haven’t yet learned the words to into the hardwood. It’s a miracle you can even hear it over the rumble of the party below. A thousand voices reach your ears in a crescendo of “good evening” and “my don’t you look lovely” but it stands as little more than white noise in your mind. Your heartbeat rages with it all, mingling with the greetings of strangers and the song your feet are creating at the same time.

The only thing you can truly think about is last night in the garden. It had been Kol’s idea, actually, to have one last night together. It was a beautiful notion, too, if not one that left four souls aching as though they were only one soul being forced into four different fragmented pieces.

There you sat, four fragmented pieces of one soul, tangled so elegantly that anyone looking in would have to squint to see the separate beings. Your back moulded so perfectly into Elijah’s front that it was as if you were made to never be apart in the first place. Though Klaus’ head fit so perfectly in your lap that it would be madness to think anything but the same. However, both such things ignore the delicate trace of Kol’s lips against your neck and mouth and fingertips in such a way that the night sky hadn’t shone half as bright as the stars he left you seeing. How could you even begin to make a decision.

None of you feel quite right about the arrangement. Your families have been close for a few years now, you having met the Mikaelsons at a founders party in your first year of college. Both of your households are founding families with a lot of influence in many parts of the south-eastern United States. While the Mikaelson’s are renowned, your own family, the Lancaster’s, are less well known. With your father running for governor of Virginia it was decided, quite suddenly, that your two families are to combine in order to gain the needed momentum to win at the polls. You, the only daughter to Mary-Anne and Johnathan Lancaster, are to marry any Mikaelson son of your choosing.

To any other woman in Virginia that offer would be a dream come true. The Mikaelson’s are akin to royalty in the United States. However, every other woman in Virginia hasn’t spent the last two years completely consumed by all three brothers. There are only a handful of moments that you can recall that don’t include even one Mikaelson. Every night you fall asleep wrapped around one of your boys. Each of their scents are permanently ingrained in your memory. How can you choose when no matter who you pick the other two will still be there.

You pace back and forth at the top of the winding staircase, silently dreading the descent. You gather the pilling fabric of your gown into your hands and let the silk cool your fiery skin for a few moments longer. You try to hold on to a few pieces of comfort with it. The way Kol had smelled of honey this morning and the feel of Elijah’s arms around you and the little marks Klaus left that are still fading beneath your bodice. You breathe in each of them before you take the first step.

You don’t want to go down the stairs but the first step only brings you to the second that much faster. You take them one at a time, letting your feet even out before every push forward. At this moment you wish that the stairs would never end. You would rather wind for years as your dress turned to dust around you than face the unrelenting truth that waits at the bottom. You would rather turn to dust than choose.

You come too quickly to the bend in the stairs that will reveal you to the party. The murmurs that were previously dulled are now at their peak, crashing over you with a harsh fury of cheerful nothings. You wish you could immerse yourself in the chatter like any other party however tonight isn’t just another party. It’s the party and families from across the country have gathered in the halls below to hear you make your decision.

With a quick breath in, you bring yourself into the glittering light cast by the chandelier hanging above the sweeping foyer. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust from the dark hallway. When they focus once more the air is sucked from your lungs in a startled gasp that turns every eye in the vicinity towards you. As if a switch has been flicked, every sound in the room dies out until all that is left is the slightest tinkling of the glass above your head and muffled sounds of awe.

You will give them that, the dress Rebekah Mikaelson had picked out for you is stunning. A rose coloured, silk gown that would make any Victorian princess green with envy. It’s strapless in the sense that it has silk that hangs off your shoulders, leaving your skin exposed and dusted with gold. Your hair has been curled and pinned up, allowing for some tendrils to frame your face. Bekah dusted the same gold she used on your shoulders on your eyes, bringing a finishing touch to your look. She truly does work miracles.

Your hand stalls on the railing for a moment, your eyes searching the sea of faces below you. It’s surreal to have all the attention on you. You’re used to being around important people, you yourself are one to most people, but you’ve never felt like you fit in with them. You’re just an ordinary girl after all. An ordinary girl who just happens to have the hearts of three Mikaelson’s in her palm. Now, if you could only spot them amongst the crowd.

As if they can hear their names flowing through your mind, they appear at the base of the steps. You shouldn’t be surprised at how dashing they all look but you’re still left open-mouthed at the sight of them. They're each clad head to toe in all black, the perfect contrast to your dress. The dark to your light and vice versa. They never disappoint.

Your feet begin moving of their own accord to meet them at the bottom of the staircase, the clicking of your heels ricocheting like bullets through the still silent foyer. You can feel their stares like flames on every inch of your exposed skin. The crowd is holding their breath in anticipation of the interaction to come, waiting ready for the moment you make your decision. It feels positively medieval, as if as soon as you choose you will be forced to rip off your clothes and mate for the court to see and deem your bond official. It’s too bad if that’s what they're expecting. They would be in for quite a shock if they saw the distinct markings of not one but three Mikaelson’s already on your skin.

Three mouthwatering scents swirl around you, encouraging you to move faster. Before you clear the last fifteen or so steps, however, the unthinkable happens. You trip. Your heel catches the loose fabric of your dress and rips your feet out from under you, a riptide of events that should have been foreseen. Your eyes slam shut the minute you go into freefall, not wanting to see the mess your body will create when you hit the marble. The fall feels like hours rather than seconds, waiting for an impact that will shatter life as you know it but the end never comes.

“Baby,” it takes you a moment to register the arms around your waist and the pine tree scent enveloping you, “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

Another pair of hands grip on to your arm, sending waves of familiar warmth and nutmeg rushing through your chest, “my clumsy darling, what was our dear sister thinking when she put you in those heels.”

“She clearly wasn’t or else she would have remembered that she tripped three times just this morning,” you’re pulled easily into a new pair of strong arms, “isn’t that right, love?”

You can’t help but let the smile fall on your lips, your eyes tugging open to meet the ocean ones already looking at you, “you know me too well, Klaus.”

The smile is already on his lips, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “of course love, that’s my job.”

He leans down to place a quick kiss on your forehead before steadying you. You turn to face the remaining brothers, both of whom look ready to pull you once more into their arms. They’re circled around you, blocking the crowd from seeing you until they have had their moment with you. It warms your heart immensely. Up close they look even more ravishing. When you take your time inspecting them, though, you see the circles under their eyes.

Elijah’s are the most prominent, his skin tinged a plum colour that in no way mars the beauty of his face. If anything it adds an ethereal glow. He’s always been the one to worry the most. He is the oldest after all, most of the stress falls on his shoulders. His deliciously sculpted shoulders. It’s his job to hold his family together, tonight is no exception. You waste no time pulling him towards you and wrapping your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers in his chocolate hair.

“You look like you need a nap, Eli,” you tug softly at the strands between your fingers, “it’ll all be okay.”

You can feel the deep breath he takes, as if the air is going into your lungs instead of his, “I know, baby.”

He squeezes his arms around you a little tighter than usual before releasing you. It takes Kol no time to scoop you into his arms, burying his face in your neck. You grip his back with shaking fingers, admiring the muscles through his jacket as a moment of peace before the storm to come. You don’t want to let him go. You don’t want to leave the little bubble the four of you have created.

“No matter what happens out there tonight, I'm yours darling. Until the sun doesn’t rise in the east, I’m yours,” he places a soft kiss to your throat and tears sting at your eyes but you refuse to let them fall.

He pulls back, a small smile on his lips. You look up to the other two one last time, feeling the crowd grow impatient at your hidden actions. You know that tonight isn't about you but you can’t help but let the seconds tick by freely. This could very well be the last moment the four of you share publicly.

Klaus nods his head carefully, squeezing one of his hands into a fist at his side, “until the sun doesn’t set in the west, I am yours, love.”

You pull your lip between your teeth to bite back the trembling, steeling yourself as you turn in finality to Elijah. His chocolate eyes are already on you. The determination in them lights something hot and not at all unfamiliar in the pit of your stomach. He takes another deep breath, your eyes drawn to the rise and fall of his chest.

“And every moment after I will be yours, baby, that is my promise.”

When the words leave his lips you revel in the fleeting moment of calm that rushes over you.

The strength in your voice startles you a little bit, “I am yours before, during, and after. That is my promise. Let’s do this.”

The boys stand taller when you say the words, completing a promise you made to each other over a year ago. They part, allowing you to walk into the crowd of statues. No one moves, every eye glued to you once more. You can’t help but feel small under their gaze but you don’t back down, choosing instead to smile and stare back.

“Sweetheart, there you are!”

And just like that all the activity in the room restarts, all the chatter and music and tinkling restored like a fire under the floor. Your mother, Mary-Anne, appears from the crowd in a stunning blue gown. It accentuates her delicate features. She was a southern belle in her youth and it still shows, especially in her accent. You could get lost in the honey that is your mother’s voice.

“Hello, mama,” you fall into her embrace easily, breathing in her lilac lotion, “I’m sorry I took so long, Bekah wanted everything to be perfect.”

Your mother giggles, music to your aching soul, “except the shoes I see.”

You pull away with a blush, meeting her cheerful eyes with mild embarrassment, “oh my, you saw that?”

“Darling, all of Virginia saw it,” she takes your arm, leading you towards the ballroom where guests are steadily flowing to designated tables, “you gave those boys quite a startle. Your father too. He dropped his drink.”

She giggles again as she directs you to a table at the front of the room, elegantly decorated with an array of flowers and candles. There are enough seats to allow for both of your families and a few other important people to enjoy a nice meal. Your stomach tumbles in a way that makes you doubt the amount of food you will be enjoying tonight.

Your mother hands you a glass of champagne which you take gratefully, “will he be here soon?”

“I’m sure he will be,” she smiles gently at you, pushing a fallen curl behind your ear, “how are you feeling, darling? You look a little rattled.”

“It’s a lot to take in, mama. I’m alright,” you take a sip of your champagne to punctuate your words, letting the sweet bubbles cool your throat.

She places her hand on your own, pulling your attention back to her, “you’re allowed to not be. You’re doing a lot for this family, you know. Your father and I appreciate you very much. It can’t be easy.”

“The hard part isn’t getting married,” you meet her kind eyes and almost crumble, “It’s almost too easy to spend a lifetime with any one of them. They each mean the world to me. Mama, how am I supposed to choose?”

She shakes her head gently, her own curls bouncing lightly, “you just have to trust yourself, darling.”

The ballroom fills steadily, flowing conversation and music through the open space. You quickly spot the Mikaelson's, Bekah now in tow, as well as your father, who looks locked in a serious conversation with Elijah and Klaus. He’s nodding along to whatever they’re saying, clearly absorbing whatever notion they’re pushing. Kol, on the other hand however, remains silent, gazing around the space before locking eyes with you. Even from across the floor you can see his shoulders loosen slightly. Bekah tries to say something to him but he just brushes her off before moving towards you. You feel a touch guilty but you'll apologize later. Right now you need him.

You pass your glass back to your mother, accepting another knowing smile before all but running towards Kol. He clears the space quicker than you can, meeting you just in front of the table.

“You know, I don’t recall having told you how breathtaking you look yet this evening,” his words pour over you as he takes the final steps towards you, “and that should be a punishable crime. You look absolutely stunning, darling.”

He laces his arms once more around your waist, drawing you into his chest, “we’re all a little flustered tonight, I think I can pardon you just this once. Besides, I haven’t told you how marvellous you look yet either.”

You whisper the words into his chest, closing your eyes for a brief moment. His touch brings you some clarity. You wish you were curled up watching a movie instead of in a ball gown.

He pulls back slightly, lifting your chin to meet his warm eyes, “I meant what I said earlier, no matter who you choose I’m not going anywhere. None of us are.”

“I don’t think I can do it, Kol,” you look towards your father sitting next to your mother, both laughing with another couple, “I can’t hurt any of you.”

“Love,” you're pulled from Kol’s grasp and into a different but no less familiar hold, “we know this isn’t what you want. It’s not what any of us want. You need to trust us. Follow your instincts. Now come on, we’ll miss dinner.”

Klaus leads you to the table and a plate filled with what would normally be your favourite foods. Elijah is already waiting with your chair pulled out, sitting you between your mother and father.

He leans down before you can sit, his lips grazing your ear as he speaks, “just relax, baby. I love you.”

He presses a kiss to your ear before tucking you in and taking his own seat across from you. The ballroom soon fills with the sharp sounds of forks and knives scraping against porcelain and even more happy chatter than before. Your own table becomes a flurry of excited words and talk of the upcoming elections and wedding ideas. You’re bombed with many sneaky attempts to hear your decision early but you brush every one of them off, nervously taking bites of food every few minutes.

“So, honey,” your father turns to you with a grin, lowering his voice and drawing you into your own little bubble, “how’s my star doing?”

You focus on his nose, not wanting to meet his eyes quite yet, “I’m great, dad. This dinner is wonderful.”

He chuckles quietly and you can feel his gaze trying to pull your focus to him, “you would know, right, with all the food you've eaten?’

He isn’t wrong, you’ve barely cleared half your plate, “I’m not hungry is all.”

“You? Not hungry? Now I know something is really wrong here,” his hand grasps yours lightly, “look at me, what’s going on in that noggin of yours?”

You don’t mean to sigh but it happens anyway, “It’s just a lot to digest. It’s a really big decision.”

“You’re right it is, honey,” he squeezes your hand gently, “but I know you’ve got what it takes. You can’t disappoint me. Never have and you never will.” He looks in front of you, “besides, I think those boys know what they're doing. I trust them to help you figure this out.”

Like your mother, he always seems to know what to say. You have a strong family, one that holds each other up in the hardest of choices. You look across the table to meet the eyes of three men already looking at you. They each smile at you in their own way. Elijah’s is with his eyes, the rest of his face remaining stone. Klaus smirks at you, the blue of his eyes sparkling mischievously. Kol tilts his head to the side, a soft grin on his lips.

Soon the music becomes louder and guests start pouring onto the dance floor, swaying to an elegant piece made up of violins and flutes. Your own table clears with the rest, leaving the four of you alone. Elijah, as per usual, is the first one out of his seat.

“Would you do me the immense honour of sharing this dance?”

The formality in his words brings you a bubbling sense of warmth and you, of course, rise to meet his outstretched hand. He leads you to the middle of the floor, twirling you under another chandelier before pulling you tight against his chest. You’re once again wrapped in his forest scent and you lay your head against him, trusting him to keep you from falling. The music swirls around you, drowning out the noise of the others around you. They're no doubt speculating that you’ve made your decision but, in reality, this is just yours and Elijah’s thing: dancing.

He moves you beautifully across the floor, pulling you slightly to where it feels like you’re gliding on ice. The rest of the couples move back, allowing for the two of you to take as much space as you need. You feel like you dance for an eternity, giggling as he spins you endlessly across the polished wood floor. He eventually lifts you, turning you in what you assume is a final twirl, only to pass you into another pair of ocean breeze arms.

Klaus takes over effortlessly, falling into the same pattern that Elijah had created, “sorry to cut in, love, I couldn’t help myself.”

You move the hand that lays on his shoulder and wrap it around the back of his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair and drawing as close to him as you can. He takes his time dancing with you the same as his brother had. By now all the other dancers have stopped and cleared completely off the floor. Each eye is trained on the pair of you like lasers to a target. You will yourself to remain completely focused on Klaus’ movements.

It takes both an eternity and mere seconds for you to land in Kol’s arms, who twirls you one last time, perfectly stopping with the music. When the last violin dies out, a clock chimes through the room. Your shoulders tense on their own, the rest of your body following suit. Ten O’clock. Choosing time.

“Good evening, everyone, and welcome,” your father’s voice pours through speakers placed around the hall but you can barely register the words being said, “I know many of you have travelled great lengths to be here today and for that our families are incredibly grateful. Tonight is a momentous occasion. It marks the engagement of my girl, Y/n, to one of these fine men.”

Your father motions across the room to where you stand, now with all three brothers stood in front of you, “each one of them have expressed their interest in my daughter and now, with all of you to witness such a grand step in her life, she will choose which of them she would like to marry.”

Whatever head that wasn't already turned now faces you, each holding their breath in anticipation. You aren't looking at them though. Instead, you’re facing the three men that you would do anything in the world for. You can almost see your aching heart already in your hands, ready to rip it into three even pieces and hand it to them with little bows.

You look at Klaus first. Your creative spirit who could fill an entire museum with paintings of your face alone. His hands twitch slightly at his sides and he closes them into fists when you notice. He offers you a small smile and you remember the other night when he fell asleep on your lap while watching a movie in the den. He hasn't been sleeping properly with all the arrangements for tonight being settled and you running your hands through his hair had been the final push he needed to collapse. You make sure he’s looking at your lips when you mouth I love you across the room.

You turn quickly to Elijah from there, locking eyes with him immediately. Your warrior who looks especially undone in comparison to his usual put together self. He looks like he has to stop himself from closing the distance between the two of you and that it’s taking most of his remaining energy to do so. That’s Eli for you though, he never can stay away from you for too long. When you mouth I love you to him he stands a little straighter.

You find Kol’s eyes easily from there. Your rebellious, hell-raiser with a glint in his face that you would be able to see from all the way across the room. His hand is in his hair, tugging the strands between his fingers in a way that only he could make look elegant. He’s got a look in his eyes that begs you to do something entirely untraditional. He mouths I love you before you can even open your mouth.

You stand there for an eternity, your feet stuck as though rooted through the floor. Every moment from the past two years rushes through your head. You aren't dying; this isn't a life flashing before your eyes type moment but it may as well be. These three have been your entire life since you were introduced. Not one of them alone could have brought you here. Every moment for two years has been leading to you standing here, with them, at this very second.

It hits you quite suddenly that if you were to remove two of them, the equation that makes up who you are wouldn't be correct anymore. You’ve been juggling with the idea that your soul is four parts rather than two for quite some time now. It wouldn't be right to give three parts to one person, not when each of them have taken the time to so delicately etch their names onto their own separate parts.

You can’t pick just one of them. You’ve known that from the beginning, you just didn’t know what you were going to do about it until now. Your hands tremble now that you know your decision, a chill running up your spine at the thought of sharing it with the crowd. It’s not exactly conventional what you’re about to say.

“I choose Klaus.”

The crowd releases the breath it had been holding for hours. Too bad they're going to be sucking it back in soon. Klaus’ eyes are wide, his mouth open as though he didn't expect to be your choice. Your heart breaks for him and you remind yourself to spend more time with him when this is all over. Your other two boys look devastated, the smiles on their lips looking more like pained grimaces. Your heart squeezes in your chest.

“And I choose Elijah.”

Just like that there is once again no air left in the room. You begin walking towards them, ignoring the buzz of whispers growing in the room. You peer over their shoulders at you parents who don’t look nearly as stunned as they should. In fact your mother is beaming at you. You can feel the pride radiating off her from thirty feet away. You can’t tell if your father mouths I told you so or if you imagine it.

The boys begin moving towards you as well, ready to cover you from the storm raging around you. You can tell there are a thousand things they want to say but you’re not done speaking yet.

You look to the last Mikaelson, willing a smile to take over the frown on his gorgeous face, “and, of course, I choose Kol.”

The crowd roars around you but you’re surrounded with a wall of Mikaelson, blocking you from the prying eyes. You look at each of them, trying to gauge their reactions. You know they said that they're yours but you never discussed marrying all of them. You don’t even know if you can do that. It’s now entirely overwhelming in a completely new way. All three of them stare at you with a mix of shock and awe. Like this is the first time they’re seeing you. You wring your hands together waiting for one of them to say something.

None of them do, though. Instead Elijah closes the space between your bodies and crashes his lips onto yours, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth and biting down hard. His hands grasp your waist with strong fingers, leveling you against his tall frame. It sends shocks through your entire system and you revel in the outright display he’s putting on. He’s the last one you would have expected to lose it in a crowd.

Kol is the next one to close in on you, wrapping his arms around you as well and gently kissing your shoulder. The fire Elijah started in your stomach only increases when Kol bites down. You gasp into Elijah’s mouth but it’s quickly swallowed by the man himself. Kol’s lips feel heavenly against your exposed skin.

Klaus finally steps towards you, tangling his arms in the mess of your bodies and completing your circle. His lips meet the side of your throat in a way only he can, biting down deliciously. When Elijah finally pulls away from you, the rest of them follow. You know your skin is most definitely bruised and your lips swollen. Your curls have most definitely fallen from their pins. You would be worried but each of them still hold you, caged around your body for no one but themselves to see.

The rush of the evening hits you all at once, a strong fatigue laying across your bones. You let your eyes close as you lean further into Elijah. Sensing the finality of your movements, he scoops you up, careful to keep your dress in it’s beautiful condition. He starts walking out of the room, ignoring the protests around him. On cue Kol and Klaus join him on either side.

“Eli, we can’t leave, they’re expecting us,” you can’t hide the yawn in your voice.

“We can, and we are leaving, baby,” he tightens his arms around you, “you need to sleep.”

You shake your head unconvincingly, “I’m fine, Eli.”

The other Mikaelson brothers just laugh.

The smile in Kol’s voice is audible, “yes you are, darling, but humor us won’t you?”

“They’ll be mad at me,” your voice trails off at the end, blackness creeping in around the edges of your mind despite your protests.

“You’ve done more than enough, love, we can take it from here.”

Klaus’ voice is the last you hear, not even making it back up the stairs before you drift out of consciousness.

[a-world-in-grey]

Sola/Blood of My Blood snippet

@secret-engima I will never get over this au, it’s too awesome.

.

“I thought you didn’t want a Shield.”

The question comes, hesitant and quiet enough that Sola could pretend not to hear it at all. Noctis’ gaze remains on his phone, on one of the games he used to play but hadn’t touched again until Prompto stumbled into his life.

Into Noctis’ Heart, but that’s Noctis’ detail to share in his own time.

Anyone else, Sola would tell them exactly where to shove that question. She’s heard it far too often from too many nobles, all with the same sneer in their voice and the disgusted affront radiating off them so strongly they didn’t need magic for Sola to know exactly what they were feeling.

Filthy-refugees-how-dare-

But this is Noctis, magic curling in curiosity and worry. Worry for Sola, worry that the choice wasn’t hers, worry for a bond that might have been forced and the damage that would do to both her and her Shield.

Sola lets the bobbin drop against the tapestry and joins Noctis on the couch. They’re in her suite, in the sitting room she turned into a workroom back when she’d been on extended medical leave and needed something to do with her hands. The couch hadn’t come until after Noctis returned, so her brother could have a place to hang out while she worked on her current tapestry.

Sola only asked once if Noctis was truly okay watching Sola work - weaving a tapestry isn’t the quickest process - instead of doing something else with Sola, but her brother had nodded and Sola had let it be. Noctis always brought something to do, a book or a game, or simply napped, and it didn’t take Sola long to realize Noctis just wanted some quiet time while in her presence.

It made her smile fondly when she figured it out. It was startlingly similar behavior to Abyssus.

“I didn’t at first,” Sola says once she’s made herself comfortable. This... is not going to be an easy conversation. Noctis lowers his phone, darkening the screen. “You’d just disappeared. Taking a Shield felt like giving up on you.” And there’s the familiar guilt welling up in Noctis’ magic. Nope, not right now. “There’s a reason the Council chambers needed a renovation, and it isn’t because Papa decided he disliked the decor. On an unrelated note, Lord Egestas hasn’t spoken to me since.”

She grins at Noctis’ hastily smothered snort. There’s a sharp swell of anger on her behalf, but it’s under the reluctant amusement so Sola will take it as a win. Distraction a success.

Sola isn’t a nice person and her humor reflects that; it’s vicious, vindictive, and at times crude. There are few things Noctis shares her amusement on, but Sola doesn’t mind. Her brother is so much kinder than Sola. Noctis truly sharing her sense of humor would mean he’d lost most of the kindness that makes him who he is. And that would break Sola’s heart.

Neither of them like Lord Egestas though. Which means Sola gets away with a lot more than Noctis would normally tolerate.

Now for the hard part. “‘A King needs his brothers.’”

“‘A Lucis Caelum needs their Retinue.’” Noctis finishes, amusement fading. Blue eyes turn distant, turn towards memory and Sola squeezes Noctis’ hand to keep him in the present.

Three years without his Retinue. Three years in the kind of hell that would shatter most people, without any anchors to ground himself.

Six, no wonder her brother had issues.

“Galahd calls it The Draconian’s Rage.” Sola says, closing her eyes against the ache in her chest as she recalls those days. This time, it’s Noctis who squeezes her hand, wrapping her in love-comfort-safety, I’m-here-I’m-here. “Without anyone to ground me... I lost it.”

Noctis closes his arms around her, tucking her against his side, and she still hasn’t wrapped her head around the fact that he’s taller than her now. But the comfort is more than the hurt of lost years. “How bad?”

“Aracheole isn’t there anymore.” Sola says dryly. She’s not going into the details. The details would only hurt.

Just as the details of Noctis’ horrors would only hurt her. Sola knows what she’s been told by Cor and Papa, and she’s inferred a few things from the changes in Noctis’ magic and behavior.

She doesn’t need to know more. She doesn’t want to know more. Not when there’s nothing she can do.

That Sola destroyed an entire stronghold to its foundations is enough for Noctis to get the picture. His arms tighten around her, magic shuddering in horror and dawning realization.

Sola shouldn’t have been able to blow a hole in Aracheole’s wall. For all her unique magical abilities, Sola has never had power.

Noctis isn’t the only one with more magic than he had before. Even if the sheer depth to his magic, that she can only ever glimpse when they’re alone and tangling their magic together in reassurance that they’re both there, makes Sola want to weep. Because Noctis’ magic is so much deeper than her new reserves and the thought of her little brother suffering through even more of that agony...

He never should have had to endure that.

“How far?” Noctis’s grip is bordering uncomfortable, clinging desperately to Sola and the warmth-reassurance Sola wraps around him like a blanket.

“The Wanderer.” Hundreds of years. It’s why she weaves so often. None of the kings and queens before her wove tapestries, never wove at all. It lets Sola distinguish her present from past memories, lets her box it away in the back of her mind.

Lets the flashbacks and nightmares be hers.

Noctis manages to suppress his flinch, but not the sharp sorrow and guilt that spikes through his magic. Sola pushes silent acceptance and reassurance at him. It was her choice to reach so far. And perhaps if Noctis hadn’t been missing, perhaps if he’d been safe back in Insomnia, perhaps then Sola would’ve stopped at the Oracle.

But Noctis wasn’t safe. And there’s very little Sola won’t do for her brother.

She doesn’t regret it in the slightest.

“When I woke, everyone let me know what they thought of that stunt.” Even Hestia Ostium, Libertus’ Chieftess, gave her a tongue-lashing over the grief Sola’s actions had inflicted on her then-boyfriend.

From the huff behind her, Noctis fully agrees with everyone’s actions.

Brat.

“I knew Axis was an Amicitia shortly after I met him.” Sola confesses. “But I didn’t want a Shield. He didn’t want to be a Shield. So we ignored it.”

“Until Aracheole.”

Sola hums in agreement. “Axis introduced me to his kids as Aunt Sola, and told me I wasn’t allowed to die on my new nieces and nephews. And that I was terrible at watching my own back so he was going to watch it for me. Then we bonded.”

Noctis blinks, skeptical. “Just like that?”

Sola huffs. “No. I had to be convinced taking a Shield did not mean I was giving up on you or resigning as your Sword. But the trust had been there for years. Nyx and Tredd and Luche too. Took all of three days to bond with everyone. Quickest Retinue ever assembled.”

Not counting the seven years before she bonded with her Retinue, but the history books don’t count that. Morons.

“And they’re all fine being bonded to a Lucian princess?” Noctis asks, bemused.

Sola smirks up at him. “Not Lucian, little brother.” She taps the four beads at the front of her Ostium Chief braids. The shifting green and purple Galahdite, the purple-black charoite, the blue pearl, and the golden yellow citrine. “As far as Galahd is concerned, I’m their Chief. Simple as that.”

Well, not quite that simple. But she doesn’t feel like rehashing the complicated mess of being Chief to another Chief, on top of sorting out how to allow her Retinue to remain in their own Clans instead of dragging them into the Ostium.

Ladon had suggested creating a new Clan, but Sola shot it down immediately. She likes being an Ostium. Sola proposed to her husband, and she’s not giving up his last name. And she didn’t want to force her Retinue to leave their Clans either.

They’d figured it out eventually. After a lot of yelling. And a fistfight. Or two. Sola refuses to count Hestia breaking Ladon’s nose. Even Tredd admitted Ladon deserved it.

Noctis considers this for a moment. “So long as you’re happy.” He decides.

“I am.”

[sprnklersplashes]

hey who wants some good old fashioned early s1!bellarke fic?

The dropship is cold at night.

Clarke keeps telling herself that’s why she can’t sleep. Not because every time she closes her eyes, all she sees is Wells, or her dad, or Charlotte. She wakes up because of the cold, not because she’s choking on words she never said, or because her eyes are too filled with tears to stay closed.

No, it’s just the cold.

In fairness, it is freezing in here. The Ark really should’ve given them more supplies, but then she remembers with a silent groan that they can’t. The whole reason they’re down here is because they were already stretched thin. That doesn’t make it fair, of course. At least they have machines to make more blankets up there, and workers to run them. Down here they just spread them out as fairly as they can and wait for their turn. Or steal them, in some cases.

She walks in a silent circle, mindful of the others dotted around her. She turns around on her sock-clad feet-her boots might keep her warm but they’re far too noisy for this time-and looks at them. Monty is spread across two seats, his hand hanging off the edge and his lips slightly parted, his hair falling past his forehead. Jasper is next to him, because where else would he be, tucked slightly awkwardly beside the chairs with his back against the wall, a blanket around him. They both look so young when they sleep. They are young, Clarke reminds herself, but now they’re not pretending to be older. They don’t have to be. In sleep, they look like they did on the Ark, before they were arrested. There’s something unfamiliar about them like this, and so she turns away.

Octavia is on this floor too, wrapped so carefully in a blanket that it could only be Bellamy’s work. She looks different in sleep too, far less angry than she is during the day. But somehow, still tense. Clarke’s observed that she’s a light sleeper, and it makes sense. She can’t imagine how she could have lived like that for so long, her own existence deemed a threat.  Bellamy may be an ass most of the time, but she can’t blame him for being so protective over her.

Hang on she thinks. Where is Bellamy? Not that she cares, but he was in here when she fell asleep. Just before she nodded off she saw him, whispering something to Octavia, who was half asleep already. She turns again, her eyes better adjusted to the near-darkness, but she doesn’t find him.

She shakes her head and hopes he’s not off doing something stupid. She has enough to worry about without chasing after him.

She pulls her jacket tighter around herself and watches as her breath appears in white smoke in front of her face. Seriously, would it have killed them to add a heater or something? A second layer of insulation? More blankets? Warmer clothes? Anything. Sure, they probably didn’t have much time to plan, and they didn’t know what climate they’d be in, but still. It would’ve been nice to cover all their bases.

She tilts her chin up, her fingers straying to her bare wrist. She probably shouldn’t, but her mind turns up to the Ark, to her mother, who thinks she is dead because she wanted to spite her. Was she ever this spiteful before? Ever in her life, had she gone out of her way to hurt someone the way she has. She doesn’t know. Maybe she’s changing. Maybe the ground brings out the worst in them.

She shivers, and this time it’s not from the cold.

“Morning, Princess.” She nearly jumps ten feet, her hands raised instinctively to fight. Funny how quickly habits have been built into their bodies. Bellamy raises an eyebrow, amused, clearly, his lips curled into a smirk.

He may not be a grounder, but maybe she’ll smack him just for this.

“Is it morning?” she asks instead. Bellamy shakes his head.

“I checked out one of the windows. Still pretty dark out,” he replies. “I’d say we have a couple of hours yet.” She nods and ducks her head as he eyes her curiously. Her first impulse is to storm out and find somewhere else to sleep, but she stays behind, feet rooted to the ground. His eyes stay on her, even if he pretends they don’t.

At least she’s not cold anymore, thanks to the hot flush on her face.

“So what are you doing up?” he asks eventually. He takes a step closer, not invading her space but not staying away either. “Couldn’t sleep?”

She shakes her head. It’s not his business, but there’s no reason to lie. She has a feeling she couldn’t lie to him, not with that sharp mind of his. Or the way he seems to see right through her.

“What about you?” she asks. “Do you regularly walk around the dropship at night, or is this a new habit?”

He laughs at that, soft and quiet. Different from how he usually is. Her curiosity is piqued, even if it’s just slightly.

“Only on nice nights,” he replies, and now it’s her turn to laugh.

They fall quiet again, listening, or at least pretending to listen, to the sound of their friends soft snores. It’s strange, living without the constant rumble of engines in the background, or the casual humming of lights and generators that used to lull her to sleep. Quiet means something new on the ground.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watches as his gaze moves to Octavia again. She sees the way his jaw clenches protectively, but also how his face softens, how his eyes fill with affection at the sight of her. It’s amazing, this fierce kind of love she sees in him, reserved for her and her only.

When she first heard about Octavia and her arrest, of course she was shocked. Who wouldn’t be; a family hiding another person in their unit was unthinkable. But she was curious too. In almost a century, no-one had known the kind of bond that siblings share. Not until them. They were unique on the Ark, just as they’re unique on the ground.

“We should try to sleep too,” he tells her. He looks back at her, and the mask is quickly restored. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

“We always have a long day,” she says. “Sometimes I wonder if we’ll ever stop.”

She doesn’t mean to say that part out loud. Her breath hitches, but when she raises her eyes to meet his, she only finds understanding.

“We will, Princess” he tells her, his voice both soft and firm. “We will. One day you’ll be sitting out on a deck chair with a drink in one hand and book in the other and you’ll be laughing about all this.”

She doesn’t think she’ll ever laugh about this, but she smiles all the same. It’s a nice thought.

“And you’ll be there too?”

His smile fades then, the bravado slipping away. Twice this has happened now, and both times it’s drawn her in. Like a loose thread on a sweater that she’s desperate to pull at. To unravel him until she gets to his core.

“Maybe,” he says, but there’s no conviction there. “For now let’s just get some sleep.”

He turns away from her, his clothes blending with the darkness surrounding them, making it hard to tell where he ends or begins, and settles himself against the wall. He leans back and closes his eyes, only to open them moments later.

“You going to stand there all night?” he asks her. “Or are you one of those people who can sleep standing up.”

A sarcastic remark dies on her lips and she crosses over, settling herself a little bit away from him. It would only take extending her arm to touch him, and the thought shouldn’t comfort her as much as it does.

Maybe she’s just lonely, she thinks to herself. She’s never alone. not with 99 kids asking her anything and everything, and certainly not with Finn hovering around her almost all the time. And there’s always something that needs doing, something that occupies her time. But lonely? That’s something she knows. The boy who was her closest confidant is dead in the ground, buried under mounds of dirt, and she spent the little time they had together hating him.

Oh God, the time she wasted.

“Clarke?” Bellamy’s voice snaps her back to reality, his eyes wide when she turns to look at him. He’s pushed himself up the wall and into a half crouching position, one hand ready to reach out to her. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she says. She wipes at her face and buries herself in her jacket, her arms wrapped around herself. “It’s freezing in here, aren’t you cold?”

He hums in agreement. Even when she turns her head away, she feels his eyes on her.

“Come here.” The command catches her off guard, so much so that she’s convinced she imagined it. Until she looks up at him and finds his eyebrow raised and he’s once again sitting, but shifted to welcome an extra body. “Come here.”

“What?” is all she can ask.

“Come on, I know you’re smart, Princess,” he tells her. “Body heat and all that.” He shrugs, playing it off like it’s nothing. Maybe that’s what it is. Nothing. “We can keep each other warm.”

She feels like she should roll her eyes, reply with a quip about how not even in his wildest dreams, but she can’t. Maybe it’s the lateness of the hour, or the fatigue and cold creeping up on her, or the lack of an audience. But she can’t, and she doesn’t even try.

“Just for tonight,” she tells him.

“Just for tonight.”

She shouldn’t be wanting this. She can take care of herself, always could. And besides, he isn’t her friend. He’s done little more than antagonise her and risk lives and be an asshole since they got here. He’s made it his life’s mission to make her life more difficult. He’s selfish, and a dick, and the last person she should ever want to be with.

But he’s sitting there and she’s freezing and the way he’s looking at her is doing something to her. She’s not sure if it’s something good or something bad. It’s just something.

So she settles herself down beside him and ignores the way her heart skips a beat when his leg brushes against hers. Her position is awkward at first, the two of them struggling to get comfortable. The dropship isn’t meant for comfort. But his body is and when she rests her head on his shoulder, he doesn’t complain. And she doesn’t when he takes off his jacket and pulls it over the both of them, his arm around her waist. They’re both too tired and too cold to, and there are more important things to waste their energy on.

Doesn’t mean it doesn’t scare her, being this close to him. Not in that way. Not scared of him, just of the proximity to him. Feeling his breath tickling her ear, or her legs slipped in between his. Or his heartbeat, steady and strong against her side. Doesn’t mean that this doesn’t confuse or scare her, this feeling of complete serenity washing over her. Only means that there are things to do, people to lead and she can only do so much.

Besides, serenity is hard to come by on the ground.

“Don’t think this means anything,” he says, his voice murmured. There’s the Bellamy she knows. “Like I said. Just for tonight.”

And despite herself, she smiles.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she replies, but he’s already asleep.

                                                                                                               ******

She wakes later than usual in the morning, the sun already beaming through the dropship door and dragging her out of sleep. She groans and buries her face in her knees, for a moment forgetting herself and make believing she’s back at home, ignoring her mother’s morning greetings. But her instincts and the Earth’s sunlight are stronger even than Abby Griffin, and her eyes drag open of their own accord. And when they do, she finds the dropship empty, save for Jasper, who she believes could sleep through anything. She shakes her head fondly and pushes herself up, despite her body’s protests. Her arms and legs twinge and her back creaks like the ship’s escape hatch. She’s had her fair share of nights spent on the floor and yet the waking up never gets easier.

There’s a noticeable lack of a body beside her. He must have gotten up before, and a few seconds spent listening confirms her suspicions. He’s outside already, barking orders in that unmistakable voice of his. He carries so much authority in his words, when he wants to. No wonder he was training to be a guard. She considers going out and joining him, or more accurately taking over, but something in her holds back. He’s got it covered, and baring a grounder invasion in the next five minutes, she has time to wake up properly. Besides, he can’t do that much damage this early in the morning.

He must have slipped out quietly enough, she thinks. And carefully, because she didn’t feel a thing. If it weren’t for the heavy guard’s jacket carefully wrapped around her body, she’d have thought last night was a dream.

But it wasn’t. She didn’t dream at all last night. For the first time in far too long, she had slept soundly.

And who’d have seen that coming?

[creativenostalgiastuff]

Butterflies

Summary: Virgil made Roman promise that he wouldn’t fall for him. Virgil never made the same promise. And as they get ready for the High School Theater Awards, Virgil is left not quite sure what he thinks. Pairings: Prinxiety Warnings: homophobia mention, theater mentions, falling mention, stress, worry, awards, kissing, flowers Word Count: 5853 Author’s Note: I was watching Phineas and Ferb and Isabella says a line that was my springboard for this story. It takes place after Locked and before Last Words. I guess it's kind of forming its own Prinxiety Human AU because I keep adding more to this set up. Anyway, again this can be read as part of that or separately. Up to you. Just lots of feelings that were fun to explore. 

Virgil lays on the stage, a foot dangling over the side as he places his head down on his knee, waiting, amongst the confetti scattered across the floor. The lights are up in full, the castle backdrop that had been used in at least twenty different productions before this one swaying slightly in the breeze from the open backstage door. 

He closes his eyes, listening to the commotion in the vestibule outside of the theater. All of the families, friends, teachers, and other students gushing over the cast of the show, congratulating them for their performances and hard work. It will still be a bit before the cast comes in to turn in their mics, not that Virgil minds. He knows his family isn’t out there (he didn’t tell them when the show was… or even that he was in another show) and he doesn’t like crowds anyway. He is happy to just sit there and calm down from the show hype.

Virgil takes a deep breath, shakily letting it out as he looks around the theater. Admittedly, Virgil can’t quite figure out why his chest feels so tight. Maybe it has something to do with the release of all the pent up stress from his role as Prop Master. Running backstage had been stressful enough when he wasn’t in a leadership role, but lord help him when it came to being put in charge of the props. 

Or, maybe, it had something to do with the impending high school theater awards nominations. The student critics had been attending the show all weekend. Their reviews would come out by Wednesday, nominations for awards announced Friday, and then two weeks until the Gala where the winners would be announced.

“Oh, Virgil!” a sing-song voice rings as the door to the theater opens. “You have visitors!”

Virgil smiles as his eyes find his friends. Patton skips down the center aisle towards him, a flower tucked behind his ear, probably from a cast member’s bouquet. 

“It really was a great show,” says Patton, his grin large and genuine. “And you did a great job backstage! Everyone is talking about it. Best Junior Senior show in the history of the program! I can’t wait to take a turn at it next year with you guys!”

“It is regrettable that we were not able to participate in this show,” Logan nods. “You designed a fantastic, functional carriage and your props organization system was highly regarded by both the cast and crew.”

Virgil laughs dismissively as he stuffs his hands into his hoodie’s pocket, “Right. System. Or, you know, excessively fussing over items to the point of annoying the cast into submission.”

“You did well, Virge,” Patton reassures. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you get a nomination.”

 “Yeah, nominations,” Virgil blinks as he thinks about the upcoming city awards for the different high school theater programs. Cinderella was the last show before nominations were announced. “I don’t know. It's a talented city.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Patton encourages. “Go to the cast party and just relax. What’s done is done.”

Before Virgil can respond, the doors open and a blob of bright, glittering blue fabric fills the doorway. An arm emerges from the blob followed by the torso of a girl shouting, “Ay, yo, Prince! Push me through!”

“Dude, I’m trying. Your hoop is stuck!”

Virgil sprints up to the stuck Cinderella, “Woah, wait, stop! That hoop is a rental! Alana, back up, fold the hoop and then come through.”

Alana does as directed and gets through the doorway easily this time, “Yeah, I think the costume department would cry if I tore this dress. How many hours did it take?”

“It was a semester project for Talyn, so more than you want to know,” Roman answers as he follows his princess through the door, straightening the golden crown on his head. Virgil can’t help but notice the confidence that was almost glowing around this Prince: his posture straight and tall, a smile that could stop traffic, a sparkle in his eye that made them seem bright and full.  Snapchat wished it could make a filter to make people look like Roman did after a great performance, thought Virgil as he took in the sight of his friend.

“Virgil?”

Virgil shook his head, snapping back to reality, “Sorry, yeah?”

Alana turned around and pointed at the battery pack hidden on the hip pocket at the back of the dress (did Virgil say how amazing the dress design was for student work?), “Take my mic? I need to get out of this monstrosity.”

“Right,” Virgil says as he helps Alana get out of her mic, trying to ignore Roman; a task which was getting harder for Virgil as their friendship grew. Roman was such a big personality he seemed to demand attention. That meant that the more time Virgil spent with him, the more attention Roman took.

“Roman, Alana!” Patton calls as he bounces up and wraps the two leads in a big bear hug, “I am so proud of you two! That was such a good show!”

Virgil  finally untangles Alana, “You’re good to go.”

“Thanks,” she responds as she turns to face the group, “And thanks, Patton. It was a good last run. Only thing that would make it better is if we can at least get a nomination my senior year. It’d be nice to leave a legacy.”

“What is a legacy?” Roman immediately starts asking, striking dramatic poses. “Its leaving seeds in a garden you never get to see.”

“Come here, Mr. Legacy,” Virgil quips back with a roll of his eyes. “Before you pull a wire with your dramatics.”

“And I’m going to get out of this,” Alana says as she grabs as much of her dress as she can. 

“Need help with doors?” Patton asks, already headed towards the door. 

“That’d be great,” answers the princess. “Logan, can you help grab more of this?”

“Yes ma’am,” responds Logan as Alana hands him an armful of dress. “How did you do this for the production?”

“Mice,” Alana answers flatly as she picks up more dress. She takes a moment to pointedly make eye contact with Virgil, as if trying to send a secret message. Whatever the message is, Virgil doesn’t catch it, but it does make his ears red as the three of them maneuver her out of the theater and down to the green room to change. 

Virgil returns his attention to getting the mic off of Roman. The costume strategically hides his mic pack in his red sash, the wire running along it up to his shoulder before it blends into his hair. Easy enough to free. Without a word, Virgil gets to work fishing it out of the sash as his friend works to free himself from the mic in his hair.

They are friends, right? After the events in the locked choir room, Virgil doesn’t really know what is happening as far as their relationship, if you want to call it that, is concerned.There was a time where Virgil couldn’t stand the sight of Roman Prince. But things change. Roman has been true to his word, not telling anyone about Virgil being gay. They are fine doing things without Logan and Patton with them, which hadn’t always been true.  

Throughout the run of the show, Roman had gone out of his way to ensure that Virgil was included when the cast and crew did things; extending invites and offering rides. And Virgil realized he didn’t mind the large social gatherings with Roman. Something about Roman was almost calming, reassuring in those situations. Virgil almost found himself waiting for the next party, just so that he could hang out with Roman when he was in his element as Mr. Popular. Wanting to spend time with friends was normal, right?

“So, Virge,” Roman asks quietly, pulling Virgil from his thoughts, “you are coming to the cast party with me, aren’t you?”

“Uh…” Virgil begins, stuttering. With me?

“I mean, I’m taking Logan and Patton in my car, so it just makes sense you’d come too,” Roman explains as he hands the mic over his shoulder to Virgil, his words fast. “Sorry, I shouldn’t assume you’re going. It’s totally up to you. Just, you know, you always have a seat in my car if you want it. ”

It takes Virgil a moment to steady his voice, aiming for his signature indifference,  as he takes the mic and checks the battery is turned off, “Sure.”

“Perfect!” Roman turns, a smile beaming before he starts walking towards the door. “Give me five to change and then we’ll head out!”

Virgil  waits until the door to the theater clicks before he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He takes a steadying breath as he heads towards the sound booth, his face burning up and heart fluttering. 

~:-:~

Virgil sits in his last period class, his leg bouncing as he watches the second hand on the clock make its rounds, counting down the minutes. Why does the last period on the last day of the week always feel like the longest? He knows he isn't the only one anxious for once. 

The whole Cinderella cast had been a mess since Wednesday when they got their reviews from the student critics. They had been overwhelmingly positive, showering them with praise for everything from their costume design to their ensemble to their leads. Virgil found it hard to stay realistic, getting swept up in the hope of his fellow cast and crew. The energy had been undeniably infectious and Roman was definitely the patient zero of the group. As soon as that bell rang, the whole theater department would take off running to check the board. 

“They do realize the stampede of students will be worse than when they post the cast lists, right?” Logan inquires to Virgil, turning in his seat to face him. 

Virgil shrugs, chewing absently on his thumb nail, “Will that stop us from doing it?”

“No, I would think not,” Logan smirks as he turns back and folds his hands on his desk. Virgil rolls his eyes at Logan’s quiet patience. 

“What are the odds we get nominated again?” asks Virgil, leaning forward so that he could talk softly to Logan’s ear. 

“As I have told you, it depends on the category,” answers Logan while still facing front, his hands folded on the desk. “North Valley had a well recieved My Fair Lady, Mount Battenhorn’s stage for Les Mis was all anyone wanted to talk about in the forums for months.”

“Right, right,” sighs the emo as he sits back in his seat. His eyes flit back to the clock and the remaining few minutes before they would be dismissed. His class was about as far from the theater as he could get. Virgil would have to push upstream of the students if he wanted to check the board. Fast, too, if he wants to catch his bus. 

Virgil can’t help the burning question from bubbling out, “But like, what are the chances that Roman…” 

“Roman will get nominated?,” Logan finishes the question in unison with Virgil. He sighs as he pushes his glasses up his nose. “As I have told you the last three times you have asked in this class alone, I am optimistic of Roman’s chances. As I am sure you would agree based on your personal experience, he makes a very convincing Prince Charming. ”

Virgil stops, not quite sure what Logan is trying to insinuate. Was that referring to Virgil’s experience of Roman as an actor, a friend, or something else? 

“Excuse me,” a voice comes over the PA system, cutting off Virgil from retorting. “Teachers, please command a presence in your classroom.”

There is a pause before the voice continues, “As many of you are aware, our theater department just wrapped up the Junior Senior show last weekend, Cinderella. Ms. Martin, the director, is here with some big announcements.” 

“Well this is unprecedented,” comments Logan, loud enough for Virgil to hear. Virgil can feel his pulse skyrocket, adrenaline flooding the system. This can only mean something big. They wouldn’t announce publicly no nominations, right?

“Thank you, Principal Arthur,” the director’s high soprano voice said. “I am here to happily announce that this year’s show set a new school record for nominations, with a total of four nominations!”

“What?!” 

“We have nominations in best costumes, best supporting actor in a musical lead actress in a musical, and best musical!” Ms. Martin rattled off quickly, her voice getting squeakier with each word. “The awards will be given out at the Gala in two weeks. Congrats to everyone on a job well done. Oh, and I need to meet with you all in the theater immediately. Thanks and congrats!”

Virgil doesn't remember standing up. All he knows is that he is looking down at Logan, still sitting in front of him with a smirk, “I guess the odds of nominations were pretty good.”

“We were nominated.” Virgil states, not quite sure he can believe the words coming out of his own mouth. 

The teacher motions towards the door, “I believe your presence was requested in the theater, Virgil?”

“Right,” Virgil says as he picks up his backpack and hurries out the door.  When he gets to the doorway, he sees fellow cast and crew members in the hallway, running and jumping, whooping with excitement. Virgil can’t tell if he wants to join in for a moment as he takes in what they said. The cast is nominated. Roman is nominated. 

Roman. God, he would be so excited.  

A cast member runs past him, “Come on, Virge! They’re waiting!”

Virgil takes off after the rest of the cast, joining in the growing group of theater kids as they get closer to the theater. 

Once in the theater, he follows his fellow techies to the back of the theater as the cast fills the stage, just as they always did for full rehearsals. The whole room is loud with whoops of excitement and genuine joy. Someone hits the lights for the house, leaving the lights for the stage on from the drama class that had just been in there before the cast had taken over. 

“Can I get a mic?” the director yells from the stage, hardly audible over the excitement. She’s a short woman, blending in easily to the small ocean of high school students. One of the sound kids finds a mic and runs it up to her. “Thanks, is this thing on?” the director asks.

“Someone get the spotlight!” shouts one of the actors. 

“I’ll get it,” Virgil yells back. He honestly had missed being in the lighting booth for this show, having gotten his start in the technical side as a spotter. Quickly, Virgil scrambles up the ladder to the lighting booth tower. It takes him a second to turn the nob on the light to turn it on, his hands shaking from the excitement. Finally he gets it, turning on the spotlight and hitting the director. 

“Ah, thank you,” the director calls. “Okay, quiet down. I know we’re excited, but I have a few things we need to cover before dismissal.”

The chattering continues until a “Quiet on stage!” is barked by a familiar voice with a demanding presence. Virgil’s eyes follow to the sound of the voice over the others and smiles at Roman. The cast quiets down at the request of their Prince. 

“Thank you,” Ms. Martin says. “First of all, congratulations to everyone for everything you have done. We wouldn’t have gotten the Best Musical nomination without each and every one of you.

“As you are aware, the Gala is in two weeks. We have been asked to perform a song from the musical at the Gala. I would like to suggest we honor our fabulous leads by going with ‘Do I Love You’. Any objections?”

There’s silence before someone yells, “Give it up for our Prince and Princess, both nominated in their category!”

Virgil finds Alana in the crowd as people turn towards her and hits her with the spotlight quickly while flipping the other one on and spotting Roman too. Both of them laugh as they try to block the light to see who is spotting them.

“Let’s not forget our behind the scene’s nominations too,” Alana calls, finally giving up trying to see Virgil on the spot. “Talyn for that beautiful blue mammoth of a dress, as well as the rest of the costume department!”

Virgil finds Talyn in the group to spot them too and swinging the light from Alana to Talyn. 

“And to our beautiful director for all of her hard work,” Roman shouts as the kids break into applause and cheers. Virgil swings Roman’s spot back to Ms. Martin who has tears in her eyes. “We wouldn’t have set the school record without her!”

A student starts blasting music through the sound system to the cheers of everyone in the theater. Virgil takes a deep breath as he watches the stage, all of the students are hugging one another and dancing in celebration. The room truly feels electric. Virgil can[t help but watch Roman as he make his way through the entire stage, congratulating everyone, before jumping off the stage and making his way to the tech crew, continuing the celebration with them. A few of the other cast members follow him, with a few techies climbing on the stage until it was just one sea of celebration. Virgil is happy to watch from his place on the tower, feeling part of the joy while being comfortably separated. He never wants this moment to end. 

The bell rings, causing all of the students to scramble to find their discarded bags. Virgil watches, mesmerized by the movement below him.

“Okay, Alana and Roman, I need to see you first thing Monday so we can set a schedule to rehearse before the Gala,” Ms. Martin shouts into the mic and the students start to rush for the door. “Great job, everyone! I’ll let you know more details as I get them. Thanks and have a great weekend!”

Virgil sighs, resigning himself to miss the bus after seeing the rush for the door. He needs a minute to calm his shaking hands and falling from scaffolding was not something he plans to do. He sits on the ledge, swinging his legs and waving to the other techies as they head out of the theater. 

Ms. Martin points at him from her spot on the stage, “Virgil, aren’t you going to miss the bus?”

“Yes, ma’am, but its okay,” he waves to her. “I just need a minute to wrap my head around it all, if that’s okay.”

“Well don’t take too long,” she calls back, her eyes drifting to the bottom of the tower where the sound equipment was kept. “I’ll be in my office doing paperwork. Holler if you need me?”

Virgil nods and watches her exit the stage. He takes a deep breath, continuing to swing his legs back and forth. The adrenaline in his system was finally starting to calm back to what Virgil would consider an acceptable level now that the others had left. Virgil pulls out his phone and checks the time. He curses under his breath when he does the math in his head; if he leaves now he might walk in before his parents. Maybe. 

It's not that his parents are bad. They just don’t get Virgil, you know? They are always fighting over really dumb things, like his hoodie or his hair or why he wasn’t dating. After his coming out to Roman, Virgil just didn’t want to deal with questions his parents might ask. He could never tell them that he was gay. 

Virgil rubs his eyes, telling himself to stop sitting here thinking and go home. He gets up on the platform and quickly hits a few buttons to turn back on the lights to the house and the stage lights out. He scrambles down the ladder when an unexpected voice says, “Hey, Virge.” 

Startled, Virgil’s feet slip and he falls, “Shit!” He feels his body tense as he readies himself for the inevitable contact with the ground.

Instead, he is surprised again by a pair of arms catching him from the fall. 

“I guess the promise was that I wouldn’t fall for you, not the other way around,” Roman’s amused voice came. Virgil feels his heart skip a beat having nothing to do with the fall he just experienced. 

He opens his eyes and lets out a laugh of relief, “Roman, warn a guy next time, will ya?”

Roman winces at Virgil’s point, “Sorry. Still excited I guess.”

“Yeah, the cast did great,” Virgil responds as he places his feet on the floor. “Best Musical and all. I’m sure it wouldn’t have happened without you and Alana getting your own nominations.”

“That’s kind, but it was a group effort,” adds Roman as he helps Virgil get steady on his feet. 

“I’m sorry,” Virgil teases, “But is the great Roman being humble? I never thought I would see the day.” 

“You wound me, sir,” Roman retorts, bumping Virgil with his shoulder. “I’ll have you know, humility is the least of my many redeeming qualities.”

“Oh, right, my apologies,” Virgil laughs as he rubs the back of his neck, “I forgot who I was talking to.” 

Roman picks up Virgil’s backpack from where he had unceremoniously thrown it on the ground, dusting it off, “I wanted to ask, some of us were going to go get ice cream to celebrate. Logan and Patton are coming.”

“Oh,” Virgil responds. As soon as he says it, he wants to smack himself in the face. Really? All of that clever banter and now all you have is oh?

Roman extends his hand to Virgil, still holding the backpack in the other hand, “You up for it, or do you need to get home?”

Virgil swallows hard, trying to ignore the somersaults his stomach was doing, as he takes the offered hand. The simple touch is like flipping the switch in his head that made him worry and panic. For Roman, he has all the time in the world. 

“Yeah, ice cream sounds nice.”  

“Sweet,” Roman slings the backpack on his own shoulder, keeping a hold of Virgil’s hand. 

~:-:~

Virgil stands backstage at the High School Theater Awards Gala, fidgeting with the sleeves on his borrowed-from-the-costume-department metallic purple jacket. Talyn had insisted he wear it due to how it matched his purple Converse he had insisted on wearing. He didn’t mind the look it gave him with his black dress pants and button down shirt, only it was a bit impractical given his task of helping Alana manage the blue sparkling dress that had earned the nomination. He wasn’t sure why it was him helping and not one of the other techies who had the job during the show, but he didn’t ask questions.

On stage they are announcing another award, a technical award. The school had won for best costume already, thanks to Talyn’s beautiful and practical designs. They had taken everything into account, such as Alana’s nervous fidgeting with the beading on the dress, a habit she often showed backstage as she prepared for this section of the show. The costume department had reinforced the beading to allow her to fuss without breaking it. 

Virgil checks on the single flower he had placed in his pocket earlier, ensuring it is still okay. His breath catches at the sight of the red petals against the black lining of the jacket. He swallows hard and closes the jacket, nodding to himself. Now is not the time to think of that. Roman would win his award. He returns his attention to Alana, walking up to her spot in the wings.  

Virgil bites at his thumb as he looks across the stage from his current place. In the other wing Roman sits on a box, staring at the floor, blankly. His body reads as tense, folded up on itself more than Virgil is used to from the man. 

Roman had been acting weird the few days leading up to the Gala. He was more argumentative, more withdrawn, and refused to listen to reason. He insisted on using all of his free time and energy to work and rework the song for the Gala, ignoring their pleas for him to take care of himself. They had all tried to distract him by watching Disney movies or playing board games. Patton had baked cookies and brought him food whenever he refused to stop working. Logan had made a schedule to help Roman optimize his time to take care of himself. 

Virgil, admittedly, didn’t really know what to do. He had spent most of his time just sitting with Roman as he worked through the song, not saying much except the occasional reassurance that Roman knew what he was doing. Virgil wanted to do more, but he just didn’t understand. The performance had nothing to do with who won the award. This performance was supposed to be for fun.

Yet Virgil is nervous too, isn’t he? Maybe because he was worried of what would happen if Roman lost the award. Or maybe for other reasons. Now wasn’t the time to worry about it. 

He looks at Alana, acknowledging her own anxious energy as she messes with the reinforced beads, “You okay? You know you already won, right?”

Earlier they had announced her win.  She had been crying in relief and excitement as they had been getting set up for the performance, but now she clearly seems on edge. All that was left out of their nominations were Roman for Best Supporting Actor in a Musical and Best musical.

“I just don’t want to let anyone down,” Alana admits. She turns slightly to look at him without moving the dress, “Yeah. Can you do me a favor though, before I go on?”

“Yeah, what is it?”

She nods across the stage, “Go calm him down. He’s making me nervous looking that pale.”

Virgil snorts, “You say that like I haven’t been trying to all week. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Go talk to him?”

“You think I’m your best bet for talking?”

“Just try. You always have an effect on him. I think he needs you right now.”

Pushing the knot in his stomach down, Virgil agrees he has to try, “Alright. Just don’t move until you step on that stage, got it?”

Alana nods again, so Virgil slips around the backstage, avoiding all of the moving people and props, until he ends up behind Roman. Virgil stops and tries to think of something to make Roman laugh. He could just say hi, but that could scare the guy if he wasn’t careful. 

He could say what he was thinking: that he would never get tired of Roman in the Prince costume. That Roman had nothing to worry about. That he would make them all understand why he was nominated in the first place. That everyone was so proud of him, that Virgil was so proud of him. That he was glad they got locked in that choir room. That he was glad they were friends. That he, maybe, wanted… No, it wasn’t time to worry about the gift in his pocket and the words he might  end up saying. 

Virgil takes a deep breath before choosing his words, “I was going to say something clever, but honestly I got nothing.”

Roman keeps staring absently at the floor, “Hey, Virge.”

A stagehand passes them, placing a hand on Roman’s shoulder as he does so, “Two minutes, your highness.”

“Thank you two,” Roman mumbles as he stands up. 

“I’m here, Ro. What do you need?” Virgil asks in a rush, wanting to help before it is too late.

Roman’s head snaps up to look at Virgil and the use of the nickname. Virgil swallows the lump in his throat as he realizes he had never actually said that name before, only sending it in group messages with Logan and Patton before. He isn’t sure if its okay or not with Roman.

Roman gives a small smile, “Honestly? You won’t hate me?”

“Not possible,” answers Virgil as he crouches down so that he can be eye level with Roman. “Whatever it is, I got it, promise.”

“Just… hold my hand?” asks the Prince in a small voice. 

Virgil takes Roman’s hands in his own, his heart hammering hard inside him. He looks over the actor, not saying anything as Roman holds on and closes his eyes. Virgil can’t help but watch in awe as Roman takes deep breaths, seemingly breathing in confidence with each breath. 

“One minute,” the stage hand comes back and informs them. “Mic is going live now.”

Roman stands, nodding, pulling Virgil with him, still holding his hand while he takes his position in the wing. Virgil can’t help but notice the almost electric feeling in his hand in Roman’s. He’d be lying if he didn’t say it was intoxicating, standing in the wings next to  Roman Prince about to go on stage. 

The music comes in under the MCs voices, helping to set the tone for the love song. Roman gives a final squeeze to Virgil’s hand before he lifts it up and kisses it softly, causing Virgil’s brain to go crazy with bells and alarms. Virgil reaches up and straightens the crown on Roman’s head before giving him the thumbs up and a smile. 

Roman and Alana enter the stage and sing the song, “Do I Love You Because You’re Beautiful” like they were born singing it. They hit all of the notes, the staging is natural, and they both look absolutely stunning. Virgil just watches from his place in the wings, like he had every time the song was done for their show. He just adores how Roman sings the song, so full of meaning and emotion. He would never admit it, but it was his favorite moment in the whole show. He ignores the lump in his throat that forms when he realises its the last time he will watch them perform this song together. 

They end the song to the roar of applause at the kiss. Roman and Alana take their bows before Roman escorts his princess off stage towards Virgil. The two of them are beaming, knowing that they nailed it. Virgil can’t help but beam with pride for the two of them. 

Not saying anything, Roman lets go of Alana’s hand and takes Virgil’s. He doesn’t stop as he pulls Virgil through the crowded backstage, taking his mic and handing it to the techie waiting for it without breaking stride. 

“Roman?” Virgil finally asks when he finds his voice. “Where are we going?”

“Need some air,” Roman answers breathlessly as he pushes on a door marked with an exit sign. “Come on.”

“Wait,” Virgil says as he stops. He takes off his shoe and places it in the doorway, preventing the door from closing completely behind them. “We don’t want to get locked out.”

Roman nods and walks a few steps away from the building into the alleyway, letting go of Virgil’s hand, “You’re always looking out for us.”

Virgil leans against the brick wall as he watches Roman pace in the alley, just trying to catch his breath and calm himself down. Roman’s hands are on his hips as he walks the nervous energy out, causing Virgil to grin before saying, “You did it, Roman. You guys killed it.”

Roman shakes his head, a smile spreading across his face, “Yeah? You think so?”

“Obviously,” Virgil adds as he crosses his arms to try and stop them from shaking. “They’d be crazy to not have you win your category. Anyone with eyes can see you deserve it.”

“That… means a lot, coming from you,” admits Roman. 

“Uh, I’ve been trying to tell you that all week!”

Roman laughs as he approaches Virgil, staying on the bottom stair,  “Well, you know, I never do listen.”

“Oh, I’m well aware.”

“Hey, Prince!” Alana’s voice comes as she leans her head out the doorway, working to put her earrings back in her ears. “Get your butt back in here. They’re getting ready to announce your category.” 

“Coming,” Roman responds as Alana disappears back inside. Virgil grabs Roman’s hand as he starts to pass, “Ro, wait, I almost forgot.” He pulls out the single rose from his inside coat pocket and extends it to Roman, his hand shaking. “For good luck, not that you need it.”

Roman takes another step towards him, “You shouldn’t have. I didn’t get you anything.”

Before Virgil can say anything, Roman kisses Virgil softly, gently, yet electrifying. Virgil is caught off guard and tense for a moment before he relaxes into the embrace, closing his eyes and accepting the moment. 

“Roman!” barks Alana. 

Roman pulls back, causing Virgil to come back to reality, at the separation. “I’m sorry. I…” Roman mutters as he hurries past Virgil and heads inside before Virgil can say anything.  

Virgil stands there, stunned for a moment as he tries to process what just happened. Roman Prince had just kissed him. And Virgil had wanted it to keep going. It's the most alive Virgil remembers feeling. He hears a commotion inside the theater and snaps back to reality. Roman. 

Virgil grabs his shoe and heads into the theater, and hears the MC read all the nominees in Roman’s category. He starts running, sliding into the wing as they read off, “And the winner for Best Supporting Actor in a Musical goes to Roman Prince.”

Roman walks on stage, radiating at the announcement, waving to the crowd. Virgil knows Roman needs the validation from others when it comes to his creative work. And now he had it. Virgil joined the cheering as tears started filling his eyes. He can’t help the pride welling up inside of him for his friend. 

Roman accepts the trophy and waves it in the air, signing thank you to the audience as the MCs start ushering him back towards the wings to keep the show going. Virgil isn’t thinking, he just starts moving towards Roman coming off stage. His Prince’s eyes find him, tears of joy shimmering, as Virgil offers him a hand and pulls him further off stage and out of the way.

 “Virgil, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have...”

Virgil leans in and kisses Roman to stop him from talking. Virgil is gentle, but pushes all of the things he hasn’t said to Roman into it. All of the longing, the pining, the quiet hoping. Roman melts into him, wrapping an arm around him to pull them closer together. Virgil pulls back and wipes away a tear that had fallen down Roman’s cheek with a soft smile.  “Butterflies,” he says in response to Roman’s statement earlier. “You give me butterflies. Always.” 

[marveloussupernerd]

Happy New Year - Yoosung

Happy new year everyone! Hope this year you and your loved ones are happy and healthy. And hopefully we can find 3D people to fall in love w too!

Summary: you’ve had a crush on Yoosung for way too long. Maybe you’ll make your move tonight when it hits midnight? Maybe...

“Hi Princess!” Zen greeted you, lifting you up into a big hug. “Can you believe it’s almost the new year?”

“Honestly I can’t. This year went by so fast!”

He set you down. “I can’t believe you only joined the RFA this year.”

“I know right?” You pulled slightly on the sleeves of your shirt. “It feels like I’ve known you all my whole life.”

“How about this year we do more parties? Or hangouts in general. I don’t like that we’ve only gotten to hang out a handful of times this year,” he pouted.

You rolled your eyes. “Of course!” You began to walk into the event. “Is everyone here already?”

“Yup!” He lead you through the main entrance. “Yoosung keeps looking up at the door. I think he’s been waiting for you.”

“I highly doubt it,” you told yourself more than him. “I’m sure he’s just excited to meet the LOLOL guest I invited.”

Your eyes locked with Yoosung’s and he rushed over. “Sure, Yeah right,” Zen teased.

Yoosung pulled you into a hug. “Happy New Year! Well, almost. I was wondering when you’d show up.”

“Oh! Well I’m here now. You look nice,” you complimented, eyes glancing over his navy suit. It was well-fitted to his body. Jumin must’ve made an investment in him.

“I’ll get us some drinks,” Zen offered, nudging you as he left. You rolled your eyes.

Seven practically skipped over to the two of you. “Hey! You look...” he glanced at Yoosung, then back at you, “Pretty.”

Yoosung choked on air. “Yes! You do. I was just about to say that.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. It’s not even new,” you shrugged, referencing your outfit.

“I could always get you something new next time,” a deep voice said behind you. Jumin. You refused to jump, even though his presence had startled you.

You turned to face him, a smile on your face. “I’m good with this. Thank you though!”

Jaehee was next to him, giving you an awkward wave.

“Ugh. Just because you offer to buy her things doesn’t mean you’re going to get to take her on a date.” Another voice behind you. That was Zen. You scooted back a little bit, forming a circle with your friends so you could stop being startled every time. “I won’t let you.” Zen continued, placing an arm protectively around your waist.

You didn’t even have a crush on Zen. But your cheeks were heating up. He was super overprotective like an older brother. It didn’t help how handsome he was. You scooted away just a little. “I’m okay Zenny. I can take care of myself,” you grinned, using your nickname on him.

He reached to the table behind him and picked up a drink, handing it to you. “This is yours by the way!” You reached to grab it, but he pulled his hand back a little, waving his finger. “Ah ah ah. Remember, you shouldn’t take drinks from guys. Except you can trust me.”

“That makes... startlingly little sense,” Seven commented.

Still, you knew Zen was just being his overprotective self and took the drink. He’d never spike your drink. None of the RFA members would.

“So,” Seven started. This couldn’t be good. “Are you all going to start off the new year the right way?”

“What’s the right way?” Yoosung asked. Pure sweet boy. He was perfect. You were already blushing at Seven’s question.

“You kiss someone at midnight of course! It’s a thing,” Zen explained.

“Maybe Jumin and Zen will finally kiss,” you teased.

Jumin stiffened. “This conversation is idiotic,” he groaned, then left the circle. Jaehee frowned, then followed, clipboard in hand.

“Is that really a thing? Or are you two just messing with me,” Yoosung asked, a small pout on his face. It was like he had learned that those two liked to mess with him.

“No, this is real. Although you don’t really have to do it. Champagne toast works just as well,” you shrugged.

“Have you ever done it?” Yoosung asked timidly, unable to meet your eye.

“I guess? When I was dating this one guy a long time ago. But not at a party or anything like this.” You knew your face was flushed. It was embarrassing talking about it. “I don’t know... it’s not necessary or anything.”

“You’ve had a boyfriend before!?” Yoosung asked in shock. Zen and Seven laughed out loud.

“Yeah of course. Like in high school and stuff.”

“Oh...” his face was bright red. “I’ve never had a girlfriend. I’ve never even kissed someone.”

It broke your heart. Who wouldn’t want to kiss Yoosung? Uh, you mean... uh... Still, it was sad. “Don’t worry! I’m sure you just need to find that special someone!” You encouraged him.

“Yeah. Maybe she’s closer than you think,” Seven added suggestively, sending you a wink. Was it really this obvious!?

You drank the rest of your drink quickly. “I’ve gotta get more. I’m gonna, uh, go mingle with the guests!” You excused yourself, desperate to get away from your two wingmen.

Mingling made you feel better. Until it got closer to midnight. Seven loomed behind you during a conversation. “It’s 11:45,” he whispered ominously in your ear. It made you shiver.

“5 minutes til New Years!” Zen cheered to you, handing you another glass of champagne. “If you’re nervous, you can just drink instead. That’s as good a choice as any.”

“Are you even kissing someone? I don’t know why all this pressure is on me.”

He laughed. “Of course not. The press would go crazy! But do it for me. It’d be fun.”

You sighed, excusing yourself to get some air. You stepped outside the event, leaning back against the wall of the building. Your feet hurt from your shoes. You were tired and you didn’t wanna be here. And you especially didn’t want to feel pressured. You took a big gulp do your champagne. You needed more alcohol.

“You needed a break too?” Yoosung asked, walking over to you, glass of his own in hand.

You sighed, nodding. It was freezing outside, but it felt nice. It was warm in there and stuffy. You needed something to wake you up. “There’s so much pressure to start the new year out right. I miss when I was a kid and slept right through the parties.”

“That was fun,” he chuckled. “My parents always had their friends over. I hung out with their kids and we all crashed before 11.”

“Oh I felt that.” You took another big drink. “My head hurts and I’m tired.”

“You’re telling me. I’m so freaking nervous,” he whined, shoving his empty hand into his coat pocket.

“Don’t be nervous,” you giggled. “It’s just a countdown. Then people cheering. Then you can go home and fall fast asleep.” Yeah... you needed to tell yourself that too. You felt a shiver run over you. Before you could stop him, Yoosung was trading his glass between his hands to shrug off his jacket.

“Oh! I’m okay,” you assured him. It didn’t stop him though. He wrapped his jacket around your shoulders, champagne sloshing from his glass from the motion.

He chuckled. “It’s no fair guys have to wear 7 layers and you’re stuck in this, freezing.” He pulled the jacket on your shoulders further, ensuring it wouldn’t fall off.

And then his watch went off.

He still was grasping his jacket on you, trying to fix it. “It’s midnight,” he stated awkwardly. He let go of his jacket and took an anxious half step back, noticing how close you were moments before.

“Oh! I-“ you held out your glass, clinking it against his. “Happy New Year Yoosung.” You downed the entire glass of champagne. Yoosung gingerly took a sip. Then he looked at the ground. Then glanced at you. Then his glass. Then you.

And then you took a step towards him. You were going to kiss him. You could do this !! Worst case you could blame it on the alcohol.

And then he took a step towards you simultaneously. And then your foreheads bumped. You laughed out loud, your free hand moving to cup your forehead. It hurt. Yoosung’s face was bright red. He took your empty glass from you, bending down to set both your glasses on the ground. He stood back up to face you.

“Happy New Year,” he whispered, his face so so close to your own you could taste the champagne in his mouth, without your lips even touching. One of his hands moved to cup your face, the other pulling slightly on his suit jacket, resting on your shoulders.

You shut your eyes and leaned forward, lips meeting his. His lips were so soft, as though never having gone through the abuse of kissing in the past preserved their baby soft feel. Where were you supposed to put your hands!? You rested them on his chest, by his shoulders. It was too soon when he pulled away, the stupidest smile on his face.

“I- I love you,” he choked out, his face bright bright red. “And it’s okay if you only wanted to kiss me because it’s New Years or whatever but... I just wanted to tell you. That I think about you all the time. That I wait for you to call. That I stared at the door to this event for like an hour because I was waiting for you to show up. That I-“

You grabbed his tie and pulled him back to you, pulling his lips back to yours. He let out a whimper, but caught on quickly, hand going back to lightly stroke your hair, careful not to mess up the style you had worked on.

“It worked!”

You broke away from Yoosung, turning on your heel to glare at Zen and Seven, who were currently toasting to their success.

Yoosung was trying to stutter out some form of a remark, but failing. You continued to glare at them. “Go away. I have to kiss my boyfriend some more.”

“Your b-boyfriend?” Yoosung asked, hands shaking as he grabbed your hand and pulled you back to face him.

“If... you’d like. I love you too, Yoosung.”

He let go of your hand, grabbing the champagne glasses from the ground, pushing each into the hands of the boys staring at you. “Go put these away or something.” He was pushing them back through the door. “Leave us alone!!!”

“Have fun kiddos,” Seven teased, winking in your direction.

“Stay safe!” Zen called.

Yoosung hid his face in his hand momentarily after they left, groaning. “They always know how to ruin a moment.”

“That’s okay,” you grinned, grabbing his hand again and pulling him back in for another kiss. “Happy New Year my boyfriend.”

[leeknow-bestboy]

If You Close One Eye - Chapter One

Ships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Bang Chan/Yang Jeongin | I.N, If you really squint you can notice Lix is into Binnie, Hyunjin was into everyone once

Characters: All the kids, The ex kid isn't here I edited him out, Other Character Tags to Be Added

Trigger warnings: panic attack, ptsd, original character death, homophobia, original character cheating, descriptive imagery.

Word count: 5277

Chapter: 1/?

Next chapter 

Tags: Murder Mystery, amateur detective minho, Soulmates, not your typical soulmate AU, Alternate Universe - College/University, Slow Burn, Slow Build, good things take time let it slowburn, minho is singlehandedly responsible for the slow burn so blame him, no soulmates in this universe only they are, criminology student minho, art student jisung, POV Third Person, chan deserves better and he does indeed get better don't worry, art references please look stuff up, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, best sibling bond ever.

"If you close one eye, you can see what your soulmate sees"

Born with one eye an unnatural golden color, Minho and Jisung have been forced to cover them up with colored lenses in order to blend into society.

The magic to their eyes? Even they still didn't know.

This is the story of how criminology major and dance minor Lee Minho found himself hopelessly in love with the serial killer, local artist Han.

[Alternatively, let's see how long I can make these two dumbasses pine without one of them snapping. Edit: they finally did]

[Also WARNING: a HUGE amount of Jeongchan ahead, it's not subtle at all! So much fluff--]

As per usual, the playground was packed; children of all ages ran wild, squalling and laughing like the little menaces they were- all of them avoiding a short kid who couldn't be older than five, seated at the very end of the sandbox and holding back tears of offense and loneliness.

It's not that he got bullied, he wasn't. His mom raised a tough kid who'd bite back when he's bit, but no one would play with him now. Not with how he looks, they'd rather scream and run.

Five year olds shouldn't worry about that.

Rubbing his left eye- the good one, he could see a woman's shoulder and hair. Her smile, bright and comforting, wording out a song with no sound.

"Jisung!" His mother's voice rang aloud, recognizable and warm in the hostile environment.

"Baby," She called again, finding him and wrapping her son in her arms. For the moment, there was no strange woman- only his own mother.

Jisung sniffled. "I hate people." -These words that shouldn't be said by a child flowed so easily from his lips, as if it was the only reasonable conclusion.

"We need to talk about something" his mother's voice, once excited and lively sounded utterly defeated. Little did he know, it was the last time. Years of telling him he's perfect just the way he is, special and unique in a good way, definitely- have ended up making no difference in the end.

That day, he learned to put on contact lenses.

.

"I know you're upset about the divorce, but you have to accept that it happened."

The woman's voice, high pitched and unpleasant, drove Minho ever so slightly closer to the edge. By now he knew no adult in the world would ever take him seriously, so what was the point in sitting here and listening to her talk?

The woman pursed her lips, plump and telling of the many times they went under the scalpel. Tapping her foot, she hazily reminded Minho of his own mother when scolding was due.

"If you don't talk to me, that's fine. Nothing's going to change. I get paid by the hour you know, I can do this all day."

That being said, she was probably stressed- no therapist had ever gotten Minho to talk, he's been changing doctors since his hallucinations began, which adds to a little over three years now.

"Minho, I can't help you like this. Tell your mother I give up."

A sense of dread spread over the eight years old. Again, another adult doesn't get it. Another one giving up on him, leaving, and suddenly he wanted her to stay. Pretty badly he did, at the time.

"I don't care that my parents broke up, I've been seeing monsters all day"

The woman blinked, stunned into silence. At the tinge of tears he rubbed his right eye- and there it was, certain as ever; drawn with a sharpie, people with horns. In a moment, a pair of hands that weren't his took the drawing away and pulled out a new one, drawing harshly a sad smiley face.

Although he was a big boy, he cried right then, scared out of his mind and very confused. He cried so hard it almost slipped off- the contact lens hiding his mother's disgrace.

Looking up, the woman made no effort to comfort or dissolve his fright. Rather, she was scribbling down the whole ordeal. Taking notes, furiously assessing and picking him apart, she finished her analysis smugly and said,

"It's time we get you a prescription, my dear"

And that was definitely not the last of it.

.

"Oppa"

Minho groaned lowly, alerting the speaker to the fact he's been woken from sleep.

"Minho oppa!" the voice persisted. Fully intent on hanging up, Minho side glanced at the caller id to make sure it wasn't important.

"Motherfucker!" the voice on the other end rose. From the corner of the bed Doongie meowed, alarmed.

"Freaking shrimp, what do you think you're calling your oppa?" He blurted. This isn't a call he should skip.

"Egg laying bastard! Answer me when I call you!" His sister's comforting voice trickled out.

"Gremlin twarp!"

"ballerina!"

"Whiny child!"

"Prune old man!"

"spoiled princess!"

"Mean hoe!"

"-!" Wheeze.

"I got you, you horrible gay bitch"

"We're both gay, Ryu" He threw back.

It's been a while since she last called.

"Well, you live alone, so I assume you're doing much gayer things than I can do at home."

Minho started, failing to hold back his horrified gasp. "Ryujin, you're eighteen!" He exclaimed. It seemed like yesterday she was still following him around, like some baby duckling.

"She's being mean Doongie, like you three don't count." He added, Ryujin electing to ignore his comment.

"How's dance going?" her tone changed, turning softer. For all their differences, dance for sure has always been something both loved and loved together. From copying idols on TV, to taking ballet and hiphop together, Jazz too.

"I'm not in college for dance and you know it" He groaned, immediately softening as well.

"I miss it a lot. I wish I could do more than minor in it.." On the other side of the call Ryujin hummed, understanding. She has always known his passion best.

"You're good at what you do too. You'd make a kickass detective." She claimed.

"I'm not taking criminology to be a detective." Why she had to be reminded was beyond him. If anything he aimed to be an officer, someone to tell kids off if they mess with the neighborhood cats.

"I'm just saying you could be!" She defended- which wasn't wrong, if he played job openings right. He did have a knack for picking apart mystery books too, but that was nothing out of the usual.

"How's grad life?" He asked with genuine interest. Nothing could ever matter to him more.

"I asked Chelle out, finally." She said, and Minho couldn't help but notice the edge evident in her voice.

"What happened? Did she let you down? Should I come over?" The questions left his lips before he could consider them, worry clouding over him.

"No, it's nothing like that. She said yes, but.. Yeah, oppa, I really wish you were here. I need to talk to you, face to face. Mom misses you too." She ended lamely. It was so unlike her, Minho couldn't find it in him to correct the fact that it was only Ryu's mom and not his.

"Tell her I'll be visiting tonight then, I'll go get ready." He said, fully intent on making the sudden drive over. It was only a two hour ride over to his father's, where Ryujin and his step mother lived too. If he headed out now, he could make it before dinner.

"Really? You don't have to, I know you hate it here-" Her attempts of taking it back wouldn't work once he set his mind to do something.

"Really really. I miss my stinky troll sister too," He insisted. No way was he leaving her be. The moment something felt off with her, he knew he had to go make sure she's fine; there aren't many things as precious in his life as she is.

"Dumbass," she relented, voice worryingly relieved. "I'll go tell mom."

He smiled, tapping his nail on the headboard, now sitting up at his bed. "Bye"

She huffed, pausing for a moment before giving her last reply. "Goodbye, oppa. I love you."

.

Minho sighed, leaning his forehead against the steering wheel.

For what little time he spent at his father's place, a surprising amount of bad memories were made. Up until his teen years he wouldn't even enter, and every time after that made for a rich history; first panic attack, first time breaking a leg falling down the stairs, coming out, taking Ryu to junior prom- door shut in his face that time, claiming she was grounded for beating up the neighbor's son. First time stung by a bee, and that weekend when his father's doberman puppy bit him in play, tore open his front lip and got sent to a dog pound despite his protest.

'Come on,' he thought. 'You can do this. Count to three-' and at three he did, opened his car door and walked up through the front gate.

"Minho! How lovely to see you." Smiled his step mom, a warm, if not a tad unnerving woman.

"Nice to so see you too. How have you been?" He asked, clean-cut manners kicking in. Dal and Byul had meanwhile made their way running over to the door, immediately rubbing against him with some level of desperation. He leaned down, rubbing Dal's small head.

"I've been well, your father too- that's right! Honey, come say hi to Minho." The short, lean woman called, still blocking the entrance to the oversized house and keeping Minho at the door. Whether this was on purpose shall forever remain a mystery- she did it every time.

"That brat has nothing to do in this house" His father's voice warmed over.

"Hi dad." He tried still, calling over the woman's shoulder. "Can I come in?"

Said obstacle smiled, moving aside at last. "Of course sweetie, Ryujin will be right over."

Taking that exchange for what it was, he made fast pace towards the kitchen. Avoiding his father has become a praised skill by now, a crucial one by all means.

"Dallie, Byulie, psps" he tried, pleased when both ran on over towards his outstretched hand. Two more allies at the ready.

Light steps cleared the remaining discomfort sullying his mood in short moments. "You!" A pair of arms tightened around his shoulders, prompting Minho to lift his little sister in a piggyback.

"You too!" He answered, relieved at feeling welcomed at last.

"I can't believe you actually came. Did you tell your mother you're over?" She asked, tactless as ever. He loves her a whole lot for that, too.

"She's not the boss of me, I'm twenty one" He announced, eyes closed in a content smile as his sister gently pet his hair like a cat.

"What about me? I'm almost nineteen, I wish I was free like you, Lino!" Exclaimed Ryujin, but really she didn't. There was a certain freedom gained from nobody caring about you that no one should be jealous of.

Letting her hop back onto the ground, Minho kept the smile on his face. She seemed fine, but he could tell better. Still, they couldn't talk before dinner- the pots and pans at the stovetop smelled just about ready, after all.

Instead he turned to face her, petting her head lovingly like she had his. "What's this? This tiny Ryuddaeng's nineteen? No way."

"Almost!" she growled. "Next month I'll be."

"Where have the times gone?" he questioned, shoving her playfully at the comments of "old man".

.

Dinner went as uncomfortably as expected, his father and he had behaved remarkably well- hadn't spoken a word to each other throughout. Minho ate neatly, made sure to compliment his step mother for every dish, and Ryujin helped by washing them after. All in all, it was successful unlike many dinners before.

Making way to the guest bedroom, Minho paused at the sight of his sister's door left slightly open. Right, yes- this would be a good time.

Knocking quietly, he waited for permission before entering and closing the door, waiting for Byul to enter alongside him. "Are you alright?"

Ryujin nodded, glancing up at him and back to the floor. He took that as a sign to take a seat down on her fancy dragon themed carpet.

"Are you really alright? Ryujin, I know we're not great communicators, but I'm still very worried. Is it dad?" At that his sister shook her head, taking a deep breath.

"Don't get mad, but I have a huge favor. You know Chelle, I swore I'll ask her out when I graduate and I did, but she…" Minho crossed and uncrossed his legs, chin finding its place resting on a knee. Byul purred, rubbing against it.

"She's missing. She's been missing for two weeks now, no one knows where she is." She explained, voice stern.

"I don't think she ran away, but her parents keep saying she did. She said nothing to me." She added, hoping he'd fill in the rest on his own.

"They're not filling in for missing person?" He asked, worry making his back stress and ace.

Ryujin nodded. "I know she's the bad girl type, but she wasn't into drugs and her friends seem fine. I keep trying to ask around but I can't, what if something serious happened?"

Minho nodded, realizing where he comes in. "You want me to investigate? See where that takes us?" He asked. For sure, that should be the police's job- but with her parents saying she ran away, would they even bother?

Ryujin kept quiet, eyes burning holes into Minho's. This was her crush, a big one- he's never liked Chelle, but now? If Ryujin cares that much… sure. It's not something he should be messing with legally, and a new project to be added atop his ever growing college work, but he'd do it for her. "Okay."

"Okay?" Ryujin asked back, relieved.

"Yes. I'll do it." He assured.

Ryujin's features softened farther, mouth breaking into a smile. "You're my new favorite person."

Minho smiled lightly, mind running full speed. "I need details. When and where she was last seen, and about her; exes, Instagram, friends and hangouts."

Ryujin's smile faded. Nonetheless she turned, pulling a notebook out of her bedside drawer.

Scribbling away the details he requested, she paused to ask a couple questions before turning back to her chore. "I know less than I thought." She admitted.

"That's fine, but I have a few more. How was her mental state, where did she study, was she on meds and did she mention any places?"

This kept on for a few hours, ending after they let an annoyed Byul out of the room - with Ryujin tiredly announcing that her brain is fried and he can ask the rest over chat when he's back in college. On his end, Minho learned one important thing:

This girl was not who she seemed to be.

.

Back at his apartment, Minho re-read all eleven papers of info they've gathered. On the way he's prepared a list of places to visit, only two of which stemmed from the info Ryujin herself had given him. Other than the school and family bistro down the street, it seemed the two have never gone out together, although Chelle was one to do so.

Good, he thought.

Scrolling through her Instagram, he noted which followers seemed to comment more, and who would show most often on highlights. Her latest post have been boring- it was landscape art of what he assumed to be a tall grass field on the outskirts of seoul. Around three months back he found a picture of some guy at the beach, shirt off and abs in clear view. Seeing as he looked nothing like Chelle, it would seem they weren't related.

Sorting through the packed comment section, someone's request to take it down stood out. Tapping on the person's icon, he realized that was probably the guy in the picture, although the account was made private. An ex? That would make a good trail.

Not having an account himself, by now Minho has used Ryujin's, but to follow guys it would seem he needs his own account.

Setting up all the necessities, he took a nice picture of Dori and made it his profile, sending the guy a follow request right away.

Now we wait.

.

"Oppa, if you have no photos or description and no followers, and he doesn't know you, did you really expect he'd approve your request?" Ryujin's laughter trickled through the speakers, as if it's been obvious. "You're going to have to find him." She pointed, before hesitantly adding, "Or I can-"

"No." Minho said, stern. "This guy could be Chelle's ex, he might be really dangerous! You don't get to follow his Instagram."

Ryujin sighed, and Minho got the sudden mental image of her rubbing the bridge of her nose as she did. "You have friends right? Ask one of them." She advised.

"I need to go, dad said I can't go out unless I finish these applications." She explained, hanging up after a round of goodbyes.

Right. He did! He has friends.

Picking his phone back up, Minho scrolled his contacts looking for either Felix or Hyunjin. The two weren't in his major, but they shared a dance class. Out of the student body, they were closest to his definition of friends.

A couple rings went by before the line picked up. "Hyung? Hello!" Felix's cheerful voice calmed the older's nerves ever so slightly.

"Felix, hi." He answered, trying to seem casual. "How are you?"

Felix took a moment before responding. "I'm great! I'm actually out with Chan hyung, is something up?"

"Who?" Minho asked, confused.

Felix took another moment. "Bang Chan. He's a fourth year in sociology, I don't think you'll know him."

Minho came close to a sob right then. "Can you pass him the phone?"

"Yeah sure." Felix agreed immediately, followed by ruttling sounds.

"Hello?" A voice sounded, accent similar to Felix's own.

"Hi! My name is Minho, I followed you on Instagram a couple days ago."

A short silence. "Oh my god." Chan exclaimed.

"No, never mind that, I need to talk to you." He rephrased.

"I have no idea who you are." Chan replied, confused.

"It's about Chelle." Minho added, hoping to learn anything from the other's reply.

"Oh." Was all he got. "Okay, I guess we should meet sometime then. How is she?"

The question caught Minho off guard.

"I, I'll tell you more when we meet. When are you free?" he asked, quickly seeking out a pen and scribbling the time and date on his wrist, phone squeezed between his ear and shoulder.

"Yeah, sounds great! See you then." He concluded, getting passed back to Felix and thanking him profoundly before hanging up.

"In my own college." He muttered after the phone found its place back on the table.

"Unbelievable."

.

Not many people occupied the café, despite its convenient location not far off the olympic park. For that reason Minho concluded, the coffee there probably sucked.

It wasn't his intention to show fifteen minutes early, but his nerves got the best of him, taking shape in miserable pacing until he deemed it late enough to leave his apartment already. Worst case scenarios running through his mind, he wasn't expecting it as someone took seat in the chair opposite of his.

"Hello. It's Minho, right?" Asked the stranger, dimples forming in an awkward smile.

"Ah." Minho voiced dumbly before quickly picking himself up adding,

"You're Chan?"

In the short time that passed between first learning of Chan's existence and actually seeing him, Minho's mind managed to fill with expectations and fears, all of which shattered right in that moment.

First of all, the guy in the picture had very defined abs and arm muscles, making it seem as if he'd be your average muscle-head, someone who could pull apart limbs off boys like Minho- a description that apparently had nothing in common with the hesitant and awkward person in front of him. Rather, he found that this Chan was a tad shorter than him, barely filling the light gray sweater he threw on.

Secondly, while the photo showed a man with straight dark brown hair, the man in front of him had soft blond curls that seemed so, so fluffy- invoking a primal urge to pet them in, Minho assumed, not only himself, but also every innocent bystander.

Lastly, by the amount of english in his Instagram description, one would expect an obvious accent, but that had been proven false on the phone call anyway. Regardless, Minho imagined a foreigner, so seeing his face up close had been a surprise on its own, especially considering the smile… he was, how would he put it? Cute.

"Yeah! Nice to meet you. I was worrying I'd be early, but it's good to see you are too." Minho could only half process the words, a glance at his phone telling him they both still had around ten minutes before the planned meetup time.

"Right! Right, I wanted to talk to you." Minho started, forcibly clearing his mind of any strange thoughts.

"You said it was about Chelle? I assume you're her new boyfriend?" Chan asked, voice a bit strained.

"No, It's not like that. I wanted to know if you've heard from her for the last couple weeks." Minho replied, quick to correct him so to not make things needlessly awkward. Right, he thought- Chan still might have had something to do with this girl's disappearance.

"Oh, well, I actually hadn't, I try not to do that anymore. We didn't end things on good terms." Chan confessed, picking Minho's interest.

"What happened?" He asked, worries picking back up.

Chan paused. "Are you her friend? This kind of thing is a little personal, I don't want it to affect your friendship."

Minho blinked, thinking up a smaller scale storm. "I live in her neighborhood. We're not very close, but some things happened that made me look for you."

Chan hesitated, saved by the waiter's interruption asking which drinks the two would have. Still suspicious, Minho only ordered a small iced americano, Chan matching with a small iced tea.

"You probably know we dated for around two months, it ended after I found she was cheating for a long time."

Minho's breath hitched, dangerously close to choking on his coffee. "She cheated on you?"

Chan's expression fluttered before he nodded, sheepish smile back on. "Kind of pathetic, isn't it? I couldn't hold her attention. At least, the others didn't know."

Minho gaped, unsure how to handle the new information. Chelle, the girl Ryujin asked him to look for. Was that her true nature? "What do you mean others?"

Chan's embarrassment grew, yet he didn't look away. "We were around.. five, I think.. that I know of. I followed her for a bit."

The awkwardness settled, leaving both speechless.

"Okay, I'm really sorry but I still need to ask you a couple more things." Minho was the first to break the silence.

"Go ahead." Chan smiled in relief.

"Were you mad? Wait, no- Can you think of anyone who could have held a grudge against her? More than, I guess, this."

Chan shook his head. "She's a really nice girl! She has some serious issues, but I liked her a lot at the time."

Minho bit his lip, ready to push on. "Chan, I'm going to be honest with you.. Chelle's been missing for over two weeks now."

If Chan was drinking at the moment, it would have been his turn to choke. "What?" he asked, voice steady.

"I got in touch with you because right now, nobody knows where she is. Or someone does know, but I don't" Minho explained, hoping his message went through alright.

"Are you sure she's not ghosting you? She might be." Chan offered. Minho stiffened. If Chelle was fine, if she was ghosting his sister- there will be hell to pay.

"I don't think so?" he continued anyway.

"I can't remember a specific person who would want to hurt her, but.. God, I'm worried. Chelle's gone? Like, kidnapped or.." Chan paused, taking deep breaths.

"If you have any information on where she could be, it would help a lot. I don't know her well, I'm not sure who else to ask either." Minho added.

"What do you want to know?" Chan asked, worry clouding his face in an unpleasant way. Minho almost felt, scratch that- he did feel really bad for the guy.

"Hangouts, friends, habits, names of other exes- mental state too, it's a little invasive but I can't find her otherwise." Chan stared, eye contact with Minho intensifying as neither averted their gaze.

"Okay." Chan replied after a while. "I don't really know you, but I guess it suits her. If anything happened, I wouldn't expect an officer anyway."

Slightly disturbed, Minho pulled his notes from his bag, offering Chan a big sheet of paper. Just like that, the two had begun- Just as Minho had with Ryujin before.

"I can't help with other Exes, I don't know any of their names. I do know where she hangs out usually." Chan supplied helpfully.

"Chelle, she's very into art. She thinks her art, only hers, is the best of the best. She considers herself an undiscovered gem, that kind of mentality. She'll do anything for exposure, and she likes compliments a lot." Chan bit his lip, pausing in his writing.

"She's not on good terms with her parents, and sometimes I remember, she said she wanted to run away. She has horrible mood swings, but when she's happy she can be the sweetest, most considerate person in the world. I think she had too much love in her, that's why…" Chan trailed off, sighing before shaking his head and writing down some more details.

"I'm not okay with that, you know? It's the worst kind of betrayal, but I'm still so worried. I never wanted anything to happen to her, I don't wish that for anyone." Minho hummed, recalling back on his previous suspicion, how ridiculous it seemed now to think that of this person.

So it went on, the two of them coming up with important details and question marks to jot down. Before they knew it the sky turned dark, an impatient barista politely asking them to leave.

"You have my number, right?" Chan asked.

"I don't." Minho replied, glad Chan remembered. The two exchanged phones, filling in their details with some hesitation.

"Call me if you need anything, or if you find her." Chan added, eyes glinting under the streetlights.

"You too, call me if you remember anything important." Minho replied, parting with a wave goodbye and heading towards the bus station.

It was only on his way back that he recalled their first exchange through the phone, and how stupid it had been to expect anything else from a friend of Felix's, of all people.

Groaning lowly, Minho moved his bag up, staring at the paper pile stuffed inside it neatly. Ahead was, he expected, a night full of reading- all 38 new pages of details about this girl, who he found himself liking less and less with every passing statement.

.

Over an extended time period Minho had found himself visiting many different places to no avail. He tried asking around, dropping Chelle's name here and there for good measures, but it seemed that the girl had vanished into thin air. Her only legacy had been the outrageous rumors surrounding her name, such as dating kids much younger than herself and having sex to get her way in the art world. Really, Minho should have stopped there- he wanted nothing to do with this girl anymore, was happy even; happy that she didn't get to lay her hands on his sister. Yet he couldn't stop thinking, this girl.. She was missing, it was real, and not one soul other than him have made a single attempt to locate her. How could he give up now?

It had been a long day- visiting a bar from the list in the morning before moving to a café nearby and finishing one of his assignments, Minho decided to follow up on Chelle's tracks. Twelve days have passed since his meeting with Chan, and although his anxiety kept getting worse, the list of things to check kept getting shorter with every lead he crossed out.

This one had honestly been a lame lead, but he wanted to make the most out of it- a short trip out of seoul, to a grass patch stretching a couple miles that was similar to the one he saw on her Instagram. If he couldn't find her with anyone's help, he thought- maybe he should try to think like her more. This girl, where would she go? Who would she meet? What would she do? And for that this practice was important, too.

The land stretched, tall grass for as far as the eye could see. He roamed around, looking at the tall buildings that made his home from afar. From here, definitely- he recognized the scenery as the one she drew that time. Stepping back through the grass, it didn't make much of a difference from how far he's already been, but the moment felt special somehow.

Minho breathed in, a strong breeze blowing from the front and carrying the dust and pollution of the city with it. Bad air, even this far back. At least it was silent, no cars, no birds either- it felt peaceful. Minho stepped back again, pulling out his phone, intending to take a photo. A couple more steps back, and he tripped- landing on his butt in the grass.

It was there that he found her.

.

Jisung stretched, back aching after sleeping in so late.

"Good morning, and good luck falling back asleep at a normal hour." Seungmin commented. True that, Jisung managed to mess his sleep schedule pretty badly. Good thing it was friday.

Standing up, he considered responding before giving up and making his way to the kitchen.

"Ji," Seungmin spoke up once more,

"At least brush your teeth. I'm your roommate, not your mom- I shouldn't have to tell you this!" His voice, although annoyed, remained calm. He did have a point.

"Okay mom." Jisung replied, deadpan. Without another word he turned, entering the bathroom and picking up his toothbrush to do as instructed.

Life as an art major was hard- he had so much work to do in little time, and the pressure made it feel a little like a job. Nowadays his minor in music made for the only stress reliever he could put time into without guilt, and he wondered if maybe he should have chosen it for major instead. Useless thinking about it now, anyway.

Jisung went on brushing, releasing a small whine at the thought of his next assignment. Whatever- he rolled his eyes, raising a hand to rub the remains of sleep away.

Tall grass, the clear view of seoul from afar- blurring, moving, fast as if he was struck by lightning.

The toothbrush clinked loudly against the sink as it dropped, leaving Jisung with the reflection of himself in the mirror, left hand raised. He made quick way, spitting the paste and powerwalking back to their room, brushing against Seungmin on his way there.

"Jisung? Jisung, you can't just leave this here." Seungmin bristled, pausing at the sight of Jisung pulling out his sketchbook with the craze of someone going through a revelation.

He sighed, recognizing the scene in front of him. "Inspiration struck?"

Jisung hummed, wiping his mouth and beginning to sketch. This happened every once in a while, it was one of the things that made Jisung… well, Jisung.

"I'll clean up. Should I order takeout?" Seungmin asked, affection sneaking into his voice. He's a bit weird, but sometimes he was cute too.

"Thank you, please." Jisung replied absentmindedly, focused on the paper.

"I will. Okay." Seungmin concluded, fishing his phone out to call his favorite fast food handler.

To them, after all, it was nothing more than an average friday night.