#in these months of silence and completely separate existences did you mature?

[i-hate-gravel]

“somebody i used to know” as a phrase really does so much and has never been more relevant actually

[endlich-allein]

Interview with Till about his life: he fought with his father, killed his beloved dog, swam on a wild river and worked on suffering. How Till Lindemann's mind works

"I will finish you off" and why you fought for the German army.

Werner Lindemann wanders around the room, interrupting the silence with strange questions, writing something down. His motive is to get to know his son and make him a friend. But it's complicated. Generational conflict.

"My island of tranquility is shaken every day. The day before yesterday, a guy pulled on my socks because his were torn. Yesterday he didn't put out a single lamp in the house. Now, with voluptuous delight, he spits cherry pits into the cat's fur. Is this grown boy really an adult?"

The apprenticeship in Rostock, where you have to do window production after graduation, is the limit of boredom. Till Lindemann moved to his father in the countryside so that he could forget about the hustle and bustle of the city and not fall under the article for anti-social attitudes. He thought of a new life, in which there was no pointless work, and arranged an attic in his father's house.

In the mornings over coffee, he scolded life that everything went according to schedule. And listened very loudly to music - electronics and metal. My father didn't understand and grumbled: “I matured late. Naturally, I wanted to listen to the music I liked, but I could not get my hands on these records. For example, my father did not understand when I bought the Alice Cooper record for a month's salary.

Werner Lindemann was a children's writer who went through the war.

At the height of his career he disappeared for weeks on literary tours - his fame spread to teachers and librarians across the country. His father pecked at Lindemann for refusing to work and promised to turn him in:

"My willful child. What doesn't fit his standards is rejected as nonsense or crap." So he took a job as a carpenter, where he made shovel cuttings and cart wheels. The head foreman constantly drank vodka during the day, didn't want to be annoyed with questions and addressed the long-haired Lindemann with the nickname: "Mozart!" This suited him.

Werner Lindemann talked about war, hard existence and limitations. For example, about a grenade splinter that remained in his body. Lindemann did not believe in all these stories - but categorically did not accept service, war and murder:

“After that I objected: “I would hide, I would not go to war. Why did you even let yourself be dragged into this? You could have hidden."

And he said: “It didn't work out. They searched for it and it took away."

Then I said: “I would rather go under arrest. Never in my life, I would go to the front line to shoot people. It's against my nature. It would be better if I went to jail."

Much of the time father and son were simply silent, even while watching television.

"He regularly made me feel guilty, to say the least, he placed himself on a pedestal towards me: I shouldn't complain. At your age, I ran barefoot through the stubble, and in my stomach - a potato in a uniform."

The only acceptance is Mike Oldfield's music: "One day my father came to grumble again. At that moment I was listening to Mike Oldfield, and he sat down and said: "That sounds interesting."

For me it was like a quantum leap: my father sits in my room, listens to my music and thinks it was good. Probably because of melancholy. He was sitting in a rocking chair that I made myself - at the time I was working as a carpenter on a farm. I, too, always sat in an armchair, immersed myself in music and smoked hand-rolled cigarettes."

The conflict was intensified by a fight. Lindemann bought a Trabant car, installed speakers in it and tested the sound - loud as usual. “Then my father came and I had to turn off this fucking music. It was kind of loud for him. He was then fiddling around his cases of flowers, and then suddenly the situation escalated. I think he slapped me while I was still in the car.

He leaned toward me and hit me with the back of his hand. I made some bullshit remarks like, "Leave me alone," something like that. That was a provocation to him, and he said: "If you do that again, I'll hit you for real." And I said, "Then you'll get it back. Because you're crazy. Don't you dare to hit me anymore."

And then he hit me with his palm again. He wasn't controlling himself.

He was exalting himself. Instantly he introduced himself as a boxer - he had boxed in the Hitler Youth - and I just... I thought I didn't hit him, I just pushed him away. And then he stood in front of me again, "Come on, I'll finish you, you haven't got a chance!" Somehow. After that, he went up to the attic and threw all my stuff out the window.

It happened over the weekend, my sister was there, a lot of screaming, serious drama. Then I packed my things, put them in the car, went to a friend's house and never went into his house again. At first I lived with this friend, and a week later I bought myself a house in the village."

His father's book is about his son, which the son will only open up after the death of the father.

Lindemann is a late child. He was born when his father was 36. The gap in their relationship was felt in everyday life and perception of the world. Werner Lindemann woke up early in the morning, worked with the circular saw under the windows and did not understand when his son slept until noon after a working week.

Lindemann's parents then lived separately, but kept in touch. Mom worked as a journalist and discussed her texts with his father. "She still lived in Rostock and always came to see him only on weekends. Mostly on Sundays she came back quite early, because she couldn't stand the stress of being with him, either."

In 1988, the book “Mike Oldfield im Schaukelstuhl Notizen eines Vaters" In this book, Lindemann Senior describes the relationship with his son (whom he calls Timm in the book), who settled with him at the age of 18. The book was written in the 80s and laid on the table until the German Democratic Republic and the Federal Republic of Germany were reunited.

Werner Lindemann wanted his son to take up writing too. But this only amused him, although as a child he wrote poetry. At the age of 13, little Till Lindemann and his father were returning home along the bumpy road to Mecklenburg. They talked about career self-determination:

"You should already have thoughts about what you want to become, boy." My answer: "I don't know yet, maybe a fisherman on the high seas."

But immediately, no matter what I said, objections arose: “But then you have to get a certificate of maturity. But then you will be away all the time. But then you won't be able to start a relationship."

There was always a “but”.

At some point it got on my nerves, as usual. And I said: "Worst case scenario, I'll just become a writer.

I still remember how alienated his face became. "And what do you think then, what do I do! It's a very hard job! In fact, it's not even a job, it's a passion. And it's a job that's supposed to be enjoyable."

I said, "I don't know anybody who works with pleasure."

"Yeah, that's the problem. You have to look for a job that gives you pleasure." Then I say again, "But some people never get to choose..." This gigantic discussion happened because I didn't take his profession seriously. At the same time, he was completely lost, funny!"

Lindemann thoughtfully read his father's book, in which he comprehends their relationship, after his death. Faked for hidden anger and indecision. For example, in a situation where their dog Kurt was bitten by a fox. The father was frightened because of rabies: “At the same time, we did not even know whether he was bitten by a fox or not. The father immediately called the huntsman. But I said: no one will enter this courtyard and shoot the dog. I'll do it myself if I really need it. At some point I really had to kill the dog."

Lindemann is not a monster. The animals he fiddled with are an important attribute of childhood. He had an aquarium and hamsters, brought mice and rats home, and was friends with dogs. “Like many children of new buildings, he felt the need for someone alive, in need of love,” said Werner Lindemann. Sometimes the appearance of an animal in the house was surprising:

“This guy will never say what he's up to. He appears on the doorstep at the same time as me. He gets out from his vehicle, throws his coat open and puts a young black shepherd in my hands. "Your Christmas present!"

Till's father is speechless. My son stands before me like the sun's little brother. Touchingly concerned, he directs me into the house, working out a plan for the animal husbandry, accommodation and diet of our new pet housemate.

With confusion, a question flies from my lips, "Wheredid you get the dog from?" "Timm" is gibbering, "Imagine, the mason in the barnyard wanted to hang him, simply wanted to strangle him with a rope, said he was a worthless eater..."

Werner Lindemann died of stomach cancer in 1993, when his son was 30. They didn't finally reconcile, but Till visited him in his last days and was there for him with his mother: "They couldn't be without each other, even though they lived apart. Unreal, but my mother never had another man afterwards. To this day she can't let go of him."

- Not going to the Olympics in Moscow and ending up in the German ghetto

Lindemann had the knowledge and the potential to be a swimmer. And a shyness that pounded harder three days before the competition than concerts in front of crowds of thousands. "I know how difficult it is to develop willpower and stamina and instill those attributes. In the GDR this was instilled in us by coaches and so-called functionaries."

Lindemann came to swimming at the age of eight and devoted his entire youth to the sport. He would get up for training at five in the morning and pass out in the evening. His grandmother watched him from the stands. At a competition in Leipzig she shouted at the coach, who told Lindemann off for a poor result. The grandmother took the coach by the ear and said: "How do you talk to my grandson?"

Sports tightened up his upbringing and developed self-discipline. “Drilling - probably the boy has already received this experience as a swimmer,” Lindemann's father wrote. - Once he had to take second place in a competition, but by no means first place. Of course, he got carried away, forgot about it, became the first, thanks to which he received a shouting for indiscipline. And whenever he lost in the future, his coach would torture him at practice for a long time and yelled at him: "Even if you win, you're not a winner yet!"

Lindemann swam the 1.5 km freestyle and could have gone to the 1980 Olympics in Moscow. Everything was ruined when he left the hotel without permission during a competition in Florence: "I didn't want to run, but just wanted to look at the city. Cars, bikes, girls. I was caught and kicked out of the team, but then I didn't give the required results either."

Lindemann competed at the European Junior Championships, but did not go any higher. After the story in Florence, his career in sport slipped away. Perhaps an abdominal injury influenced his departure. Lindemann is gone, but he doesn't yearn: "I was relatively young. There were no good [memories] left. I was glad it was over."

"The hardest part was getting back to normal. I fell into a real hole. My home was no longer a sports school, but a ghetto in Rostock. Now I stood out through drinking and fighting. I used to be surrounded only by beautiful ladies who were interested in swimming. Now I had fierce women standing in front of me asking, "How come you don't drink?" When I was shy about approaching a girl, it was interpreted as: "Are you gay?"

Lindemann now works with a coach and swims a few kilometers before his tours to get in shape: "When I exercise, I feel a certain lightness - not only physically, but also mentally. I just feel better. The main problem is staying in shape. That's where self-discipline comes into play. Teeth grinding is important."

- Three weeks in the wild and loneliness as a creative tool

Emotionally, concerts = sports:

"How do I go on tour? Hungry. And happy. It is good to compare concerts with sport. You don't want to do both at first. You don't want to go on stage. You don't want to go to the pool. You don't want to go to the boxing ring. It all happens with reluctance. It has to be accepted somehow, that's life: spring, summer, fall, winter.

When it's done, winter's gone, the blooming begins, greenery appears, it gets bright, and you start to get a taste for it. When it's over, you feel happy. Then the body produces a sea of chemistry, a lot of happiness hormones. I think the body rewards itself."

The stage, like sports, is an embarrassment, but a necessity. Lindemann wore dark glasses in order to collect fewer views from the audience. Therefore, a couple of steps before the water, he looked at the pool with a shiver. You need to cope with yourself in order to open up to new emotions.

Lindemann's gut requires solitude and moderate solitude. This is the point:

“Loneliness is always good for a creative push - you drink a glass of wine and you feel even shitier. Art is not complete without suffering; art exists to compensate for suffering."

With his friend Joey Kelly, Lindemann spent three weeks on the Yukon River. They paddled through the wilderness in a kayak for eight to 10 hours each and lived in a tent. Lindemann didn't take a tape recorder with him, so he transferred the lyrics wandering in his head on paper.

They were catching inspiration and atmosphere:

"There were times when we wouldn't say a word for hours, but then: look there, look there! It was breathtakingly beautiful. These relatively fast-changing panoramas and skies, layers of clouds, the colors.

Except for a few bears and wolves, it's hard to see anyone else out there, it's exhilarating. Along the way we saw two hunters setting traps. No one else.

I grew up in the countryside, and I have a very strong connection to nature. I love fishing, hunting. It's an archaic experience that I like to revisit over and over again. When I'm in the city for too long, I start to miss it."

To recreate situations in the Yukon, Lindemann and Kelly trained for nine months on the Rhine river in Germany because of its liveliness.

"We went down the Rhine to where the transport ships create huge bow waves. If we hadn't had a coach with us, we probably would have been sunk by the side wave impact already during our first attempt," Lindemann said.

Together with Kelly, he had four sessions with two coaches and swam from Cologne to Koblenz [more than 100 kilometers by car]. Lindemann trained separately each week on the lakes in Mecklenburg. It's both physically challenging and savage identical to being natural.

In 2015, Till started his solo project Lindemann. On the album Skills In Pills, the song Yukon was released, in which the lyrics appeared first, and then the music.

- "My lyrics come from pain rather than desire."

The country boy is big and not much of a talker. That's how the Rammstein members saw him at the start, when they were hanging out at home. "He looked cool, like a big peasant talking one sentence an hour," keyboard player Christian "Flake" Lorenz recalled. - He always had food and vodka. He'd just steal a couple of ducks somewhere and cook them on a tray. And then, frozen like in Sleeping Beauty, there were people lying in corners and on trunks in his house."

Lindemann loves and appreciates home gatherings. This came from my father, who always had guests. “In my opinion, this is the little bit that I inherited from him. Throwing parties and gathering people. Throwing parties and getting people together. He just enjoyed being a good host. The house was always full of guests from Leipzig, from Rostock, foreign guests, even from Kazakhstan.

It was always exciting for him. He stood at the stove, cooked, bought an abundance of wine, and there was always a fire in the garden. At some point he stopped drinking, then he left the party at 21:00 and the whole company continued to feast. And in the morning he got up at four, cleaned and tidied up."

Till Lindemann is about self-digging, overcoming and childish shyness, which is covered by a pumped-up figure of a swimmer. This is how Lindemann decrypts himself:

• “And I really am like a big child - ill-mannered, but harmless. People think that I am always strong, explosive. This is not true. I am sensitive and easily hurt, but in love I am romantic and passionate."

• “At the very beginning, you sit somewhere in a dark room, open a bottle of wine and figure out how to make the lyrics popular with the music. At first you only have a vague idea of ​​what it could be.

And when, three years after recording, mixing, and more mixing, developing the artwork, all this nonsense, then you stand on stage, and what you came up with then really works, when you manage to get 20 thousand people to raise their hands, then you experience incredible sensations."

• “Art is a kind of therapy.

When I feel that something is arising inside me, domineering and is most often dark, I need to give it a way out, otherwise it will simply crush me. So destruction and self-destruction are the two pillars on which my creativity is based.

But everyone chooses this for himself.

• “My lyrics arise from feelings and dreams, but still more from pain than by desire. I often have nightmares, and I wake up at night sweating, as I see terrible bloody scenes in my dreams. My lyrics are a kind of valve for the lava of feelings in my soul.

We are all struggling to hide behind good manners and outward decency, but in fact we are governed by instincts and feelings: hunger, thirst, horror, hatred, the desire for power and sex. Of course, there is also additional energy in us - this is love. Without it, all human feelings would fade away."

- "When you're constantly living someone else's life, it's very hard to get back into your own skin. I like that in principle, but sometimes you start to get confused - are you out of a role or not yet. You're already Till, or you're still a homicidal maniac."

- "I hate the noise. I hate the chatter. I expose myself to it, which is pure masochism. And then I have to protect myself from it. Noise makes you crazy. You die in it."

• “I think there is no God. And if he is and actually allows all the misfortunes on this earth, then he must punish me along with other sufferings. I will not pray to such a god."

This is how the members of Rammstein see Till - flexible and with a split personality:

Guitarist Paul Landers: "Till is so good that when you let him know that his lyrics should go in a different direction, the very next day he brings a new version of the song."

Guitarist Richard Kruspe: “He's a hell of an extreme man. He dives very deeply into situations where I cannot follow him. Everything he does is very extreme; I don't know anyone who does it. "

Drummer Christoph Schneider: "I would not want to be in Till's shoes: his soul is tormented by doubts and contradictions, he is equally a moralist and a monster."

June 1, 2021 - Translate by Lindemann Belgium

[eloves-writes]

a pause in reality

[spencer reid x reader]

summary : you and spencer finish work late, admit your feelings & spend the night lying on your apartment floor talking

a/n : this is an extension of this fic that people seemed to like! enjoy, it’s 12:11am + i’m tired, mwah <3

couple : spencer reid x reader

content warnings : none

———————————

it had been a couple weeks since spencer came over to your apartment in the middle of the night, and you hadn’t spoken to him much since. he had taken a week off work for ‘personal reasons’ and then you’d been completely overloaded with work after that so there hadn’t been much room for conversation. the lack of conversation had provided much opportunity for simply observing the doctor’s existence; you liked watching him work. it wasn’t in a weird way, and not in a sexual way; there was just something about how he quickly flipped pages of case files and twirled his pen around his fingers as he thought what to write that was quite encapsulating. you thought he was quite beautiful in the most winsome way, like he wasn’t outwardly trying to impress you but everything he did still made you bite your lip and smile. 

despite your admiration, you missed the usual tidbits of conversation that came with sitting on the desk opposite spencer and being his best friend; the random ‘fun fact!’s and ‘did you know?’s that hadn’t been so common since you’d spent the night together. well. not spent the night together spent the night together, but you fell asleep cuddled up on your couch and didn’t move until the morning. it wasn’t exactly awkward, but you’d both felt a heavying shift in the usual romantic tension that circled you. the intimacy that came with falling asleep on each other didn’t help the feelings you were both trying to keep bottled up for the sake of your jobs, but at the end of the day that job was behavioural profiling so it was pretty clear you felt the same way, and you had for a long time.

“hey y/n,” prentiss said, perching on the edge of your desk. it had been yet another late night at the office, the hour hand of the clock was just shy of 10pm.

“hey you,” you replied. “i’ve still got another case report to finish, i won’t be long.”

“you are the wooorst,” she moaned dramatically. “i can’t wait to be out of here, we spent far too much time in this office.”

you smiled at her and rolled your eyes. “i’ll ask garcia if she can drive me home, em. i don’t want to hold you up any longer.”

“ok, sure, thanks. have a good weekend y/n, reid.” she gave you a quick hug and waved as she left the office. emily usually drove you to and from work, partly because you didn’t like driving for an hour at 8am in the morning, but mostly because you always brought her coffee and she loved you for it. spencer looked over the divider between your desks and cleared his throat.

“you, um, need a lift home?”

“yeah, why?” you replied without thinking as you tried to speed-write the last few lines of your report.

“i thought maybe i could drive you, it’s late and i, um, wouldn’t want garcia to go out of the way when we live on the same road. it’s not a problem, i’d actually like to- i mean-”

you chuckled under your breath. your eyes met and he let out a nervous giggle.

“you can drive me home, spencer. thank you.”

his voice raised a couple octaves. “ok.”

you chuckled again and closed the tab you were looking at on your computer before grabbing your bag and coat. he followed suit, throwing his satchel on his shoulder and fiddling with the strap as he waited for you to gather the last of your things.

“ready?” he asked, biting back an excited-nervous smile.

“yeah, i just need to give this to hotch,” you motioned to the case file you were holding, “i’ll meet you in the elevator.”

spencer mumbled an understanding and you went your separate ways before meeting up again in the elevator. it was only a few minutes, but the tension was ever-thickening and you were glad to get out on the ground floor. you figured it would be a miracle if you made it all the way home without jumping on him. you didn’t.

“you know what hotch said to me when i left,” you began as you walked to his car. the silence had become unbearably uncomfortable. “he asked if we were going on a date.”

spencer looked up, wide-eyed and blushing. he fumbled with his keys and unlocked his car. “that’s, haha, that’s funny.”

you were much used to the reality-based teasing from the team.

“yeah, you know hotch. always a joker,” you replied light-heartedly. you both climbed into the car, spencer in the driver’s seat for once. he turned towards you, and in a fraction of a moment, he moved in to kiss you. it wasn’t a conscious decision, it wasn't a choice- it was a reflex. in that fraction of a moment, spencer reid felt an all-compelling yet natural urge to lean over and kiss you.

“woah,” you pulled away before he could reach you. “were you about to kiss me?”

he sat back in his seat and scratched his neck awkwardly. you suddenly regretted saying anything at all. “sorry, i shouldn’t have … let’s just go-”

“no, it’s ok,” you laughed. “continue.”

“oh, ok.”

your lips finally met, and it felt like the stars aligning. all the months of tension, the sneaking glances, the late night spying, they’d all added up to this kiss in the front seat of spencer’s car in the quantico parking lot. and this was what you’d been chasing, this was the pause of reality you could only match to the quietest and earliest hours of the morning. you placed your hands on his face as you broke the kiss, his own hands still firmly holding your head and pushing your hair out of your face. the two of you froze like that, simply absorbing the moment and framing it in your minds in case you didn’t get this luxury again.

a distant car horn disturbed your focus, and spencer finally started to drive you home. he was a good driver, if one could drive gently he certainly did. it wasn’t like being in a car with morgan, when you had to hold on for dear life and prey he wouldn’t crash- he never did, but derek’s disregard for road safety was a little concerning. in a total contrast, spencer obeyed absolutely any and every traffic law.

“you know you drive like a grandma, spence?” you joked, letting your inner thoughts out of your head.

“hmm, what did you say?”

“nothing,” you chuckled to yourself. “do you think we could grab some takeout on the way home?”

he smiled. “sure. by home do you, um, mean your apartment? you want me to come to your apartment?”

you nodded and leaned over to kiss him again. you were so done pretending you didn’t like him; you’d wasted enough time dancing around your feelings for him, you didn’t want to waste anymore. he felt the exact same- he’d never really experienced love before but he was pretty sure this was as close as he could get to a soulmate. a twin flame. there was an unspoken understanding between you, you just got each other in a way no one else did. which was also an advantage when you asked to get takeout on the way home and spencer automatically pulled up to your shared favourite chinese restaurant without having to ask.

within an hour, you were both sat on the floor of your apartment eating noodles and discussing whatever topics came to mind. first it was work, then literature, then music, and now you’d settled on a much more mature topic of office gossip. the time had slipped away as you spent the evening together, the clock ticking far past midnight as you talked. your biggest living room window was wide open to let in the night breeze and city ambience, much like it had been the last time spencer had been in your apartment, except this time there wasn’t the pestering weight of feelings on your shoulder. everything felt shiny and new, that familiar late-night vibe recast with fresher feelings of domesticity. you fixed your gaze onto the young doctor as he tucked a pillow under his head to lay on the floor, studying every line of his frame as he stretched his arms. you had always thought him quite spindly, but you could see his lower stomach where his shirt had ridden up and it was quite defined.

“are you checking me out, y/l/n?”

“maybe,” you replied breezily, shuffling across to lay your head on top of him. he brought an arm down from behind his head and wrapped it around you. it felt like there was the world outside, and then you and spencer. it didn’t feel like everything else had stopped, it just felt like right there in your apartment you were detached from it all. it was you and spencer, and that was completely ok. he cleared his throat and began to talk; he was reading from memory a book you’d told him months ago was one of your favourites. you smiled to yourself like an idiot, glad he couldn’t see your face. all your life, you had craved the exact feeling you felt in that moment- an escape from reality the way a gas station was a break from a long road trip. you felt loved, and most of all you felt ready to fall asleep and wake up well-rested for knowing your heart was at peace with your mind for the first time.

[1a-imagines]

No excuses

》 Bakugo x reader

》 Word count: 5k

》 Overview: You were childhood enemies who always ended up stuck together, you were neighbours, got put in all the same classes, ended up living together in the UA dorms. Overtime you grew to accept each others company, maybe even enjoy it. So what happens when your new work lives separate you for the first time?

Every day was lacklustre.

You weren't sure what; but something was missing. Ever since you went pro and moved into your own apartment you felt as though your life lacked something. There was an empty hole but you just weren't sure what used to be there.

Perhaps you just missed those simple UA days? Being surrounded with your friends day and night and not having to worry about all the things pro heroes had to worry about? There was no doubt it was a much less stressful time.

Or maybe it was the fact you no longer had your family breathing down your neck every second of the day? You were an adult now and that came with a whole new sense of freedom. Maybe what you were missing was being surrounded by your loved ones all the time? You lived alone in your new apartment and it was a big difference in contrast to the UA dorms you lived in for three years.

You thought you'd enjoy the quiet but it turns out you found the silence painful. It was more peircing to your ears than any yelling or screaming you had in the dorms.

No matter how much you wondered what was missing you just couldn't seem to place your finger on it. It's not like you weren't  keeping in touch with your friends and family. They called everyday, you certainly weren't lonely. So why was your heart still yearned for something... maybe even for someone?

With a sigh, you dried the last plate of the bunch and put it away. Finally done with your chores for the day. You dried your hands and went over to check your phone that had been thrown onto the couch. You saw a text notification pop up.

Blastard: (1 new message)

Oi! Idiot! Are you dead yet? I haven't heard from you in weeks!

You couldn't help but chuckle at his unique way of showing worry, though it would be a lie to say you weren't used to it by now. It was such a typical Bakugo move. You shook your head before typing out a reply.

Bad news for you, I live!

You hit send before throwing your phone back down. You felt awfully giddy about him texting you, which was a strange feeling, usually you annoyed the hell out of each other. As weird as it was; it had been awhile since you'd last spoken to him.

Maybe you were just happy he hadn't completely forgotten you exsisted, you figured once you went your seperate ways that you'd probably never talk again; unless it was work related.

You had grown up together, always forced to be around each other no matter how much you despised it. You were neighbours, you didn't go to the same schools, but you'd always hear him yelling through the walls whenever he was home, you'd always pass each other when leaving your houses on the morning, and to your 10 year old self? There was no worse way to start off your day than his stupid face being the first thing you see when leaving your home.

It was like you couldn't get through a day without running into him at least once.

Then you both ended up in the same highschool, UA, which meant you walked the same route everyday as well as being in all the same classes. Then you lived in dorms together for three years, which meant you were around your childhood enemy almost every minute of everyday.

It was like the universe was trying to torture you both.

You hated each other as kids, always getting into scrapes and arguments, but as you got older the hate died down into more of a friendly rivalry. You bickered non stop but you also grew to enjoy all those comebacks and quick retorts, it was like a never ending game of 'who can make the best comeback/insult'. It even made you laugh at times.

Eventually, somewhere during your UA days, you both got to a point where you could actually admit you were friends.

But after being stuck together for so long? You'd think you would be happy to have some peace and quiet around here. You no longer had to deal with explosions going off or yelling every 5 seconds. No yelling from downstairs or next door, no insults or smartmouthed comments.

Though, even you had to admit he had matured a lot since you were kids, he still kept true to his grouchy self, but he was no where near as violent or bad tempered. He'd calmed down a lot as you grew into adults and you were proud of him for coming so far.

You were about to go take a bath to relax after cleaning all day, but when you saw your phone light up again you couldn't stop yourself from diving for it.

Blastard: (1 new message)

The fuck do you mean? That's not bad news for me dumbass.

It was a little weird for him not to give a snarky reply but it's possible hero work was tiring him out as much as it had been tiring you out. You were about to tell him it was just a joke but then another message came through,

Blastard: (1 new message)

Have you been eating alright? I know you can't cook for shit and you're living alone now.

Your eyes softened at the message, a goofy smile spreading across your lips. Not only had he made an effort to message you first, something he rarely did, but he also was showing care for you? Your cheeks heated up and you took a second to press your face into a pillow, a way to collect yourself before you replied.

Aw, you care about me?~

I've been eating fine! Instant ramen exists for a reason! It's for people like me who "can't cook for shit" :P

His next reply was almost instant, it scared you how quick your phone was to sound with another notification.

Blastard: (1 new message)

Don't fucking tell me you've been living off of instant ramen this whole time-

You felt too shy to admit to the truth. It was true you hadn't been eating great since you had been living alone. Your job was so demanding you didn't have time to cook. Choosing fast options over home cooked meals had been your way of living for the past few weeks and admitting to it felt like a punch to your pride.

Blastard: (1 new message)

That's it, I'm coming over to make you an actual meal tonight. See you at 6.

You did a double take at the response.  There was clearly no room to argue.

"He's coming over!?" You jumped up in a panic at your sudden self invited guest. Lucky for him you had a rare night off work, and lucky for you, you had spent the day cleaning up. Maybe it'll look like you have this whole "adulting" thing down.

After glancing at the time and seeing it was only 4pm you threw your phone down. You needed to freshen up before he came over.

For some reason you felt this pressure to look good in front of him? But you had known him since you were little kids! He wouldn't care, he's seen you look much worse, so why did you care about looking good this time around? You shook your head, sick of all this over thinking and went to take a quick bath. Once you were done you dried your hair and threw on a fresh pair of clothes.

You felt excited to see him again and almost-... Nervous? It was a strange sensation, you shouldn't be feeling nervous to see him, you used to see him everyday. Maybe it was because this would be the first time you'd be spending time alone in your new home? Yeah, that must be it!

Glancing up at the time you still had half an hour until he arrived. You decided to take your mind off of all your swirling thoughts by mindlessly scrolling through your phone until your door bell finally rang.

You pushed yourself up with a small groan. You walked to your front door, your heart raced in your chest knowing who was on the otherside of the door. You took a deep breath through your nose before opening the door to see your familiar, scowling, friend. He stood there, a bag in his right hand and foot tapping on the floor as if he had been waiting ages for you to open the door for him.

"Kat! Long time no see!" You beamed up at him only for him to roll his eyes and brush past you. "Shut up and show me where your kitchen is, you need a proper meal."

You couldn't help but smile as you noticed the bag he carried was filled with fresh groceries. He was alway so bad with words but it was actions like this that made you see how much he really cared about you.

"Through there." You nodded your head toward an opening and followed him through after shutting the door. He put all the ingredients down and you leaned back against the counter watching him prepare the food. "What? No 'Hi Y/n, how have you been?' You cut right to the chase as always." You chuckled softly to yourself earning a glare from the blond as you attempted to imitate his voice.

"First of all! I don't sound like that! Second of all, I'm only here because you can't take care of yourself." He scoffed before adding. "Still annoying as always."

'Why was I missing him again?' You huffed, blowing some hair from your face in the process. "So! Chef! What are we having?"

"Curry." Was his quick reply as he began to lay out and cut up the ingredients. You hummed in delight at the thought of homemade curry. It had been a while since you had a good home cooked meal. Your family sometimes brought you leftover foods knowing how busy you were with work, but they couldn't come feed you everyday. You were an adult now and you needed to learn to cope on your own! Even with a busy career life.

"You remember what I like?" You asked, your eyes glimmering with an emotion he couldn't quite tell, in order to avoid looking at your face he kept himself busy with making dinner.

"I've known you for over 10 years, just because I haven't seen you for a few months doesn't mean I'm going to forget everything about you, idiot." He tutted, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. You leaned back against the counter beside him, your lips twisted into a soft frown.

"A few months huh? It feels like longer..."

You did not intend for him to hear that but he did, and honestly? He agreed.

Without you around to annoy him every hour of the day, things just seemed to go by painstakingly slow. Without you his days were boring, and as much as he hated to admit it, your stubbornness, your quick remarks and sarcastic comebacks, as much as they annoyed him, they added a certain spice to his life.

They kept him on his toes, he liked the challenges you gave him, whether it was getting the last word, winning against you in training or just coming up with the best insulting nickname. He couldn't believe he actually missed it all, but he did, and honestly? This whole dinner thing had just been an excuse to see you again.

He missed you.

"Tch, feels like not long enough." He grumbled as he moved over to the stove to turn it on. You sent him a cocky grin, shifting your weight onto your other foot. "Oh yeah? Then why were you so quick to come over here?" You hummed, tilting your head. He knew you were teasing him, he could tell by the way the words melted from your lips like butter, you were practically purring as you grinned at him. It reminded him of a cat.

He decided not to dignify you with a repsonce and you took that as a sign of victory. You giggled before turning to grab a drink from the fridge. You cracked open a can of soda and upon hearing the unmistakable fizzing noise Bakugo's head shot around to you, his eyebrows creased together in distaste. "You shouldn't be drinking that shit!" He barked at you.

"Oh come on! I've cut right back on the junk food. Look!" You threw the fridge door open to display the variety of fruits and vegetables in front of him. "I've been really healthy! I've even been doing a lot more weight training! Soon I'll be as strong as you! Maybe even more so!" You smirked, he wanted nothing more than to wipe the smug look from your face. You shut the fridge door with your foot before taking another swig of your soda.

Bakugo scoffed, "You wish! You'll have to work a lot harder before you can even dream of matching up to my strength!" He sent you a toothy grin as he watched your shoulders deflate, eyes narrowing up at him.

Bakugo continued to put the chopped up ingredients into the pan, "Why have you been eating instant ramen this whole time if you have all that shit anyway?"

You turned your head away, cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. It took a lot to swallow down your pride enough to mutter the next words. "You know I can't cook very well." It was painful to admit you were an adult with the cooking capabilities of a child. Between school and work placements you just never found the time to practise new recipes. Not to mention the fact your family usually cooked a lot of meals for you.

You had contemplated practising some recipes in the past but something always manages to come up! You knew working as a pro was going to be hard, that you'd be busy every day, but you didn't know it would consume your life to this extent.

Without another word you walked towards the living room. "Let me know when dinner is ready!" You sent him a cheeky grin as you left. Bakugo turned back to the food, grumbling something about how he wasn't a damn slave, despite being the one who offered his services in the first place.

Looking around, he finally had time to take in the room, he hadn't seen it since you first moved in and bugged him and kirishima to help move boxes. The room was well decorated, not a thing out of place. Despite the apartment being pretty small you had done well to make it homely.

As he made the curry, he added in some spices and when he picked up the shaker labelled "Extremely hot", He smirked. He recalled the good ol' days in the UA dorms. He sometimes went out of his way to spike your food with hot spices. Your face was always priceless! The thought crossed his mind to do it again. After all, it wouldn't affect him, he loved spices and, unlike you, they didn't turn his face red.

He sighed before shaking his head. You were both grown up now, and you needed to eat a proper meal. He hated to even think about it but he did care for you. More than he would like to admit. He always thought once he went pro and finally got away from you, this "curse" you two shared of always being stuck together wherever you went would disappear, and he would be happy.

But he wasn't, somewhere down the damn line he has gotten used to your annoying presence, he had grown to like your quick remarks, how you never backed down from him, you weren't afraid to speak you mind or put him in his place, and as much as all those qualities used to bug the shit out of him as a kid, he had grown to respect them, even-... love them?

He clenched his teeth when he felt his cheeks heating up. God, he hated this. He wasn't cut out for this lifestyle! Why was he even here!? He could be out training! Not pining over his childhood enemy! The curry sauce started to bubble over in the pan and he cursed to himself, once again he was so distracted with thoughts of you that he couldn't concentrate on the task at hand!

He finished making the food, doing everything he could not to let his mind wander back to thoughts of you. He grabbed a few plates before putting the rice and curry onto them. He yelled through to you that the food was done, "I'm only in the next room! You don't have to yell so loud!" He huffed in amusement, your words were ironic considering your volume matched his. He smiled at your never ending bite, you always had something to say.

Such a smartass. He shouldn't enjoy it as much as he did.

You came through, throwing the empty soda can into the trash as you passed and sat down in the seat beside him. You hummed in delight, "Smells so good!!"

"Of course it does! I made it!" He grinned, taking a bite. While the lack of extreme spice was underwhelming for him, he knew you would like it. Your face twisted into distaste at his smugness, "I forgot to never stroke your fat ego."

He growled, ready to yell at you for the remark but when he saw you take the first bite of food his anger was forgotten.

Your eyes lit up like fireworks on a cold winter night. "I also forgot how crazy good of a cook you are!" You beamed, happily digging into the curry. His features softened, something about seeing you enjoy his food so much felt really good. He almost forgot to eat himself as he watched you stuff your face. You had gotten some rice stuck to your cheek as you shoveled the dish into your mouth. It was so stupidly cute, a soft smile graced his lips.

You caught him staring, it was rare to see him smile, no cocky grin or smirk, it was a real smile. Soft, relaxed, happy. You thought your heart was going to jump out of mouth. You did not expect that sight when you looked up from your food.

You gulped, not because there was food in your mouth, but because the atmosphere had suddenly changed. There was an invisible weight ontop of you both, crushing you.

"What…?" You asked quietly, hiding your face behind your hair. He snapped out of it, realising he'd been caught he froze, his heart skipped a beat. However, there was no time for him to get embarrassed because next thing he knew he was throwing a towel at you "You got rice all over your face, idiot! Wipe it off! You look stupid!"

You grumbled as the fabric hit your face, yet complied and wiped your lips clean. You went back to eating, this time more carefully so you didn't make a mess. You noted the mild spices but didn't comment on them. It was unusual for Bakugo to not fire up his dishes with spice. The decision to make the curry mild definately wasnt for his own benifit. He'd done it for you.

It made you smile, and as much as you wanted to thank him for it you figured he wouldn't want you bringing up his strangely nice gesture since he had been so silent about it.

During the dinner you talked about your new work lives, how you'd been coping living alone, anything that came to mind. Of course, that came with a variety of witty comments and snarky comebacks, but it was just how you liked it. It was how it had always been, how you always wanted it to be.

Once the plates were clean you stood up, reaching over to grab his plate so you could clean up but his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist. You paused, looking up to meet his eyes. "I'll help clean." He said, picking up his plate and taking it to the sink. You smiled, following him with your own plate.

"Wow, cooking and cleaning? Has anyone ever told you that you'd be a perfect house wife?" You smirked at him as he filled up the sink with soap and water.

"At least I can cook." He shot back without missing a beat. You laughed st the remark, nudging his side as you pushed your wasy in front of the sink. You continued to chat as you cleaned up, you washed as he dried.

As you finished up scrubbing the last dish Bakugo made a comment about you eating like a pig at dinner which, in return, made you splashed his face using soapy dish water.

He growled when he felt the droplets soaking his face and hair, but hearing your laughter made it hard to stay his usual, grumpy self. Instead he settled for dipping his fingers into the water and flicking you back.

Your face scrunched up, eyes closing to avoid any soap suds getting in your eyes.

You took his reciprocation as a declaration of war and it soon turned into a mini, kitchen water fight. Laughter filled the once quiet apartment as you fought each other.

For a moment it didn't feel like you lived alone, for the first time in months you felt like that empty space in your life had been filled again.

You had to stop the water fight before you soaked the kitchen as well as each other. As fun as it was you didn't want to have to clean up for the third time today.

Once all the dishes were put away and you dried yoursleved using a spare towel; Bakugo narrowed his eyes at the front door.

He wasn't sure if he should go, a part of him didn't want to. He only came over to make you dinner, now that was over he had no reason to stay. Should he make up some bullshit excuse to stay? He didn't want you teasing him again.

Despite taking a few minutes to think up an excuse to stay, he came up with nothing. Grumbling to himself he kicked his foot against the ground and turned around to you, ready to say goodbye.

His eyes widened upon landing on you, you held up two gaming controllers, a grin on your lips as you pushed one towards him. "Wanna try finally beating me at mario kart?"

"What are you talking about! I win all the time!" He rolled his eyes and snatched a controller from your hands, taking on your challenge. He felt the weight lift from his shoulders, you were giving him a reason to stay longer and he wasn't about to turn that down.

"You beat me at super smash bros! But never mario kart!" You backfired, plopping down onto the couch as the console fired up.

"Then let's play super smash bros!"

"We do not play that in this household!" You stomped your foot at the thought of the game you could never beat him at. Bakugo scoffed and sat next to you. "You're such a fucking sore loser!"

You forced a laugh before sending him a glare, leaning closer to him. You reaction must have amused him as he smirked at you. "I do not want to hear that from you!"

"Shut up and let's play!" The first round started up, the familiar countdown sound ringing in your ears. You'd like to say things started pretty civil, but It didn't take long for you to start shoving each other as you battled for first place. There was a lot of yelling, combined with a lot of laughter and cheering. It was the most lively your apartment had ever felt, in just one night Bakugo was able to change all of that.

A few rounds turned into hours. You didn't even notice how high up the moon was in the sky. You were too busy enjoying each other's company, having more fun than either of you had experienced in months.

You shot out of your seat pumping your fist into the air as you passed the finish line in first place once again.

"HAH! You still can't beat me!” You boasted.

The blond threw the controller down, his teeth clenched tight as he grumbled. “Next time I’m bringing super smash bros!” You sat back down, giggling as you poked his side. “Who's the sore loser now huh? Big baby.” You teased, poking a finger into his side, much like poking a bear with a stick, it was a recipe for disaster.

He growled and jumped to you grabbing your hands to keep them away from prodding him. You started laughing again, squirming and battling with him, determined to keep attacking but your giggle fit made it hard to fight back.

As you were laughing you missed yet another rare smile on his face. He didn't know what was going on with him, maybe he was just in a good mood today? He had taken down a group of robbers earlier when he was on patrol, and taking down villains always felt good.

All he knew was that he never wanted the moment to end, it was nice to hear your stupid laughter again, to see you smiling as you tried to match his strength and fight back. He hadn't even realised that some point during your play fight he had knocked you down onto your back and was hovering over you.

He had always been the stronger of the pair so you lost fairly quickly. His hands pinned yours beside your head. "That was a good fight you put up, but it's still not good enough to match up to me." He smirked down at you

You stuck out her tongue at him, panting as you tried to kick your legs at him. Turns out he had thought ahead and pinned those down too. You huffed through your nose, tasting defeat was bitter.

You stared at each other, as the laughter died down so did the playfulness. The atmosphere became serious. He wasn't sure what it was, but there was some sort of unspoken feeling between you both. He gulped, noting the way your hair was sprawled out on the couch beneath you, creating a halo of hair around your head. Your eyes shone as they stared into his, he had never noticed what a nice colour they were, and your lips- they looked so soft..

There was a pull, an invisible red string tugging you closer to each other and connecting your hearts.

But, you both ignored it. He got off of you and sat back. He ran a hand through his hair, you both avoided eye contact.

Looking out the window Bakugo finally noticed that the moon had long ascended into the night sky. Had he been here that long? God, it must be passed midnight but he felt like he had only been here for an hour. He shook his head and stood up, You watched him with parted lips, your heart racing at the tension.

What was that feeling between you two? It was so strong. Did he feel it too? It was sending your head into a spin.

"I should go." He muttered, he didn't want to go, he really didn't but the words were leaving his mouth before he had time to process them.

He had felt it too, and he didn't know how to react. He hadn't felt anything like it before, it made his heart race, he felt weak and he didn't like it. He knew he felt- something for you? But was it enough to call it love?

You looked up at him, giving him a nod, not like he could see since his back was already turned. You stood up, arms wrapping around yourself as you walked him to the door.

There were so many unspoken words between you. So many feelings left unexpressed. You bit your lip, voice caught in your throat as you watched him silently slip on his shoes. He opened the front door, pausing for a second, hesitating... "See ya."

"Bye." You replied as he closed the door behind him.

The appartment suddenly ran cold, silent, a chill running across your skin. The silence cut through your ears like a sharp blade.

You pulled your arms tighter around yourself. How could you deny it? Having him around again had been amazing, even if just for one afternoon. You despised him as a child, but over time, throughout highschool, through building a silent trust, a friendship had formed, and then-… and then somewhere down the line it turned into more.

No matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you loved being around him, you had a strong bond, you had watched him grow and become a better person, you had seen each other at your best and at your worst. You had fought each other but also fought with each other. You cared for each other, you annoyed the hell out of each other, you had been through so much together.

He had always been there, even if you didn't want him to be. You had hated him and you had loved him...

You… loved him…

Your eyes widened, "I.. love him." You muttered, saying it out loud made it all the more real. A feeling of wanting to slap yourself silly for being so blind overcame you.

You loved him! Of course you loved him!!You had always been so focused on school and work that you hadn't even noticed you were growing feelings for your childhood rival?

You couldn't let him go again! How many more months until you got to see each other again? You had always somehow ended up stuck together, it felt like he would always be there but now you had witnessed what life was like without him around… you hated it! For the first time in your life, you wanted him around.

You couldn't sit around in your lonely apartment each day now you knew you were in love with that jerk!

"God damnit! Why did it have to be him." You ran to the door and flung it open, not even thinking of shoes as you ran out into the cold night air. "Maybe he didn't get far-"

You rounded the corner before colliding with what you could only assume was a brick wall. You winced, pulling back and rubbing your nose. You looked up, coming face to face with none other than the man himself.

You stared at each other in shock, he came back for you too? This whole scene, these feelings, neither of you could have ever imagined this is where you would've end up.

"I need to tell you something!" You spoke in unison, making you both cringe.

"You first." He crossed his arms stubbornly, wanting to know you were on the same wave as he was and hadn't just ran after him because he left something.

You sighed, rubbing your arm, glancing away for a second to collect yourself. You hadn't thought this far ahead so you had no idea what to say. You sighed, looking up to meet his eyes, the best way would be to face your feelings head on. No going back! Even if he rejects you, at least he would respect you being blunt with it, he hated when people beat around the bush.

"I love you." You said, your head lifted high. His eyes widened at your bold declaration, his tense demeanour dropping. "I wanted to tell you before you disappear for months again. So there you have it, I'm in love with you. Believe me or not I don't care. I just- mmph!" Hands yanked you forward by your hips, smooth lips molded against your own when he head dipped down.

It took a few seconds to reciprocate, but when you did he pulled you closer. Your hands went to his shoulders to steady yourself, your legs felt weak, but that didn't stop you from kissing back.

You smiled into the kiss, you couldn't help it. Not only did the kiss feel great but the way he had pulled you in for it without wasting time with words was just such a Bakugo thing to do.

"I love you too, dumbass." He muttered when he pulled away, You let out a breathy laugh and shook your head. "You have such a way with words~"

"Shut up." You giggled at him before you went back in for another kiss, longer, holding more passion as your years of pent up feelings finally reached the surface. Your heads tilted and turned, hands roaming each other's bodies, his arms wrapped around you, his body heat protecting your bare skin from the chill of the night.

He backed you up agaisnt the wall. His tongue ran across your bottom lip, you weren't sure how long you had been standing there but it felt like you were the only two people in the world.

It was so late not another soul was to be see. It was just you, him and the city lights.

His hand ran down towards your thigh, only for you both to jump back when the distance sound of a car honking ripped through your serentity.

Panting as you stared at each other, almost not believing you had just msde out with each other. You pressed your fingers to your tingling lips. A smile on your face, "So- uh, wanna come inside for a bit?” the mischief in your eyes did not match the innocent smile on your face. He knew exactly what you were planning, "Fuck yes."

And there was no way he was going to turn it down.

[caxsthetic]

WEDDING BAND — Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader

Type: Standalone Movie (One-Shot Fiction)

Cast: Kuroo Tetsurou

Storyline: High school reunion was the best time to catch up with old times. But you could never be ready to meet him again, even after eight years already went by.

Genre: Drama, Slice of Life

You took a step backward, making him let out a sigh as he knew that he was reaching out for something that was never there. Hope, a second chance. Yet he said it, digging his mindless dream that maybe there could be something. Maybe not now, maybe someday.

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened as you contemplated once again.

Was it a good choice to come here? It had been such a long time since the last time you met up with your high school friends, of course, you wanted to meet them. But you remembered a conversation on the group chat three days ago — when your friend suddenly brought up a name.

A name that was long forgotten, buried deep inside your mind.

Was it seven? Eight? You didn't count anymore how many years went by after graduation. After that fateful day where you decided to break it all off with him, you never once thought about him, feeling certain whatever choice you made was final and valid.

But somehow, you were not ready to meet him. It was not like you were still head over heels over that man, you didn't even bother to ask around how he was after you left, or what he was doing for his adulthood.

You already moved on.

Yes, you were. Those were the words that you chanted at the back of your head. You unlocked the car and got out in a haste. Your fingers skimmed the wrinkles on your skirt, smoothing it up a little before checking your hair one more time, wanting to make sure you look decent.

You have no one to impress, you do this for yourself, honey.

Blowing a kiss to your reflection on the window car, you smiled confidently before striding towards your high school's gymnasium, chin held high as you greeted whoever familiar faces that you remembered.

The second you walked inside the area, you felt a sudden blow of nostalgia knitting it's way back to your heart. You remembered how you tended to be here, sitting on the bench as you cheered your former lover every time he had a practice.

You even remembered the things that happened inside the locker room when everyone already went home. A little rendezvous filled with heavy pants and teeth clashing to each other — such hormonal teenagers, the two of you used to be.

Shaking your head, you decided to look around, wanting to see your friends that you only met daily through a video call. They were all screaming when they knew you were coming back, that you finally would live in Japan again after such a long time embarking on a journey in a foreign country.

It was such a miracle really, that you somehow could get a scholarship in one of the coldest countries in the world. You were not the smartest student on Nekoma before, but you applied anyway, filling all the requirements and wished for the best.

Three months later and you got a mail from the benefactor, you were so happy that you could make your parents proud, jumping throughout your house as you shouted that you were in, happy tears cascading down your cheek when you called your boyfriend with excitement lingering on your voice, telling him that you were one step closer to your dream.

And you still remembered how your smile faltered the second you heard his answer.

"Oh, congratulations."

Him and his unusual tone that was fall flat, hanging up the call before you could answer some more.

You knew it was the right thing to break things off. From the very first start, he didn't want to try. Ever since then your relationship with him was like leaves in autumn, waiting for the wind to make it fall to the ground.

And the graduation day was the time when the wind finally knocked things off.

Shaking your head, you flicked your own forehead not to let your mind wander, focusing on the task of finding your group of friends.

Your feet brought you to a bar that the committee set up right under the basketball ring. A familiar dark brown hair that belonged to your friend moved slightly as she gulped down a shot down her throat.

Always a heavy drinker, that friend of yours.

"Honey-pie!" She screeched the second she had a proper look at you. Her breath already reeked with alcohol, making you chuckle in amusement with how wasted she was (even though the reunion just started less than an hour ago). "Goodness, my dear! Look at you!"

She slurred a little, your other friends praising you and made your presence to be showcased with a spotlight. It didn't take long for the others coming around, asking how life was, how it was to move overseas, or even how many flings you had for around seven years in another nation.

"Oh, please, you know I am not like that." You hummed in delight after sipping a glass of cocktail that the bartender made for you. "I am a very loyal woman, never prancing around once my heart’s set for someone."

"Ah, a certain former captain?" Your drunk friend retorted, making you flinch a little as you understood her reference. Another one of your friends (who was the mature, and completely sober one) nudged her hips. "Fuck, sorry, forget I said anything."

You didn't know if it was because of the alcohol or the way his name was mentioned that your throat suddenly felt so dry. It was the alcohol, you reassured yourself, feeling certain nothing was going on inside your heart.

"I-I need a breather." So why did you run away? You couldn't understand yourself too sometimes as you drank the cocktail down your throat and left the scene.

It was immature for you to do that, you didn't mean to make your friend feel guilty. And you could only hope that they would understand, that whatever state you were in right now was solely because of yourself, no one else was at fault except you.

You ran outside from the back exit, catching your breath as you felt like you wanted to throw up. Running with alcohol in your blood and a full digestive system was a bad idea.

"Long night?"

And somehow a voice that slipped in your ear triggered it all.

He was frantic when you suddenly threw up, making him run back inside the gym to grab you a glass of water. This was not the reunion that he thought he would have.

With you still gagging out some alcohol, forcing it out of your stomach, you felt a familiar hand resting on your back. Gentle palm went up and down on the surface of your shirt, trying to ease you from another urge of nausea.

Funny how he was probably the main reason why you threw up in the first place, yet the reason why you calmed down too.

You straightened your posture as you felt that you were alright. He immediately retracted his hand away, stepping aside a little to give you some space. This was not the reunion that you thought you would have.

There was no intention for you to talk to him. It was clear that he wanted nothing to do with you when you never received any messages from him. You tried to reach out, once when you came home for a few days, but he never answered back, he never let you in again.

"Goodness." You muttered softly, calming down your heartbeat while taking a few deep breaths before finally dared to take a look at him. "Thank you, Kuroo."

He grimaced a little, making you raise one of your eyebrows in confusion. Was he feeling that cringe when you called his name? Should you just not acknowledge him at all? You pondered as you waited for his response, a few seconds felt like an eternity.

"That feels strange." His hand went to the back of his head, sighing as he fixed his composure.

"Huh? What strange?"

"You called me by my last name." His words made you wonder, making a pout to slip on your face. "I know it's been years," and 'us' was long gone. "But it's still strange, you know?"

You blinked, didn't expect him to casually act buddy-buddy with you. Shouldn't you be angry that he acted like you were still friends? Where was he when you tried to reach out, he was never there. And he had the audacity to make you feel that you were still in high school all over again.

"O—kay…" But you shrugged off the feeling, trailing your words as you bit your lips before the both of you fell to an awkward silence.

Awkward was something that never existed when the two of you were together. At least it never did before, and you were not surprised it was here right now. This was how it was supposed to be, right?

When two former lovers see each other after cutting ties for years, the awkwardness was normal. You wanted to just run away, get back to your friend, or go anywhere since you thought other places were better as long as you were not with him alone.

But as you were deep in thought, you didn't know when he took off his blazer. You were too busy thinking of an escape plan that you didn't realise it until the blazer was weighing on your shoulder, resting there to shield you from the night breeze.

This was unfair.

The way he dropped his blazer without thinking, tugging it on your shoulder, and patted your back before pulling away once again,

He was being unfair to your heart.

"W-what—"

"How was America? You were in California, right?" He asked nonchalantly as if he didn't just give you his blazer to warm you up. "Heard it was kinda freezing if it was not summer, and I know you are someone who couldn't handle cold."

You subconsciously gripped on his blazer, sniffling the familiar scent that even now — still made you feel at home.

"Yeah, it was cold most of the time." Chuckling, you tried to just enjoy the moment. Finally surrendering to the position you were in right now. "But it was alright, I have a heater in the dorm. So it's fine! I like it there, the scenery, the cafe, and I met someone there too, maybe you know him—"

The night wasn't supposed to be like this. You chat with your former boyfriend, catching up on all the years that went by as if there was never a huge gap separating you and the black-haired man.

It was so easy, all the words and laughs poured like a broken dam. Inching closer and closer, not even one realised that the two feet gap now turned into none — as your shoulder brushed with his, and both of you just let everything unfold.

Maybe if he leaned in, you would do the same.

"I didn't expect you here, to be honest." The laugh that you shared had now died down. "You moved overseas, and I am pretty sure you wouldn't come back." His voice sounded so restrained as he just looked forward, didn't glance at you that was standing right beside him.

You eyed him carefully, swallowing a huge lump as you could feel all the longing feelings started to come back to the surface. You couldn't, you couldn't let it happen. The reunion was to have fun, not to rekindle the love that could never work.

But it was already happening, right now, even maybe since he had his palm on your back to calm you down.

"Yet, you came back." The restrain on his voice now changed, turned into a melancholic tone. "It took you eight years. Eight years was actually not a long time when I think about it." You knew you should have bid farewell right now.

Now, before the dam breaks completely and couldn't be mended anymore.

"I should have waited for you, you know?" No, no. "Eight years was nothing when it came to someone who's in love."

You took a step backward, making him let out a sigh as he knew that he was reaching out for something that was never there. Hope, a second chance. Yet he said it, digging his mindless dream that maybe there could be something. Maybe not now, maybe someday.

What he said was something that he should have buried, knowing the circumstances.

But he didn't regret it. As he turned his head to face you once again, even though you were standing one foot apart from him with eyes that screamed how dare you, he could see how at the same time you wanted to run up to him, circling your arms around his neck to crash your lips on his.

He knew, he could see it because it was the same look that you gave to him all those years ago when you and he were just young, stupid, teenagers.

"Tetsurou, I—"

"Hey, (Y/n)!"

Both of you jolted when a familiar voice of your friend rang from the door. It was all gone in an instant; the magic, the love that aired once again before, it dissipated into thin air. And neither you and he were ready to come back to reality.

But maybe it was for the best.

It was for the best.

"Sorry if I disturbed you, but hey, Kuroo! I am gonna steal her for a sec, a photo group!" You chuckled softly at how your friend flailed her arms, begging you to join her. "I will run back inside to inform them that you are in!"

She was like a firework, reminding you of Kuroo's best friend from another school. One that you remembered was now a professional volleyball player.

"I-I will go back inside." You said softly under your breath, averting your gaze as you took off the blazer that still wrapped around you. So slow as you wanted the warmth to last. "See you around, Kuroo."

It was back to square one as you gave back the black fabric. Clutching on it a little too tight before bowing your head to give some respect. This was for the best, either you or he knew that. So he didn't stop you, he didn't stop you from slipping away once again, knowing for sure that there was no way you would come back to his arms — not after what he did.

But he didn't expect you to turn around once again, facing him as you played with the bag strap on your chest. He let out a small chuckle under his breath, knowing how you didn't change at all, always playing with your bag strap or clothes when you were nervous.

He stood there in silence, wondering what you were going to say as he wore his blazer again. Fixing up the button slowly as he waited. You finally parted your lips, closing them before opening up once again, eyes locked with his.

"If I choose to stay back then, do you think we would have a chance?"

The question knocked the air out of his lungs. Of course, of course, you and he would have a chance. It would be so much easier, he would go to your university every now and then, catching up would be so easy, it would last, the relationship that you have with him since the first year of high school would—

"Maybe, maybe yes and maybe not." He shut his heart, using his head to answer your question instead. "We will never know, I guess. It wouldn't happen, so don't dwell too much with it, okay?"

He said it for you, and for himself.

Both of you were an adult now. Not everything could be changed by I love you anymore. It was the real world, no one could go back to the past as much as they wanted to. And his firm answer made you smile, slowly locking the memory with him back to the deepest part of your heart, in hope that you wouldn't have to find it ever again.

"Then," You cleared your throat, smiling so wide as if you didn't just ignore the love that you harboured towards the man in front of you. "Farewell, Kuroo."

And he nodded, giving you a salute. As if he didn't just shed a tear (one that he immediately erased with his thumb subtly) as he knew it was a farewell to his first love. No, to his love.

Both of you just stood there in silence, neither of you willing to avert each other. He tried to remember this, painting the moment to keep forever. How you smiled for him — just for him — how it never changed even after years went by.

And you, you noted how much he had grown. That life sculpted him to where he was right now. He lived a happy life, he stayed in the volleyball world, his passion. He was successful, this was something that you wanted to believe was enough for you.

Your eyes met with his, smiling there like an idiot, capturing the moment one last time — before both pairs of orbs fell to the left hand of each other. The two of you met with a truth, a reminder that life must go on, even though sometimes it was led in the unwanted direction.

Such a simple warning, mute, and stayed still.

Yours was silver, and he was gold.

"Farewell, Iwaizumi-san."

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[moon-light-jukebox]

“All you have to do is ask.” Chapter 10 - [Reid x Reader]

previous chapter // series index // next chapter 

Summary: Another morning after. After Dr. Reid’s declaration last night everything feels different. Reader quickly proves that some things never change when our good Doctor forgets the rules. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid / (Female) Reader

Rating: Mature

Category: Smut with a healthy dose of Fluff. 

Content Warning: Smut, BDSM themes, Femdom, impact play (slapping and spanking), choking, unprotected sex. 

Word Count: 4.1k for Chapter 10. 

A/n: Early today, I decided to split Chapter 10. This series will now have 11 chapters and an epilogue. I want to thank all of you that follow along and have sent me sweet message this week. I hope this chapter is everything I wanted it to be.

-- Chapter 10 - “Why are you being punished, Dr. Reid?”-- 

Every night since I was shot, I had dreamed of being whole. Losing Spencer had been unbelievably painful and healing from my gunshot wound was painful but losing faith in myself after all of that happened is what threatened to shatter me. I had kept everyone at a distance for so long, never letting anyone beyond these walls I had put up to keep my heart safe. It was hard to live with the thought that my judgment was so bad, my instincts were so off that I had trusted this beautiful man with his warm brown eyes and soft curly hair…I had trusted him, and he hadn't been what I thought he was. Ever since that night in my hospital room, my world felt fractured and heavy.

I could tell the world was different this morning before I even opened my eyes. The heavy fog that seemed to cloak my entire existence for the past month was no longer weighing me down.

Last night I let Spencer Reid into more than my room. I let him into my heart, I was trusting him to not hurt me again. I knew that these decisions would make my world different, but I hadn’t expected that my acceptance of his love would mend something inside of me that was broken long before I met him.

I told him I’d break all my rules for him, and he wrapped me in his arms and pressed his lips to mine. Spencer kissed me like I was the answer to a problem he never thought he could solve. My soul ached when his lips brushed against mine, but that ache was a sweet one, filled with hope and promise. For the first time in such a long time, I felt no pain.

When I imagined our reunion, I thought we would have been frantic in our need for each other. But all I had felt in that moment was just the desire to be with him. My world felt right for the first time in such a long time. I had fallen asleep in Dr. Spencer Reid’s arms, totally content as the sound of his heartbeat under my ear that rested on his chest lulled me to sleep.

We had separated slightly in the night. Spencer was still on his back, but I had rolled away from him at some point in the few hours we’d been asleep. You wouldn’t imagine that such a skinny man could radiate the kind of heat he did. We weren’t touching, but his right arm was reached towards me. Even in his sleep, he was still seeking me out, and the sight pulled at my heart. My wonderful, wonderful Spencer.

“It’s impolite to stare,” he grumbled, never opening his eyes. “Plus, it’s so dark in here you can’t even see me.”

I giggled, which caused a smile to tug the corners of his mouth. “You haven’t opened your eyes yet; you don’t know how dark the room is.” The teasing note left my voice when I told him the truth. “And…I wasn’t sure you were real,” I whispered. “I wanted to memorize your face just in case this had all been a dream.”

Spencer reached out to grab my arm, pulling me closer to his body. I nestled up against him while he pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “I promise you I’m very real.” He stretched his lean body out before letting out a monstrous yawn. “And now that you’ve let me love you, it’s going to be nearly impossible to get rid of me.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” I pulled back slightly, turning my face up to better see his.

His hand moved up to my face, his fingertips tracing over my cheek. “It’s not a bad thing for me, but you might get annoyed.”

I chuckled. “Are you saying you’re needy?”

My darling doctor simply nodded.

I lifted up on my elbow and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. “I’m sure you remember how well I can handle needy boys.”

Spencer groaned, then turned his head to the left so he could look at the clock on the nightstand. “We have to meet the rest of the team at 8 in the lobby. It’s 5:45 right now.”

“I’m very impressed that you can tell time, Dr. Reid.”

His bottom lip jutted out in a pout when he faced me again. “You can’t tease me like that.”

My index finger ran down between his eyes, over his nose, tracing the outline of his lips before I turned my hand, my thumb and forefinger gripping his chin. “I can do whatever the fuck I want, Dr. Reid. Or did you forget that?”

“No, Miss,” he breathed, his eyes wide. “I didn’t.”

“Miss, huh?” I teased. “Is that what you want?”

His eyes ran over my face, searching for something. “If y-you do,” he stammered out. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I know things can’t just go back to how they were before but…”

I smiled at him. “But you wouldn’t be opposed to the idea of me fucking your brains out?”

Spencer smiled, a tinge of pink appearing on the apples of his cheeks. “I don’t think I’ll ever be opposed to that.”

Leaning closer, I brushed my lips against his. “Have you missed me, Dr. Reid?”

“More than you can even imagine.” The sincerity laced in his words made me pull back, my eyes moving to meet his.

“I missed you too, my darling boy. So, so much.” I rolled my body up so I could swing my leg over his hips, my panty covered pussy pressing against his groin. Spencer was already a little hard, so the friction caused by my movements pulled a whimper from him. I leaned down to press a kiss to his well-defined jaw before nipping the skin with my teeth. “But you really missed this, didn’t you?” I ground against his growing arousal to prove my point.

Spencer’s hands came up to grip my hips, guiding my rocking against him. “What do you want, Dr. Reid?” I asked, my hands coming down to grab his own, pulling them off my body and pushing them over his head. My boy’s bottom lip was caught between his teeth, his wide eyes rapidly scanning over every inch of me.

When he didn’t immediately answer, I let out a sigh. I sat up, looking down at him. Surely you haven’t forgotten already, baby.

“Dr. Reid, we’ve talked about this. When I ask you a question, I expect an answer.” Bringing my right hand up, I quickly let it fall against his cheek, the sound of the sharp slap rang out into the silence of the room.

His cheek was bright red, his pupils blown in lust. “I’m sorry Miss.” Spencer’s hips lifted slightly, grinding against my heat. “I-I want to fuck you again, Miss.”

I smirked. “I’m sure you do, Dr. Reid. But, I’m not sure you deserve it.”

"Please," he whined. "Please, Miss. I need you."

“No, Dr. Reid,” I murmured, leaning over him again, my lips a breath away from his own. “You don’t need me yet, you just want me. But don’t worry, I’ll show you what it’s like to need me.” I kissed him softly. “Do you remember your safe words?”

“Yes Miss,” he breathed, his head jerking in a nod.

I flashed him a bright smile before I moved off of him. Let the games begin, baby. “Good. Take your clothes. Lay in the center of the bed. Now.”

He scrambled to comply with my orders while I moved off the bed completely, walking over to my suitcase. I grabbed one of my thin belts that I always kept in my go bag but rarely wore. I tugged on the leather material, running my fingers over its softness. I didn’t spare Spencer a glance when I tossed it down onto the bed. I faced the bed and began slowly peeling off my clothes, not missing the soft groan I heard come from my boy.

Spencer had followed my instructions perfectly, his beautiful angular body was bared to my gaze. His cock was already hard and resting against his thigh.

“Turn over, I want you on your hands and knees.”

His breathing stuttered, his eyes snapping up to my face. “W-what?”

“You heard me, Dr. Reid.” I picked up my belt, folding it in half, resting the fold in the palm of my left hand. “How many times have I told you that when I ask you a question, I want an answer? Clearly, the message isn't sinking in, baby." I smirked at him, enjoying how he was squirming. "So, we're going to try another way."

Spencer’s face was flushed, his teeth worrying his bottom lip.

“You can safe word if you don’t want to do this, Spencer,” I said softly, breaking the scene a bit; my boy was still so new to this. The thought of him being uncomfortable with something was unbearable to me. “I won’t be upset. I’ll punish you some other way.”  You know I would never give you more than you could handle, baby.

“I w-want to try it,” he whispered. “But what if I don’t like it?”

“Then you say yellow,” I said simply, my eyes fixed on his. “We’ll move on. Or you can say red and we’ll stop.”

He nodded before pushing up off of the bed, rolling over to get on his hands and knees. I smiled. My darling, darling boy. Before he rolled over completely, I noticed that his neck was flushed, a tell-tale sign of how he was feeling. “Are you embarrassed, Dr. Reid?”

“Yes Miss,” he mumbled.

I moved closer to him, resting on my knees, my right hand gripping the back of his thigh before sliding upwards. “Is it because you’re ass in the air for me? Are you embarrassed for me to see you like this, Dr. Reid?”

He nodded, causing me to scowl. I brought my open palm down against one of his ass cheeks. “You know, for such a smart boy who can’t stop talking any other time, you certainly seem to have a problem answering my questions.” He let out a yelp at the sting of my hand.

I moved the hand that had spanked him up to grip his curls, yanking his head upwards. “You will learn to answer me, Dr. Reid. Is that clear?”

“Yes Miss,” he replied, his voice strangled by his own desire and embarrassment. I saw how his cock hung between his legs, still so hard precum was leaking. I knew you’d be like this, my nervous boy.

With one more sharp tug, I released his hair. “You don’t need to be embarrassed, baby. Not with me, you know that. The next time I fuck this little ass, I’m going to fuck it while you’re like this. I’m going to grab your hips and slam my cock into you. But only after you beg me for it.” Spencer moaned at my words, his body tensing. “Is that what you want, Dr. Reid? Do you want me to shove your face into the pillow and fuck you like the slut you are?”

"Yes, Miss. Please."

I brought my hand down against his ass again, softer this time. “Good.” I moved the belt into my right hand. “I’m going to punish you now, Dr. Reid.” I ran the leather of my belt up the back of his thighs, over his cute little ass. “Why am I punishing you?”

“Because I didn’t answer your questions.” His response was immediate. Progress.

"I'm going to strike you 5 times, Dr. Reid. After every strike, you will count them out loud for me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Miss."

“If you’re a good boy, I’ll reward you when we’re done.” I leaned over, pressing a kiss to his shoulder as a sign of reassurance. “Ask me to punish you, Dr. Reid.”

He whined the sound was a mix of deep need and arousal, but also a tinge of uncertainty. "Please, punish me, Miss. Please."

I pulled the belt away from his body. I looked him over one final time before I brought the belt down quickly, striking where his ass met his thighs. He yelped slightly at the sensation, his body shifting forward. “Count, Dr. Reid.”

“One,” he gritted out, his fingers twisting in the sheets. I could almost feel his embarrassment. But, after he counted the first strike he pushed his ass back, silently asking for more.

“Such a dirty, dirty boy,” I whispered, so quietly I’m not even sure he heard me. I gave him a moment before I lashed out again.

“Two.”

My third strike was less intense, but it went over the area that I had already hit.

“Three,” he whined out.

“You’re doing so good, Dr. Reid,” I praised. “Your ass looks so pretty like this. I wish we were home so I could give it the proper attention it deserves.” I brought the belt down again.

“Four,” he cried.

“Why are you being punished, Dr. Reid?”

“Because I didn’t answer you when you asked me a question, Miss.” His voice was a thick, pathetic whimper; his hips were shifting desperately. Even if he didn’t understand it himself, his body wanted this.

“And have you learned your lesson?”

He nodded franticly before his head dropped. "Yes, Miss."

I brought my belt down one final time. I could feel my own arousal starting to coat my thighs at the sight of him. His ass was pink, his cock was hard, and his fingers were gripping the sheets so tightly the veins in his hands were visible beneath his skin.

“Five,” he said, his voice almost a broken sob.

I kissed his shoulder, my hand moving over his ass to soothe the tender skin. "I'm so proud of you Spencer. So proud of you. You're such a good boy." I peppered his back with kisses.

My nervous boy looked up at me, a sheen of tears in his eyes. My heart squeezed. “Are you alright, baby?”

He nodded. “Green. Green, Miss. I need you so much.”

I dropped the belt on the bed, my fingers going to his hair to pull him upright. "I know you do, my greedy boy.” My mouth met his in a hungry kiss while my other hand went down to run over his cock, causing him to release a strangled moan into my mouth.

Pulling away from the kiss, I waited until his eyes fluttered open before I spoke. “I’m going to reward you now, darling boy. I want you to lay down on your back and let me fuck you.” I pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes Miss,” he whimpered out, nodding his head, which only caused his hair to pull against my grip. “Please.”

I released him, letting him lie on his back. I straddled his hips, my dripping pussy hovering over his cock while I lined us up. “You can touch me, Dr. Reid. You’ve been such a good boy.” With that, I quickly sank onto his cock, taking him to the hilt in one movement.

“Oh my god,” he groaned loudly, his head was thrashing against the pillows, his hands gripping my hips so tightly I was sure I’d have bruises.

“Do you feel how wet my pussy is, Dr. Reid?” I leaned over him bracing one hand beside his head, but the other I placed over his throat.

"Yes, Miss. You feel so good." His hips started to raise up to meet my motions. "I need you so much."

I smirked down at him. “I always know what you need Dr. Reid." I watched his face carefully before I applied some slight pressure to his carotid artery. His eyes fluttered; his hips jerked slightly. “I know you need to feel my hot, tight, little pussy cum all over your cock. I know you need for me to fuck you so hard you cum deep inside of me. Do you need to fill my pussy up with your cum, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer was experiencing an onslaught of sensations at that moment, I’m sure. Which is why I wasn’t surprised when he brought his hand up to tap against the one on his throat. I removed my hand immediately, leaning over to press a kiss against the side of his mouth. “Good boy.”

He whined loudly while he pushed me down more forcefully on his cock, trying to accelerate my motions. "Please, Miss. I need that. I need to feel you cum around me.”

I kissed him properly, my teeth catching his bottom lip, tugging harshly. “Then make me cum, Dr. Reid.”

His hand went in between our bodies, bringing his thumb to the crest of me to circle my clit. My mouth broke away from his in a harsh moan while my walls fluttered around him.

Spencer moaned so loudly I wouldn’t be surprised if someone in the next room could hear him. “Fuck, Miss I’m so close.” His circles against my clit sped up. “Please, please let me cum.”

I felt my orgasm quickly rising up inside me. Seeing this beautiful man so fucking desperate for me was one of the sexiest things I had ever seen. “Cum for me, pretty boy. Fuck me like you mean it.”

Something inside him snapped at my words. His fingers gripped my hips so hard it hurt, he slammed me down onto his cock, while he chanted my name almost frantically while he fell over the edge.

The feeling of him losing himself inside of me sent me over the edge. My pussy clamped down on his cock while my mouth opened in a silent scream. Spencer’s body jerked underneath mine with the last tremors of his orgasm. When I started to come down, I collapsed onto him, pressing kisses to every inch of his skin I could reach. “You did so well, Spencer,” I praised between kisses.

Knowing I needed to hurry, and silently cursing myself for not planning out the aftercare a bit better, I lifted off of his body. I was watching my boy closely, so I saw the wince he gave when his cock slipped from me, coated in a mixture of both of our releases. Making my way to the bathroom, I wet two washcloths before dashing back into the bedroom.

Spencer was still on his back, his breathing was even but his eyes still looking a bit dazed. “Are you okay, Spence?” I asked, gingerly cleaning him up with one of the rags.

He licked his lips, his eyes finding mine. “I-I think so,” he said softly. “It doesn’t feel like the first time, but it still feels…”

I tossed the rag on the floor before using the second one to clean myself up. "I know, darling boy.” I laid down with him, bringing the covers up to shield our bodies. “You couldn’t have done better, Spencer. I’m so proud of you.”

He seemed to shine in the light of my praise. “Thank you, y/n.” He pressed a soft kiss to the skin between my eyebrows.

After a few moments, I asked, "Can you get up for me? We need to clean up properly so I can put some lotion on your cute little butt.”

He chuckled at that. “It sounds like an excuse to touch it again.”

I nodded, not trying to keep the smile off my face. “You’ve found me out, Dr. Reid. Everything I do is all part of an elaborate ruse to fondly your cute butt.”

--

After our shower, true to my word I had Spencer face down on the bed while I “fondled” him.

“This is humiliating,” he mumbled, his face pressed into a pillow.

“You’re gonna have to get over this, Doc. This ass is officially mine. This is not the last time you’ll be like this.” I finished my work by giving him a playful swat on his behind. “I’m done. You can cover your virtue now.”

After our shower, I had dressed and gone to Spencer's room to get his clothes. It was still early enough that I hadn't seen any of the team, but I don't think it would have mattered if I had. He was mine now, and our friends would find out soon enough. That thought warmed me to my core.

“So, how did you feel about the impact play?” I asked, once he was off the bed and getting dressed.

He flipped his hair out of his face, looking at me while he fastened his pants. “I liked it; I think. I don’t know that I’d like anything more extreme than that.” He reached for his shirt before he spoke again. “At least not yet.”

Yet? “Noted, Doc.”

“What about you?”

I quirked one of my brows at him. “I clearly liked it.”

Spencer smiled, shaking his head, his damp curls already starting to shift into his signature look of perpetual bedhead. “I meant how did you feel about making traditional sex a part of our…relationship?”

I paused, considering his words. Ever observant, Dr. Spencer Reid had noticed something I hadn't thought of yet. I hadn't had vaginal sex with a submissive during a scene in a long, long time.

“It felt…natural,” I said softly while he walked over to stand in front of me. His thumb caressed my cheek while he tilted my face up, pressing a kiss to my lips. “Everything feels easy with you, Spence.”

My boy’s smile could have lit up the whole room. “I love you so much,” he murmured, adoration dripping from his voice, before turning to finish getting ready.

Wait. I stood up quickly, walking over to him. “Spence.” He turned towards me, but in the way that he knew everything, he didn’t seem particularly surprised that I had gotten up so quickly.

“Realized something, have you?” He tucked my hair behind my ear, his face was so fucking tender while he looked down at me, his warm brown eyes were shining when he looked at me. I saw everything I had felt in my heart for so long reflected back at me in those remarkable eyes that belonged to the most remarkable man.  

He was right, I had realized something. I cupped his face in my hands, my voice shaky but strong. “You’re the brightest thing in any universe, Spencer Reid. And I love you, I love you, I love you.”

I thought our kiss last night was the best a kiss could get, but Dr. Reid quickly proved me wrong.

--

We didn’t see the rest of the team until we met them in the hotel lobby at 8 am. Spencer was carrying my bag and our fingers were laced together as we walked towards them.

JJ was the first one to spot us; she clapped her hands together before jumping to her feet. The rest of the team turned to see what she had noticed, only to have similar reactions.

We were quickly enveloped in hugs and showered with well wishes.

“I knew you had it in you, Pretty Boy!” Morgan had pulled Spencer into a tight hug. No sooner had Morgan released him than Rossi grabbed him, kissing both of his cheeks, looking every bit the proud father. We really don’t deserve Rossi, I thought, not for the first time.

Hotch offered me a brief hug, which startled me. “You’ll have some forms to fill out when we get back. Reid already filled out his.”

I smirked over at my boy. “Looking forward to it, Boss.”

--

Our plane was set to take off at 9 am, meaning we had to board at 8:30. I was still tired from all the sleep I hadn’t gotten last night. With that in mind, I made my way over to the couch, intending to stretch out for our flight back home. I found myself smiling when my boy approached me. He lifted my legs up with a feigned sigh before he sat down, once he was situated in his seat, he pulled my legs into his lap.

It was a few minutes later when he shifted in his seat, wincing slightly.

I pulled my lips between my teeth to contain a laugh. “Something wrong, Dr. Reid?”

He gave me a fake glare, his mouth twisting into a pout. “You’re lucky I love you,” he muttered.

I know, I thought. I know, I know, I know.

--

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[simp4kuvira]

The Guilty Consequences

My second-ever fanfiction! I tried to approach this using an angsty/hurt/comfort angle. Hopefully it’s satisfactory. Likes and reblogs are always appreciated 💚

Summary: Kuvira has achieved everything she's ever dreamed of. The Avatar and her fiancé are gone, Republic City has fallen, the Earth Empire is fully united, and there's nothing obstructing her goals anymore. But why does she feel the guilty consequences of her actions gnawing at her psyche?

Rating: Mature for foul language and mentions of death and violence.

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Kuvira

Word count: ~3,950 words

To read on fanfiction.net, click here.

To read on AO3, click here.

“Great Uniter?”

Your gentle voice draws Kuvira’s attention away from the cockpit’s windows of her enormous mecha suit, which is currently situated over the rubble of what used to be President Raiko’s office. After successfully stopping Team Avatar from meddling in Kuvira’s efforts to conquer Republic City, the rest of the United Republic of Nations fell neatly into the hands of the Earth Empire. Korra and her friends were clever enough to believe that kidnapping Kuvira’s so-called fiancé and using him as a bargaining chip would convince her to give up the assault on Republic City. Little did they know, Kuvira was ecstatic to seize the opportunity to rid herself of the engagement and wipe out Team Avatar for the good of the empire. One simple blast of her mecha’s spirit cannon directed towards Future Industry’s factory killed two birds with one stone. Of course, Kuvira still had to worry about Korra’s reincarnation when the new earthbending Avatar came of age, but seeing as how they would be reborn into the Earth Empire, the Great Uniter was not concerned about the future Avatar’s actions for now. She would worry about that problem on another day. For now, the aftermath of Republic City’s defeat was a more pressing matter.

The corner of Kuvira’s lip twitches upward in a faint smile when she turns to meet your gaze. You stride towards her and wrap an arm around her waist before planting a quick kiss on the beauty mark underneath her eye. A noise of contentment emanates somewhere deep in her throat as she leans into your touch. “You know you don’t have to call me Great Uniter, Y/N. Especially not when we’re alone.” 

“Oh trust me, I know,” you retorted. “I just thought it would be fitting to use your official title to commemorate you on a job well done. The Earth Empire is completely unified now thanks to you.” 

Kuvira’s eyes flicker back to surveying the remnants of Republic City. “You flatter me, Y/N. I hardly completed the effort on my own. There were my soldiers, my engineers, and don’t forget the radio technician that triangulated Team Avatar and Baatar’s location in Future Industry’s factory. We’d still be at war with Republic City if it weren’t for their intel. I owe my success to my loyal followers, and especially to you. I don’t regret appointing you to draft annexation treaties for the states that yielded peacefully.” She chuckled softly. “I would’ve never gotten to know you so intimately if I hadn’t done that, much less had the privilege to call you mine.” She presses an innocent kiss to the corner of your mouth.  

You scoffed playfully and pulled back from Kuvira’s waist. “You give yourself too little credit! Not many people would’ve had the mental fortitude to take out your strongest opposition using the spirit cannon. The Earth Empire exists because of you.” You lower your voice and snuggle back to Kuvira’s side. “You know… I’m kinda glad that you did it, even if it sounds awful. It’s unfortunate that Korra and Baatar are gone, but at least we don’t have to worry about the Avatar for another sixteen-something years. We don’t have to hide our relationship from everyone anymore, and you don’t have to pretend to be attracted to some gross guy. We can be authentically together in peace while you build your nation. That’s what matters.” A twinge of guilt spreads through your chest when you dare to defile Korra and Baatar, but you ignore it as best as possible. This is for the best, you repeat to yourself. Funnily enough, that phrase has become a personal mantra for both you and your lover.

You felt Kuvira’s muscles stiffen almost imperceptibly when she heard the words “Avatar” and her ex-fiancé’s name on your lips. Surely she must feel relieved that she doesn’t have to fake being in love with a man as a cheap cover-up for her true sexuality, even if he was taken out of the picture a tad bit brusquely, to say the least. She also doesn’t have Korra breathing down her neck anymore, so what gives? Kuvira’s eyes are glued to the windows offering a panoramic view of the leagues and leagues of wreckage. She remains uncomfortably quiet. 

Unsure of whether or not Kuvira wants you to remain clinging onto her, you start pulling away when she shows no sign of breaking the silence. You’ve been romantically involved with Kuvira for three years now, and you know that when she clams up, there’s no use trying to pry her open until she’s ready. During the first few months of your relationship, she would often have trouble separating her outwardly ambitious and cunning persona from her inwardly vulnerable and tender true self. On days where her reunification efforts fell behind schedule or the Avatar knocked her carefully calculated plans awry, Kuvira’s sour mood leaked into your personal lives. At times, she would inadvertently lapse into Great Uniter-mode while you were trying to relax together after a long day’s work. It wasn’t until you gently coaxed her out of her tension that she began to share what was weighing heavily on her mind. You supported her as best as you could, but when it came to more delicate topics, such as her childhood, her relationship with her adoptive family, or her innermost feelings, Kuvira shut down. She would come clean to you when she was prepared to talk. All would reveal itself in due time. 

You murmured something vague about seeing her later as you padded quietly towards the door. Just as you were about to leave the mecha’s cockpit, a feeble voice called out for you to wait. Stopping in your tracks, you spun on your toes to look at Kuvira. The orange sunset filtered in through the windows and outlined her body in a shimmering glow, which seemed to have a softening effect on her unusually tense body language. Her entire frame was as rigid as a steel beam, legs shoulder-width apart, arms poised behind her back. Her brow was furrowed ever-so-slightly and the corner of her eyes were pinched, as if she was lost in thought or fighting off a headache.

“Y/N,” she ventured. She inhaled sharply before continuing. “I thought reuniting the Earth Empire and conquering the United Republic of Nations would be… different. Ever since Suyin refused to stabilize Ba Sing Se and share Zaofu’s progressiveness, I believed I was the only person competent enough to take initiative. I stepped up to the plate and accomplished my goals. The Earth Empire is stronger than ever. I’m finally in the position to launch industrialization and modernization campaigns in villages neglected by that archaic monarchy everyone despised. I restored order where there was anarchy. I stopped lawless bandits stealing from the poor. I gave resources to the needy when we annexed states, yet…” her eyes flutter closed for a moment as she pauses to collect her thoughts. When she reopens her eyes, her jade colored eyes plead silently at you. Even when you’re standing across the cockpit from each other, you notice that her shoulders are trembling ever-so-slightly. 

You’re astonished at Kuvira’s rare moment of vulnerability. Usually it takes her a few hours, maybe a day or two, for her to open up about a touchy subject. Even then, she’s not one to show emotion so openly on her countenance, not unless she’s severely distressed and totally certain that you and her are alone together. You took a few hesitant steps towards her. 

“You thought winning would be different, huh?” Unsure of how to proceed, you decided to try your hand at a bit of light-hearted banter to see if it might have an effect on your lover. “Well, yeah winning was going to be different! You made your plans based on the assumption that Korra would always be a pain in the ass even after we annexed the United Republic and started our projects, but now you don’t have to worry about her anymore! What about the wedding? You don’t have to marry a guy you don’t love, and we don’t have to worry about hiding our relationship from everyone. Isn’t that a weight off your shoulders?” Despite your confession, you knew the loss of life was a tragedy. You convinced yourself that it was for the greater good, and you knew Kuvira shared your sentiment. This is for the best, you recited. You shimmied towards her and reached out to hold her gloved hands in your own. Icy fingers of anxiety began to spider its way throughout your chest when you looked into her eyes plagued by fear. “Kuvira… is everything alright?” You squeezed her quivering hands for emphasis. 

Kuvira’s eyes flitted to a spot right over your shoulder. “That’s not what I meant, Y/N. I meant I thought winning would be better than this.” 

“Better?” 

“Yes. Better.” It appears Kuvira is becoming irritated at you.

“Kuvira, I won’t understand what you’re trying to say if you keep beating around the bush like that. Why isn’t this better?” 

Kuvira lets out an exasperated groan and yanks her hands away from you. “Don’t pretend to be stupid, Y/N. You know what I’m talking about. There’s more good in the Earth Empire than bad. At least, that’s what I keep trying to convince myself. This is for the best, we would always say. I made more progress than what I took away from people. The price I paid— no, the price other people paid— for my progress was justified. Isn’t it?” Kuvira’s voice falters on the last two words tumbling out of her lips. “What good is ruling the Earth Empire if all I have to show for it is a pile of rubble? Just look at this! How am I supposed to uplift my people if this is what I have to work with?” Her voice steadily rose in volume the more she spoke, until she was practically yelling when she swept her arm to the window showcasing Republic City’s destroyed buildings. 

The adrenaline rushing through your body begins to drown out all hopes of rational thought and speech. You find yourself raising your voice to match your lover’s anger. “Kuvira, I thought this is what you wanted. You wanted to tear out the old and bring in the new. That’s all you ever talked about when we were campaigning. Why are you changing your mind now?” 

“For fuck’s sake, don’t you see? You even said it yourself! It’s a tragedy that the Avatar and my ex-fiancé and all these other people are gone.” Kuvira’s eyes flash dangerously with seething rage. “Why did I make other people pay for my hopes and dreams for the Earth Empire? I dethroned Prince Wu and ridiculed him in front of the whole world, I threatened to let people die if they didn’t join me, I forced Varrick to build a weapon of mass destruction, I destroyed the most spiritual and sacred tree in the Foggy Swamp for the sake of violence, I didn’t hesitate to put dissenters in reeducation camps to be brainwashed and dehumanized.” She takes a ragged breath before bellowing “I murdered people with my spirit cannon. Why didn’t you fucking stop me, Y/N?”

Your voice reaches a shrill pitch as you hurl back your rebuttal. “I didn’t stop you because this is what you wanted,” pointing an accusing finger towards Kuvira to accentuate your points. “You’re charismatic enough to make other people agree with you. You convinced yourself you were doing this for everyone else’s good, and you convinced me, too. Don’t you remember? This is for the best. No one stopped you because you locked yourself in an echo chamber filled with people that agreed with your plans. And when someone did have the courage to speak up, you sent them to reeducation camps, threatened their lives, or outright killed them.” 

“So you think this is my fault?” Kuvira takes an intimidating step towards you and looks down upon you threateningly. Her voice drops to a dangerously low growl. “Me? This is all me?” 

“Now it’s your turn to stop being dense, Kuvira. You just admitted that you thought winning would be different and you just gave a guilt-ridden speech about making other people pay for your mistakes. Open your damn eyes!” 

Kuvira abruptly pivots her body away from you and takes several steps back. “You are dismissed, soldier,” she whispered in a cold voice as unyielding as steel. She resumed looking out the window with her arms behind her back. 

“Seriously, Kuvira?” you moan. “You can’t just push me away like that when you’re so close to realizing the truth. Why don’t you listen to me? Why don’t you listen to yourself?” You cautiously take a step closer before she whips around and metalbends a fragment of her shoulder plate in your general direction which misses your face by a mere hairsbreadth. Your body freezes as your mind races to comprehend that Kuvira would dare threaten your safety. 

“Leave me, Y/N.” Kuvira refuses to look at you.

You stand motionless for a moment that stretches on for an eternity as your eyes overflow with bitter tears. The cockpit’s door slams loud enough to reverberate throughout the mecha suit as you plod your way down to the nearest exit and catch a ferry to Kuvira’s base of operations on Air Temple Island, knowing she would meet you there when she was ready to be calm and civilized. The whole time you spent traveling from the giant mecha to Republic City’s docks, throngs of weary-eyed refugees peeking behind piles of rubble plagued your sights. Thankfully, the two bodyguards escorting you to the personal quarters you shared with Kuvira kept the masses at bay, but the stark reality of so many war-torn people suffering from the conflict infected your guilty conscience. You roughly dismissed your bodyguards once you set foot on the Island and wasted no time briskly marching to your shared bedroom. You hoped the evening’s darkness masked the silent tears flowing down your cheeks. 

 Your nightmares consisted of petrified throngs of innocent people fleeing Kuvira’s army. Exhausted bodies toiling away in reeducation camps. The terror etched upon soldiers’ faces as Kuvira intimidated them with violence. And finally, a vision of what you imagined Baatar’s, Korra’s, and the rest of Team Avatar’s last moments on earth must’ve been like before an overpowering purple light burned their bodies out of existence. 

You jolted upright in bed drenched in a cold sweat and gasping for air. “Fuck,” you stammered under your breath over and over. “Fucking fuckity fuck. Kuvira really did convince me that everything was for the best, didn’t she?” You didn’t want to believe it at first, but the nagging voice lingering somewhere in your head relentlessly reminded you that this destruction wasn’t worth thousands upon thousands of ruined lives. 

Your only job in the Earth Empire’s army was to help expedite the political and legal process of unifying a country. If your position was relatively peaceful and bloodless, you couldn’t begin to imagine Kuvira’s guilt about orchestrating this three year long operation. How am I supposed to convince Kuvira to see the light? you pondered. She was so close to realizing it before she snapped at me. Maybe I can talk to her again and—

An abrupt knocking shook you out of your thoughts. I thought I told those guards to leave me alone. You shuffled to the door and slid it open, half expecting for it to be another diplomat’s messenger begging for you to revise this oh-so-important legal paperwork that couldn’t possibly wait until morning, until you looked up and saw Kuvira slouched against the doorframe. Her chocolate-colored hair cascaded about her shoulders, and her uniform was rumpled from head to toe. You could count on one hand the number of times Kuvira allowed herself to look this haggard, and frankly, the fact that she looked this way hours after your fight in the cockpit led you to believe that maybe she had taken your advice seriously. 

“Kuvira?” you gasped.

“Y/N,” she mumbled feebly. “I’m sorry. I know you probably don’t want to see me after how I reacted, but I don’t know where else to go.” Her voice quavered. “I don’t have anyone else who I can trust with these feelings that are eating me up inside, and I thought maybe you could…” her sentence trailed off unfinished. “Before you left, you mentioned that you knew all of this,” she gestured vaguely at the surrounding area, “was wrong, but I convinced you that it was okay, and I convinced myself that it was okay too, but now I realize that it’s wrong and for fuck’s sake I don’t know what to do about it now.” The last of her strength escaped her body and she crumpled to the floor in a heap of unrestrained sobbing.

Swooping down to the floor alongside her, you promptly wrapped your arms around her shoulders and nestled her into your embrace. Whatever animosity you felt because of how she shooed you out of the cockpit had dissipated. Your fingers threaded themselves into the locks of her hair as you whispered soothing words. 

 “I’m so sorry I pulled the entire world down with me. I’m so sorry I ruined nearly everyone’s life.” The full force of her words bubbled out of her mouth uninhibited by her previous attempts of restraint. She couldn’t stop talking now if she tried. “I saw how hopeless my nation was after it descended into lawlessness. I was willing to pay the ultimate price to nurture it into something stronger than ever before, but I didn’t realize I had no authority to take away other people’s autonomy. I had no right to take lives, no right to let people suffer when I didn’t get what I wanted, no right to let people starve on the streets if a state didn’t join the Empire, no right to usurp power, no right to throw the entire world out of balance by murdering the Avatar just to achieve my vision.” She buries her face into your nightshirt before choking out her final sentences. “I’m so sorry I pulled you down with me, Y/N. I especially didn’t want to threaten you the way I did earlier. You’re the last person I ever want to hurt.” 

You feel that Kuvira’s sorrow is rather misplaced. She shouldn’t be entirely apologizing to you, but rather to the whole world and everyone whom’s lives she changed for the worse. But now is not the time to object to her apology. For now, you let her weep into your chest for several minutes until her tears subside and her body stops trembling.

After her emotions have stabilized somewhat, you help your lover stand on her feet and guide her to the edge of the mattress. You gently work out the knots in her hair using your fingers and begin to strip the layers of her uniform off her body. She tries protesting by claiming that she’s perfectly capable of doing it herself, but you discourage her by pressing a finger to her lips and muttering “you’ve had a rough day in more ways than one. Let me help you get ready for bed.” Once you’ve helped her don her nightclothes, you stretched yourself out on the bedsheets and gently pulled her into your protective embrace once more. 

Several minutes of silence pass like this, Kuvira curled up flush against your body, before you felt it was safe to express your thoughts about her confession. “Kuvira, I appreciate you apologizing to me, but I’m not the only person you should be apologizing to. Telling me you’re sorry isn’t going to absolve all of your guilt.” 

“I know,” she said. “I know I have a long journey ahead of me, but you were the first person I felt I needed to apologize to before I kept going.” 

“I say this with love, but I think you owe an apology to the entire world. You can’t keep living in guilt like this.” 

Kuvira pauses briefly before saying “I don’t think I could live with myself if I keep being the Great Uniter. The position I created for myself carries too much blood and suffering.” 

“Does that mean you’re going to stop being the Great Uniter?” 

“I think I’m going to convene with all the major world leaders. Raiko is still around somewhere, and so is Prince Wu, Tenzin, the Beifongs, Fire Lord Izumi. I still want the country to be modernized like the rest of the world, but I think it’s best if they take the reins. I don’t think they’d appreciate me doing the work after how I’ve hurt everyone. I’ll arrange a speech announcing my decision to permanently step down. And then,” she takes a shaky breath, “I’ll happily walk into a courtroom and accept whatever punishment the law deems fit.”

“I’ll admit, I didn’t expect you to take such a drastic decision so quickly, but I’m glad you did. I’m not blameless either, Kuvira. I’m sorry for enabling you. I hope I can make up for it by being with you every step of the way.”

An unamused grin creeps upon Kuvira’s face. “Even if it means we’ll go to prison together?”

“Especially if it means we go to prison together,” you chided. “How else would I keep you company? I wouldn’t leave you all by yourself. Maybe we can be cellmates.” Her face is still marred red-rimmed eyes and a slight scowl. If you dared to tickle her, she might crack a genuine smile for the first time since Republic City fell. 

You dig your fingers into Kuvira’s side, eliciting a sharp yelp from her before she’s overcome by a fit of giggles. The sound of Kuvira’s mirth is a treat she rarely shares with anyone, especially since she shouldered this massive enterprise. Who knows when you’d ever get to hear or see her happy like this?

A fraction of the tension in her body has melted away after her laughter subsides. “Thank you sincerely. Your support is priceless, and so is your humor.” She snuggles closer into your body before murmuring “I love you, Y/N” into your shoulder. 

“I love you too,” you whispered before you both drifted off to sleep. The peace between you and Kuvira would be radically different, if not uncertain, by the time she calls upon the world leaders and steps down. For at least this one silent night, you can cherish your last few moments of freedom together with her.

[yeoldontknow]

As Still As Sound: 4

Author’s Note: thank you to everyone who has patiently waited for this update. ive been waiting for it too. ily so much. i hope you enjoy <3  Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Songs Mentioned: From Her To Eternity - Nick Cave and The Badseeds / Cry To Me - Solomon Burke Genre: soulmate!au; angst; fluff; romance Rating (this chapter): R Warnings: some mature sexual themes; explicit language Word Count: 9K

masterlist

Months ago, the concert was your idea, a thing you suggested with fire behind your teeth and adrenaline in your veins. 

You remember, now, the way your hands rushed to buy the tickets, typing passwords and entering pre-sale codes, telling Kate over and over down the phone that you’d pay for hers if you got in, that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity - that Nick Cave, more than anyone, had constructed your adulthood. In your heart, you carried him, the sound of his voice, and the words from his lips - a soundtrack of misery, anguish, and the fleeting experience of contentment that painted your journey into maturity red and red and red. 

Months ago, Kate agreed, her excitement at the prospect of joining you almost wild and ravenous. Together, you’d looked forward to this, marked days on calendars and held the tickets in your hands in the morning before work, disbelieving and somewhat overwhelmed.

Today, the concert is her idea, a suggestion born purely from kindness; a friendly reminder you need to go out, away from your home and away from your constant, desperate soundtrack - released, finally, from your state of entrapment.

It is not, you imagine, that your anticipation of the show has ceased - far from it - merely that your anticipation and excitement has been redirected to a man whose voice is just as low, just as effective, and meant for your ears alone. The gravel nestled within Chanyeol’s voice is a chocolate honeycomb of affection, putting syrup and sweetness and devotion into your blood - a sugar rush upon which you get high; where Nick’s lyrics remind you of the heartbreak so unilaterally partnered with the act of living, Chanyeol’s words - simple and unpoetic as they often are - ignite the hope you had scorned and turned away, putting the thrill of living back into your lungs.

For weeks you have wondered if this is how people live now, if this is how people had been living long before the solar flare - endlessly searching and seeking, restless and waiting for the vibrancy of an overeager heartbeat; hoping and hoping and hoping to be touched and felt and needed. 

Until Chanyeol, this was not you. These types of deep rooted, tenacious emotions carried with them an unprecedented sense of repulsion - not to the person, but to the intensity, and to, more than anything, the incomprehensible notion that you needed another person to feel whole. 

Finding romance, for you, was a pleasure, and seeking pleasure in another person was a brief, impermanent adventure, something only slightly more transient than a roller coaster. Did people always crave like this? Did your parents want and need and yearn for one another long before they had confirmation they could? Was it not existentially exhausting to want and pine and wish, almost as compulsively as breathing, for the arms of another?

Would you, had you met Chanyeol on the street and not entwined or laced between your music, have felt such pining and longing for his hands, his voice, his breath as you do now? Would you, had you seen him at the shop, buying records and buying albums, unknowingly sharing his music taste with your cash register, have listened to all the same things, hoping to share a part of him as you do now?

In the end, it does not matter. 

These questions do not matter because the cosmos has built itself around you and around him, twining your hearts together until the days have started to blur into one half formed and hardly tangible rise and set of the sun. In your efforts of hearing him once more, the play count and hours logged on your last.fm have reached new highs, an almost constant list of songs based on genres, artists, and decades you imagine he would like growing and growing until, for several hours, it stopped counting altogether, seemingly overwhelmed. Where before you listened to only one album, playing through enough Neil Diamond to feel as though his lyrics are the lexicon of your speech, now you have knowledge of a science and a pattern, but no element of control to manage your testing.

All you know is that you will meet him when you play the same song, and you have, and will and are, pushed yourself into obsession in the effort of meeting him again.

And so it is not that you do not want to go to the show any longer. 

On the contrary, you find, as you tie the laces of your combat boots and check - twice before you leave and once after the tube carriage doors close - for your tickets, you are craving the thunder and violence of live music. Lately, you have needed to be rattled - shaken down to your core by something familiar, not something cosmic. Live music builds the person you are back up from nothing, the person you have lost after days and weeks and months of work, and family, and responsibility structured through a sound wave. 

In losing yourself completely, surrendering to the passion and the energy and the noise until your mind is full of nothing else, do you find your true soul, remember who you are and what you are, someone who survives on the edge of existence and with a smile wide enough to hurt.

And so, it is not that you don't want to go to the show. You are adamant about this, reminding yourself that you need the emotional rest and that you crave this as you stand on the tube platform. An approaching train puts a warm breeze through your hair, the unprecedented loudness drowning out all other sounds and leaving you, momentarily, in a dull roar of silence. Grimacing, you step on the train, frustrated with the noise of the tube and the sense that you lose time every time you take a journey.

Time you could have spent finding Chanyeol.

Annoyed with yourself, you release a chastising laugh. It is not that you don’t want to go to the show, it is simply the hours with live music are hours without him, without an opportunity to find him, have him, hold him - three minutes amongst hours that slip through your fingers. Pressing your back against rough cushion of the tube seat, you raise the volume of the music in your headphones, hoping the sound of Etta James can slow your rapid thoughts into silence, a pout pushing at your lips in disdain.

You only ever have three minutes with Chanyeol, three minutes which seem to pass in seconds, time slipping through and around you as though you are both simultaneously part of the natural order of the earth and separate from it altogether. His voice alone renders time meaningless, a concept the air in his lungs blows to dust, lips kissing at words that become stars in your eyes and held together by the fabric of your ardor. Three minutes and endless seconds, hours missed and hours lost, and it is all completely unequivocally unfair. 

Tonight, the tube carriage is full of people and strangers, some bonded, some free; some headed to the same show as you, evidenced by their band tee shirts and their jittery, shaking legs, and all, most likely, will get to experience the slow descent into love at a pace they have chosen to set. Chewing at the inside of your cheek, you bite back a frustrated sigh, willing your mouth to suck the bitterness from your tongue. The envy of their supposed simplicity sends your heart sinking, resentful and aware that you deserve nothing less than what you have been given.

Gifted to you, somewhat cruelly, is a love that appears only when you least expect it and always when you imagine it has departed from you entirely, a fluke or trick of the imagination brought forward by the human instinct to want a partner. Once more, you are reminded of Kate's words, her small laugh and the acknowledgement that this sort of connection is so like you, your inherent distrust of love resulting in a connection that feels incredible but seems to distrust if you were worthy of it. 

But still, your hand grips your phone tightly, hoping that maybe Chanyeol is listening to Etta James too and that, even if you do not meet in these songs, he wants you, through and beyond time, and down to his very core.

Kate is waiting for you at the front entry of the Eventim Apollo, a delicate flush painted on her cheeks from the uncharacteristically cool night and a bounce in her knees, unable to keep still. A smile is tucked into the corner of her lips as she speaks on the phone, a secret affection given away by the glimmer of joy in her eyes. The surrounding city lights are eaten by the matte fabric of her burgundy coat, as though she absorbs the world and glows on her own. Hurrying through her conversation as you approach, she laughs, the sound adopting a musical cadence she only ever exudes when she is blissfully happy.

'Yes, I'll text when it's over and we're leaving,' she says, rushing through the words as she waves you over. 'Do you want me to call if they play Jesus of the Moon? Okay, love you too. Bye.'

Coming to stand at her side, you dig through your bag, smiling to yourself. 'Baekhyun couldn't make it?'

She slips her phone into her pocket, taking the ticket you hand her with a small pout. 'No, he couldn't find any tickets on StubHub or the forums. The prices were astronomical.'

Nodding, you walk with her to the queue, which has already begun to shrink. Doors opened twenty minutes ago, and while you both have standing stall tickets, neither of you had the energy to queue. It will be just as magical, you know, standing towards the back and letting the light in.

'I can't imagine the fans would be selling,' you muse, opening your bag for checking and offering a polite smile to the security guard who nods mutely in gratitude. 'I'm disappointed, though. I was looking forward to meeting him.'

'You'll meet him soon enough,’ she replies offhandedly, muttering a gentle thank you as security waves her forward. 'I'm impressed by you, though.'

Walking through the entry, you hand your ticket for scanning and cock a quizzical brow in her direction. 'How do you mean?'

Ticket scanned, she pushes it into her bag before gesturing her hands over her ears, giving the impression of ear muffs. 'You brought the small earbuds and not your big clunkers.'

Rolling your eyes, you purse your lips. 'I hate that you call them that.’ 

The slight irritation in your voice is undercut by the hum of people within the venue, some at the bar and others heading towards coat check. Glancing in Kate's direction, you find her eyes remain locked on the entryway to the stage floor, expression unfazed and unmarred by your displeasure. It does not matter if she heard you or not, she's had this conversation enough to know your opinion.

 'They're studio headphones,’ you finish, unbothered by the petulant tone you’ve adopted.

She laughs, nodding at your clarification while she trains a focused stare on the sound booth and the surrounding barrier. 

'There good?' she asks, pointing to the section just in front of the sound desk - a place for you to stand and lean if you grow tired. At your hum of approval, she beelines with you in tow, and continues where your conversation left off. 

'Precisely zero people walk around the tube with those,’ she says, pride overtaking an edge to her voice, pleased by her success of finding a good spot.

'Fuck off,' you murmur, leaning back against the barrier and assessing your view of the stage. 'I just didn't want to bring a big bag. And,' you emphasize, turning to finally look at her once more, 'I'll have you know those headphones have incredible audio quality.'

'For music?' Kate's lip curls in a mischievous smirk, and your mouth runs dry in anticipation. 'Or for a certain someone?'

A small hiss of air escapes your teeth, bemused but unsurprised. For a moment, you let your eyes wander around the room, battling with yourself as you decide just how much you want to give away.

'And if I said both?' you counter eventually, voice bold and unflinchingly honest as you watch her expression immediately softens. 

'Any luck the last few days, then?'

You shake your head, spine straightening as you roll your shoulders back, determined to appear decidedly okay. 'No.'

‘Are you certain he’s your soulmate?’

It is neither an insult nor an accusation, but still the air escapes your lungs, chest winded and pained by the unintended cruelty of her question. But then, you quickly realize the last she's heard is that you were uncertain - that you had no idea about him at all, meeting with her at the pub only to disappear for weeks, responding here and there through text. To her, your relationship with Chanyeol is as good as a science experiment. While you know for a fact you had lied, unwilling to admit, then, that you knew from the moment his first breath reached your ears he was yours, now she simply questions your diligence in an act of concern for her closest friend.

And so you smile, aware that the expression looks sad, unmoved in your effort to make someone else feel comfortable when discussing this topic.

‘I’m confident it’s him.’ 

The firmness in your tone as you say the words does not make up for the pain your muscles had taken on after you lied, but at least, in this moment, the weightlessness of such a melancholy statement gives your heart the sensation of floating beneath your sternum.

It feels good to say it, to admit it. It feels good to be claimed by him.

Warmth floods her irises, one of her hands coming to hold your arm in gentle reassurance. Empathy mixes with sympathy, shades of the Kate you remember pre-Baekhyun glossing over her current visage in a sort of time slip. It hits you, then, that she had felt this way, once. While she had a clear marker for her connection, a clock beneath her skin stopping the moment she came into contact with her soulmate, the confidence that she would ever be released from her own prison had never once been something she believed she could touch. 

All at once, you are reminded of the months she said she wanted to bond even if she didn’t like it, just so that it could be over.

'You'll figure it out soon,' she affirms, the softness in her voice mixing with her stubborn determination. 'On the bright side, this is a vast improvement from believing you don't have anyone at all.'

'Is it though?' You don't mean for it to sound pleading, but the ferocity of your affection has taken hold of pieces within your soul you did not know existed. And, while you are confident you don’t wish to be freed from this new, uncharted intensity, you simply wish there was a logic to make the pain a little more bearable. 'Or am I simply driving myself mad, thinking and overthinking?'

'You do that anyway,' she counters, playfully, 'so I'm not sure the bond is to blame.'

Laughing, you nudge your shoulder into hers and release a groan of agreement, jostled by her honesty. Regardless if you had bonded with Chanyeol or not, your mind would have raced towards an infinite number of conclusions, exhausting your heart into a state of paralysis. Bond or no bond, your mind was never one to allow itself a moment of reprieve.

'Look,' she continues, cocking her head towards the stage in encouragement. 'Just forget about it for tonight. You need a break. No bonds. Just us and our first boyfriend.'

Kate’s advice is sound, and it works for a while. For a time, you are tethered to the moment by the strength in the hold of her hand, the way she holds you to her side and shares, with all of herself, the light and the sound and the feeling. But soon, her grasp on your hand turns your thoughts inward, in that purgatory of time between the opener and the main act, when there is little to do apart from buy another pint of cider, feeling the thrum of excitement down into your bones.

While she checks her phone for texts from Baekhyun, you wonder if Chanyeol is here, sharing this moment with you the same way you have been sharing songs. It would not be preposterous to assume he would be, the majority of London’s rock scene gathered to get high and get wrecked by a sonic release that will likely feel akin to something biblical. Craning your neck, you glance around the venue, hoping to be struck by him as if by lightning. 

For weeks, you’ve wondered if you’ve passed him, shared a tube with him - if he’s even in London at all. Being separated by miles and seas from your soulmate is not uncommon; you would not be the first instance of such a curse, but still those couples found one another, and so you have not given up the waxy sensation of hope as it glides over your fingers. 

But still, you may be the first instance of couple sharing song and sharing sound, only having minutes - perhaps less - to glean as much information from one another as you can. Those who hear one another’s thoughts coordinate meeting places, already knowing what and who they should be looking for; those with sensory loss and clocks have concise ways of knowing when and how to find their person, the earthquake of first contact partnered with a monumental change. Yet, there is no guarantee you would find Chanyeol even if he were here, no promise that you would feel him even if he were rows behind or in front of you. 

And so you cling, in the end, to the prayer that tonight, even if he is not here, he finds his way to any of the twenty-six songs on the setlist. 

The lights dim at nine on the dot, carrying with it the familiar sensation of floating, the yells from the crowd swiftly wiping any further thought from your mind. You smile -  you feel yourself smiling, and you are unsure when your cheeks had pulled back to reveal your teeth, but you do not mind. At once, the hairs on your arms stand on end, brought to life by the strength of adrenaline alone, the gooseflesh along your skin and sending a shiver down your spine. Kate’s hand squeezes yours, a touch and a hold that feels to you like a liveware, and you lift yourself taller, back straightening as though boosted by the roar of the speaker feedback. 

The first notes hit you in the center of your chest, the kind of eruption that could leave a person winded, and the force of it does not seem to stop throughout the night. Eyes closed, mouth screaming the words, the only tether you have to the earth is Kate’s hand, rooting you to gravity. Tension leaves your jaw, the stress of existence seeping from your bones and leaving you weightless, skin tingling from the sudden relaxation. Throughout the night, Kate’s hand in yours becomes a comfort, a familiar sensation you do not need to focus on but recognize just the same, feeling safe simply because her own fingers press into your knuckles in delight. 

And it is then, in the middle of From Her To Eternity, when you realize touch and contact carries with it its own set of rules, a logic and an understanding that goes far beyond conscious conception; a logic that need not be experienced in order to be conceived - you can feel the texture of silk just by thinking of the word; you can feel, rather easily, the cool clasp of a leather jacket, just by picturing the silver.

And it is then, in the middle of From Her To Eternity, that you think on Chanyeol, on the way he pulls at you and your soul, and suddenly, all at once, as if he had never been departed from you at all, feel him over and inside of you.

From out of the black, his hands tug at your waist, aching to press you flush against his body - seemingly disdainful of any separation. During the guitar riff before the chorus, you can almost hear him, cheering and singing along to the notes with an ecstatic sort of howl - one hand fisting in your shirt in an effort to make sure you experience him at the same time. Heart racing and blood rushing beneath your skin, you lean back into where you imagine his chest would be, careful not to fall or pull Kate with you. You take luxury in the peculiarity of this sensation, at a body without a body being at once behind and a part of yours. Almost instantly, you open for and open to him, begging him to stay, to never leave, to make a home of you, and you spread your legs a little wider hoping to feel his leg press against your thighs, encouraging him to bind his bones with yours.

A shiver walks along your nerves as his other hand glides up your extended arm, carding your fingers together as he sings - rich, and full voiced, and transcendent - all the lyrics you echo back to him, to Nick, to the atmosphere. The warmth of his aura floods your muscles, a small moan escaping your lips in the middle your favourite lyric, words garbled by the sudden overwhelm of heat. As badly as you want Chanyeol, so too does he want your skin, wants the prints of your fingertips smeared all over him, bodies thrumming from passion, adrenaline, and delirium.

The fabric of your clothes becomes tight, the denim of your black jeans feeling thin and damp around the curve of your ass; your shirt, wrapped in his grip and rubbing against your waist, is moist at the base of your spine, the heat from the crowd and the heat from Chanyeol pulling the wetness from your pores. His long fingers extend upward against your stomach, grazing the soft fabric of your bra with his nails - a sensation that tickles you, barely there and barely tangible, but felt all the same.

Looking up at your hand, vision blurred and lips pulled into a messy, lopsided smile, you suddenly feel dizzy.

This hand is empty. You know and can see that it is empty. Part of you does not question this because if he were here, if he were truly with you, the roughness of his skin would ignite the chemistry of your molecules, transforming you into something Other and something Unknown. You know your hand is empty, but still the haze of fingers and knuckles and the pink redness of blood at the fingertips takes shape. The blurred edges of this image make you feel motion sick, bewildered by the sudden trick of the light and the trick of your heart, blinking once and twice before it is gone altogether.

There is no hand holding yours, no fingers pressing hungrily at your breast, but you feel them - you still feel him, as though the seismic weight of your wishing has brought him forth, brought the memory of every other contact you’ve felt into the nerves of your palm and married it, desperately, with the malformed shadow of Chanyeol. 

It’s difficult, you find, building a person around a voice or building a heart around sound, but then - isn’t that what a heartbeat is? A constant rhythm keeping space and keeping time, pulling you close and close and close, able to be recognized regardless of the cartilage that separates you from it.

Chanyeol holds you close, curled into you from fear that you will leave him, rocking into your back and pressing a smile into the skin of your neck as he sings and sings and sings. You’re vibrating, holding onto nothing at the same time as you hold onto Kate, feeling wetness pool between your thighs from the sheer magnitude of wanting without having, knowing how it feels to be pressed close to a body, the hardness of a person grazing your back and ass, and allow your mind to fill the missing pieces in on your behalf. The sound of his voice travels through your ears, your mind, and into your open mouth, tongue going dry from the sheer force of him.

Like always, he is a flood, a force of nature you absolutely cannot resist, soul surrendering, almost immediately, to the magic of his existence.

It could be the cider, you think, that elevates your heart rate and puts a rush of blood into your lips that makes them feel swollen, and full, begging to be kissed or bitten. It could be the crowd and their energy making you wish and crave for someone to share this intimacy with, the energy of the room pushed flush the chambers of your heart, and your brain ensuring the hazy outline of Chanyeol be there to deliver you to paradise. In the end, you decide it does not matter, the answers to these questions are not nearly as meaningful as the way he tells you this is his favourite song too, and you cling to the way he speaks and breathes; mostly, you cling to the way his lips seem to press against your ear, demanding you hear him and you do not forget.

And just as swiftly as the song started, just as quickly as the feeling came, it leaves you, the red flush on your chest lingering even after he is gone. The heat from the room sticks to your skin, much the same way Kate’s eyes burn into your profile. With vigor, she pulls her hand from yours, tugging it from your grip. In your peripheral, you watch the way she stretches out her hand and fingers, massaging the bones and regards you with wide, worried eyes that demand an explanation. Unsure what to say and unprepared to speak at all, you keep your eyes trained on the stage, watching the stage as it goes dark and waiting for the sadness of your loss to creep back in as it always does.

But this time, there is change. This time, you are left with a tangible residue to mark his presence, a sign that your overactive imagination was not alone in its efforts.

This time, instead of the loss and the torment of separation, you focus on the sensation of your wet underwear, a pulsing vibration from inside your core reminding you this was real.

This was real. 

The deep flush of your cheeks and the dry skin of your lips is grateful for the chilly night air as you exit the venue after the show. Tonight, the sky of London is clear and black, stars swallowed by the street lights with only the glow of the full moon reminding you there exists a world beyond this, beyond the world you've fallen into with Chanyeol. Breathless, you stand outside and check the time, hands shaking from both adrenaline and memory. This late at night, the tube is still running, but you crave the open expanse of the world, synapses too flooded with desire to handle the closed tunnels of the underground.

Close quarters and tight seats would only make you yearn for the press of his hands and his groin into your lap, the longing to be handled brimming over in the heat of your blood.

‘What the fuck was that?’ Kate asks, the disbelieving nature of her voice breaking your thoughts.

Tearing your eyes away from the sky, you regard her, wide eyed and breathless. Shadows have been carved into her features from the Eventim Apollo marquee sign and the silver glimmers of moonlight, a darkness under her eyes and cheekbones making her look severe and unnerved.

‘What?’ The small, thinness to your voice gives away you know precisely to what she is referring, but you need her to say it.

You need her to say it and to confirm it.

‘You nearly broke my hand during that song.’ Neither angry nor upset, she simply massages her hand in concern, easing the lingering soreness. ‘I know its your favourite, but have some consideration for my joints, yeah?’

Looking down at your feet, your mind empties, mouth giving shape to apologies before your mind can properly form them. ‘Sorry,' you mutter, 'I didn’t realize I was squeezing you so tightly.’

Kate steps closer to you, bending down to study your face with a furrowed brow. ‘You’re all flushed, too. Are you drunk?’

You laugh, but you're not sure why. The sound is a faint whisper of humour carrying with it the turmoil of confusion, sounding, altogether, like you could be drunk. You might be, you think. He makes your skin feel just as edgeless as when you are too many ciders deep and telling London it is your only true, passionate love affair. 

‘Maybe?’ you manage, the words little more than a noise of delirium.

‘You only had three ciders,’ she chuckles, yet her eyes remain guarded.

‘Well,’ you shrug, turning in the direction of the night bus. Your feet move of their own accord, not bothering to see if she follows. ‘Nick will do that to you.’

Pulling out her phone to presumably text Baekhyun, she hums in agreement, but still you feel her eyes bore into your back as you walk away, watching and watching, almost certain you might disappear.

You realize you never said goodbye.

The night bus home is difficult. 

Normally, you relish this journey, take your time savoring the top level of the bus which somehow always feels reserved for concert goers. This late at night, their voices carry, domed around you as they discuss the show, the highlights, or, conversely, simply not talking at all, choosing instead to relive the show through their headphones. Tonight you join them, settling in an open row of seats next to the window and resting your head against the glass, seeking the refreshing texture in the hopes that it will cool your skin. 

Tonight should be no different from all your other post-gig journeys home, excitement palpable in the almost thick heat of the bus and the way there’s a rush of emotion as the bus pulls away from the stop. This is when you’d smile, take your headphones out and play your way through the setlist; other times, you’d eavesdrop on the other conversations, smiling at their reactions and responses, turning inward and tuning out only after you cross the bridge over the Thames and the conversation turns a bit quiet, and a bit personal.

But tonight, the difference is in you - in the way you still cannot shake the feeling of Chanyeol’s strong hands and the thick cream of his voice, the memory of him seeming to overtake the memory of the show altogether. 

Headphones wound in your lap, you regard them with a small pout. The ringing in your ears will do you no favors should you listen to any music, but your hesitation to touch and to use them runs deeper than the usual post-gig tinnitus. Even now, you can still feel him, the paradoxically smooth roughness of his palms as they moved over your skin, and the way his voice made you vibrate, trembling into nothingness in the effort of seeking more. Now, the white wires of your headphones pose an element of distrust and betrayal, the ground rules of your connection seeming to change just as soon as you understand them, and you wonder if you’re ready to feel him again, if you could, or if you’ve even stopped.

Turning to glance out the window, London seems to pass in a crystal haze, the lights from the city dotting the river like miniature spotlights, the city still alive and glittering. The vibrancy of London puts a smile on your face, the memory of the last time you rode a bus mixing with the memories of all the times before you’ve looked out at the skyline and wondered who was living, who was dying, and how many stories could be contained beneath just one streetlight. These idle thoughts always compelled you, your love for London and for the heartbeat of the city always overtaking your thoughts once the bus grew quiet.

Now, your imagination has become consumed with a man and the frequency of a voice that haunts you. Staring down at your hands, you study the lines in your skin and wonder what you felt - if you truly were feeling. Already a naturally warm person, the tender hold of his hand in yours put a rush of blood in your fingers, making them appear swollen and pink. And while you could see through and beyond him, as though he were an ephemeral mirage comprised of a longing that reached down into the chasm of your essence, for one moment you swore you could see the pink of his knuckles as he held you, clutching at your bones in an effort to stitch your bodies together.

Tonight, too, the steps up to your door feel endless, walls of the stairway closing in and becoming tight, compressed. Laughter echoes around you, strange for this hour of the night when your neighbors are usually asleep or out even later than you. It doesn’t sound familiar but it doesn’t sound foreign, the richness of the tone giving way to a younger Mr. Kim and a female voice you place as his wife, Aki. How many times had they walked these stairs, holding hands and kissing wrists, laughing and laughing until they silenced one another with kisses that seared against their smiles? How many times had they pressed one another against these walls, pressing fingers to lips to keep quiet only to fall into one another instead? 

Were they soulmates, too, long before the world allowed for such a love?

The nostalgia of these unlived experiences burns against your throat, a lump forming that seems out of place and altogether irrational. A missing has taken root within you, deep down and all over again, though this time it is not for Chanyeol but for a future and a past running in beside one another in tandem. Do you miss the idea of youth, spending too much time with Mr. Kim and watching the way time eats at a heart and at a person? Do you miss the connection that comes from bodies? Your last boyfriend was years ago, just before the solar flare, and even then you had stopped connecting long before you called the relationship off. Even when you were together, pressed against one another in bed and sharing breaths, you weren’t really there, heart and mind going elsewhere to find pleasure.

Perhaps, in the end, you simply miss the happiness of coming home to someone, coming home to Chanyeol, or, most likely, coming home at all. Pushing through your door, the silence seems to swallow you, the quietness of your flat unfit for the energy pooling at your fingertips. Home hasn't felt like home for months, not since you first played Neil Diamond on repeat for days. Something about your flat has felt off, right in the ways that are familiar and wrong as thought something terribly important had been lost, or never found at all. Tonight, the quiet of it all eats at you, skin still stinging with the strength of Chanyeol's touch, and you find you need sound to drown out this loneliness.

Stripping off your clothes, the freedom of your removed bra makes you smile, suddenly hyper aware of the curves of your body. Embodied as you are, you find you need music to hold you together, to press against you the way hands should be - the way Chanyeol's hands would.

Solomon Burke's record is torn at the sides, the edges fraying and taped too many times for you to count. It should never have been left in a charity shop, but then, if it hadn't you never would have come to own it. Faded and worn as its sleeve may be, the record still rings clean and true, the pressed black vinyl glossy and glimmering in the low light of your flat. Uncorking a bottle of wine, your lips go numb as your heart begins to race, head tilting to the side in the expectation of a mouth gliding along your neck. The hair on your arms stands on end, the atmosphere suddenly full of static, electric as it kisses against your skin.

The world fades, the familiarity of this comforting and so unlike the illusion of his touch at the concert. In this, you ground, the world around you silenced except for the music and for him.

‘God, I’ve missed you,' you mumble, knowing he can hear you just fine.

Redness spreads across your chest, a flush of embarrassment at your admission painting you pink and pink. Silly, you think, for there was nothing to miss. You're certain he had never left you.

Chanyeol's laugh is low, a thunder roll easily missed if one is not hanging on every sound he makes. ‘I can still feel you,' he says, though the words come together behind a soft, impatient whine. ‘You’re driving me wild.’

‘Speak for yourself,' you snort, watching the wine as you pour it through half lidded eyes. ‘You’re the one that found me, and now I’m wearing you. I didn’t think we’d be able to...do that.’

He hums in agreement, pride evident in the smile you can almost hear him wear. ‘This, too.’

You knit your brows together, corking the bottle as you glance around your flat, confused. ‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s the first time I’m hearing you without headphones.'

Eyes widening, your gaze lands on the record as it turns and turns, the glimmers of light swirling over the record as it plays. Your headphones, earbuds and studio over-ear alike, are in your bedroom, packed away for their use tomorrow when you'll need them for your commute. Out of habit and the inherent human need for rationality, you look around your flat, feeling him close and hearing his breath as falls in a rushed, excited rhythm. Outside your window, the streetlights take on an otherworldly glow, the fabric of your couches, chairs, and curtains suddenly richer, deeper, your world coloured entirely by his presence.

Overwhelmed, you find all you can manage is the painfully simple, whispered exclamation, 'Oh, my god.'

He moves, that much is evident by the sound of his rustling clothes, and you turn around, looking for his shadow.

‘It’s the clearest you’ve ever been,' he says, sounding pleased. The joy of it, the joy and the shock and the clarity of him is heady, and you reach a hand out, gripping your counter. 'You’re surrounding me.’

Once again, he is not wrong, the sound of his voice seeming to fill the empty corners of your house and mind. Your grip on the counter tightens, joints aching from the effort of keeping still. If he were here, you'd reach for him, pull him to you and kiss him until your lungs hurt from lack of breath. If he were just as needy, maybe he'd place you on the counter top, spilling your wine as his hands massaged bruises into your thighs, leaving marks on your neck for the world to see.

It's shocking, you realize, what the sound of his voice can do. Just one laugh and already he stains the walls.

Swallowing thickly, you take in a long inhale, hoping to clear your mind and focus. ‘So you were at the show.’

It is not a question, just a statement of fact.

Chanyeol's laugh is one of disbelief and one of comfort, an odd mix of emotions you read so easily and find yourself getting drunk on just the same. Glancing down, you see the wine, untouched. ‘It’s so bizarre you just know it,' he says, breathless in his delight. ‘It’s like continuing a conversation we never started.’

‘So you were there tonight?’ you repeat, needing to hear his confirmation and refusing to let yourself run wild with the sheer magnitude of him.

‘Yeah, I was,' he admits. ‘I started feeling like you were there and...I don’t know.’ Chanyeol falls silent, but just as clearly as you can hear him, so too does your mind see him. He blushes, looking down at his hands and standing in the same place as you, sleeveless grey shirt revealing the muscles in his arms as he holds onto the counter. ‘I couldn’t help myself.’

The sound of your heartbeat fills your ears, and while you want to rush forward and talk and talk, for a moment you are speechless.

Chanyeol is in London.

There are no seas separating you.

Tonight, he was at the concert and just as easily as sharing a song, so too can you share the city. This kind of confirmation is worthy of a celebration, a late night phone call or text message to give an address, a number, a cab ride to a doorstep so hands and mouths can finally meet. But you don't mention it or expand on it, biting the side of your tongue in hesitation instead. Blood rushing in your ears interrupts all your fantasies, mouth unsure you're ready for your own admission to make it real.

When it's real, it breaks, and you're still unsure you're ready to be moved beyond the confines of the earth.

Blinking slowly, you ground yourself back in the deep breaths he takes to keep himself calm, and smile. 'I'm glad you didn't.' Once more, your eyes find your wine glass, hand reaching for the stem to swirl it around and around. 'It's been a long time since I've felt someone hold me so close at a concert. You were keeping me warm.'

Almost immediately, he replies. ‘Don’t talk about someone else's hands on you.' It is neither a demand not a command, but a plea. ‘I don’t like picturing it.’

Smirking, you cock your head to the side, the honey sweet drip of arousal running down your spine. ‘Possessive already?’

‘Yes,' comes his quick, unashamed reply. ‘Everyone before doesn’t matter,' he clarifies, eyes falling closed to keep himself calm, 'but I still can’t help it. My hands have been aching all night. I'll never have my fill of you.'

Uncertain how to reply, you simply smile. You smile straight ahead and at nothing at all, knowing that he can feel it. Nothing matters anymore, so long as he can feel it.

‘I wouldn’t have expected you to be there,' he says, words falling quickly in an effort of making the most of your time together. 'There weren’t many women, especially towards the front.’

Rolling your eyes, you sigh, tired of these types of gendered comments men so easily make when it comes to rock music. ‘Then you weren’t looking hard enough.’

Chanyeol, however, acquiesces easily. ‘True,' he affirms. ‘Though, to be fair, I was really only looking for you.’ You both fall into the memory, of the way you found one another in the breadth of a moment, in a setlist, and in the all encompassing ecstasy that comes from live music. ‘That’s my favourite song of his,' Chanyeol shares, sounding almost shy. 'From Her To Eternity is so powerful.'

Something about this makes you feel young, impossibly young and carefree, like your longtime crush has just admitted he likes the same things as you, and therefore it must be destiny. You laugh, feeling yourself go light headed from the force of it, and remind yourself that it is. It is actually destiny. 

‘Mine too,' you agree, giggling. ‘It’s funny, people don’t mention that deep cut.’

‘Deep cut?’ he questions, and you have to stop yourself from sighing in deep affection at the image of his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. ‘Do you know something I don’t?’

‘No...just…’ Your words die, backtracking from your blanket statement. ‘It doesn’t get chosen very often as a favourite, is all.’

Seeming to realize that your time together is coming short, the end of side A looming closer, Chanyeol changes the subject. ‘I didn’t think I’d find you in this record.’

Humming, you look back at the record, and the torn somewhat bent edges of the sleeve. 'That's true,' you nod at no one in particular. 'It's a hard record to find, which is a shame because Cry To Me is the best part of Dirty Dancing.’

A small noise of uncertainty blooms from Chanyeol's chest, curiosity and interest blending together in one small, magical sound. ‘I don’t know what that is.'

Baffled and overtaken by skepticism, you laugh. Normally, such statements make you roll your eyes in disgust but there is something so wonderfully endearing about his joke you cannot help but smile. ‘That’s literally impossible. You’re such a guy.’

A low, slow rumble quakes in his chest, your eyes falling shut in preparation of the thickness of pleasure you know he is about to adopt. ‘If dirty dancing is what you want…’

‘Don’t start,' you whisper, mind replaying the sound over and over, addicted. ‘You’ve got me drunk on you.’

‘Speak for yourself,' he teases, mirroring your earlier statement.

For a brief moment, you can almost see him. Bottom lip caught between his teeth, his wide eyes look longing through you, hoping to find and touch and hold whatever part of you he can access. Like this, you both fall quiet, looking everywhere and nowhere for one another, and eventually, the shift of the earth on its axis makes your body sway, overcome by your unintentional stillness. Just like you could at the concert, you feel his hand reach for your waist, catching you, and it is this contact that makes you understand the difference between imagination and connection.

Where imagination is distant and feather light, a super imposition of assumption onto expectation, this is is a cosmic wave in which your drown, skin and soul and heart rattled by the impossibility and intensity of him. Neither fictional nor imagined, he is hyper-present and he is cosmic, a sunbeam trick that runs along the endings of your nerves.

‘So, do you like soul music, then?’ he asks, breaking your silence with an anxious tension at the back of his throat. His words are thick, heavy things that weigh against you, and you know he too is struggling to hold himself together.

A slow smile tugs at your lips, a lopsided grin of adoration. ‘I love it,’ you begin, pressing your tongue against your teeth unsure if you should continue. There’s so much on this you want to say, so much you normally give to other people with little passion returned. But he’s your soulmate, and if he’s really yours he will give back in spades. ‘Most days, I think it’s my favourite genre. It’s speaks of human connection in a way that I think other genres just can’t comprehend.’ 

‘Absolutely,’ he agrees, enthusiasm palpable in every syllable. ‘Their voices are full of the full spectrum of human emotion...it’s like they’ve felt so much more than I ever could. Every lyric is a love letter.’

Silently, you chuckle to yourself, eyes roaming up towards your ceiling in thanks to a God you never really had faith in. ‘Every time I listen to it, especially to an Otis song -’

‘God, I love Otis,’ he interrupts, over eager. ‘Sorry,’ comes his rushed apology, bemused by his excitement. ‘It’s just good to talk about it with someone.’

‘It’s okay.’ 

You want to reassure him everything he will ever say, every interruption is fine and good and gold, because you want, more than anything, to listen to him speak until the sun goes black. But Chanyeol remains quiet, impatiently waiting for you to continue, and you are so willing to give him absolutely everything he desires. 

‘It’s so hard to explain…’ Your words fade, mind struggling to form a sentence that could convey the depth of your emotion. ‘He moves me,’ you finally announce, uncertain anything further needs to be said. 

You have said this before. This thought and opinion is not unfamiliar or new. You have said as much to countless other people, people who simply laugh and tell you this thought is incomplete. Movement is born from a moment of pleasure, a spark and release of joy, and rarely is such a feeling understood outside of the moment in which it exists. To everyone else, this thought is illogical - not impossible, just unusual.

But Chanyeol sighs, a long exclamation of understanding, his heart and soul wilting directly into yours, finally witnessed. ‘Yeah?’ he swoons, urging you to continue with the force of his ardor. 

Turning, you lean back against the counter, tilting your head upwards as though anticipating a kiss. ‘He was so young,’ you continue, voice small and distant, longing tracing every word on your tongue, ;but the way he spoke and the way he sang…’ You drift, trembling at the sudden sensation of a light touch ghosting along your cheek. You think it might be his nose as he runs it along your skin, breathing you in. ‘His music always feels like he’s lived three lifetimes, and loved, intensely, his way through each of them. I think I’d like to live like that.’ 

With his hands on you, you don’t even apologize for the slight stutter to your speech, affected.

‘Intensely in love?’ he whispers, and you lean into the sound, wanting.

‘Yeah.’ 

The sensation shifts to your other cheek, and you tilt your head in the mime of granting permission. Barely there grazes move along the edge of your cheekbone, tickling a phantom of wave of affection in its wake. But he remains silent, expecting and yearning for more.

‘For a long time,’ you manage, voice strained against your tight throat, ‘it was something I thought I’d ever want or need, that feeling of being loved through your humanity and into your spirit. I never thought I’d want it, because it couldn’t exist or, if it did, it was rare enough most of humanity shouldn’t bother trying to find it.’

‘A losing game,’ he clarifies, wistful and longing in his agreement.

Briefly reminded of Amy Winehouse, the distant melody plays in your mind. You wonder if he likes her as much as you. ‘But now -’ you raise your hands, curling your fingers and almost feeling the hard muscles of his hips as you pull him into you, ‘it’s like unlocking a door, you know? Stepping through to the other side and realizing, finally, what everyone had been singing about. I want that...to be loved so intensely, so in love, that it becomes the one thing I never question.’

Drowning in one another, you let yourself be held, body warming to a temperature that makes you crave the refreshment of air conditioning. Your skin is flushed, cheeks and neck and knuckles a reddish pink from both heat and desire, the rhythm of your heart putting a sheen of sweat at your brow. You don’t know when you got so warm, when he became a fire for your hands alone, but you don’t mind. If having him means burning, you don’t ever want to be cooled.

‘I want that, too.’ His forehead rests against yours, the last force of a touch you know is about to fade. ‘I want to give that to you.’

And with that, he is gone. The record stops, apartment quiet enough to make your teeth and ears ache, Side A complete. Normally, you’d whine and let yourself grieve, screaming to yourself that you want it, god how you want that, too, but tonight, for some reason, there is no place for such woe. 

Chanyeol is in London. 

Chanyeol is in London and now you have both heard and felt and learned him.

Chanyeol is in London. 

It won’t be long now.

[s-trawberryv-eins]

An Introduction

(NOT MY GIF)

AN INTRODUCTION TO CAROLINE STARK

A/N: Hi! Thanks for reading! So, after months of waffling about wanting to write, I finally sat down and did it. It’s pretty complicated, so it’s pretty important to read this one before you start with anything else. I’ve created an original character, who lives in a slightly alternative universe to the one we were left with after Endgame. I’d like to state that none of my personal changes are reflections of my opinions of what DID happen, but in order to build her as I wish, some things needed to be slightly different.

1)    Steve didn’t go back to Peggy after he returned the stones

2)    Hulk and Banner didn't become one, they’re still two separate beings

3)    Natasha was brought back by Steve as he was able to return the soul stone in return for her life

4)    The compound was rebuilt after the Battle of Earth. There is a memorial for Tony where he died.

A few other things to note:

1)    My first piece of writing will be a background that is applicable to all of the fics. However, many of them will be stand alone, unless I state otherwise. I’ll be creating a masterlist which will lay everything out very clearly, but please feel free to ask if you need to 😊

 Thanks for reading the boring stuff. Everything will be up soon!

 Summary: An introduction to the secret Stark sister. Who is she? Why was she kept a secret? And what happens when everybody finds out?

 Warnings: Abandonment, injury, PTSD, death, blood, but there's plenty of soft love too.

 Word count: 1921

 SUMMER 2004

MALIBU, CALIFORNIA

"Yes, yes, two seconds!" Tottering over to the front door of her bosses lavish Malibu home, Pepper Potts grumbled under her breath, annoyed by the fact that she was the one answering the incessant knocking. "I’m not your maid, Tony!” Sighing, she unlocked the door and prepared to shoo whichever reporter, play bunny, or cold caller had decided that 10 PM on a Tuesday evening was a good time to show up. However, she was greeted with something entirely unexpected.

“Oh! Hello! Are you lost? Where’s your Mom?" In front of Miss Potts stood a small girl, 7 years of age, a sparkly pink bag held tightly in her little hand. Pepper greeted the young girl with the cheeriest voice she could manage in her surprise. Sticking her head out of the door, she looked around, but with a furrowed brow she realised that they were alone. There wasn’t another figure or car in sight.

“Momma said I had to give you this." In her tiny outstretched hand was a thick envelope. "She said my Daddy lives here.” The look on her face told Pepper that she knew exactly what had happened. Even as young as she was, she had an obvious maturity that would break hearts. Her mother had abandoned her, and the girl understood that entirely.

With eyes so wide it hurt, Pepper took the envelope, peeking inside to find a passport, a letter, and a photograph of Mr Stark and a woman. The girls' mother, Pepper presumed. Shock was written into the PAs face, but she forced a smile all the same. After a quick look at the passport, she ushered the child inside.

"Come on in, Caroline. We’ll sort you out, okay?”

 LATE 2008

NEW YORK

A series of loud bangs on her bedroom door pulled Caroline from her daydream. Not even having a chance to respond, the door burst open and three young girls practically fell into her room.

“Turn the TV on!"

“As if you weren’t famous enough!"

“Did you know? You must've known?!"

Wide eyed and clueless as to what her friends were talking about, Caroline blinked back gormlessly as Amelie grabbed the remote and turned the TV on.

“What channel?“

“Can somebody tell me what the hell is going on?" The 11-year-old spoke up, and all three heads turned to face her, humour in their eyes as they stated what was seemingly obvious.

“Your dad, Care.” Caroline knew her Father had been in some trouble. Happy had shown up outside the halls of residence, whisking her away immediately. The panic set in as her heart sped up violently. As the girls scrambled through the channels, they froze as a man in a suit appeared on the screen. Caroline's dad. Tony Stark. They watched in awe as he addressed his audience. As his daughter, she'd watched a few press conferences before. They were a bore, however, she couldn't lie.

The TV remote fell from Amelie’s hand as he spoke the four words that changed history.

“I am Iron Man.”

 MAY 2012

MANHATTAN, NEW YORK

Footage of the Chitauri destroying the very ground she stood on flashed through Caroline’s mind. Gripping Happy’s arm as she sobbed, the 14-year-old girl cried out desperately for her Father. Their relationship had been very rocky for a while. He’d rejected his new responsibility at first, leaving Pepper to parent the girl. He’d even shipped her off to boarding school, where he further pushed away his long-lost child. It wasn’t until Pepper dragged him by the sleeve to the young girl’s dorm room and forced him inside that he’d actually spoken to his daughter. From there, they established a solid relationship. Caroline, of course, fell head over heels for her Father. He could do no wrong in her eyes. That never changed, even as she grew.

Fear wracked her body at the thought of Tony not surviving the battle. Staring at the sky, she prayed and prayed that he return from that giant swirling hole of death that currently dominated New York. When she saw his body fall through the sky, her fear both vanished and increased ten-fold.

-

Later that evening, JARVIS informed her of her Fathers arrival at the beaten-up tower. Racing to find him, she threw her arms around his neck and cried. She cried and cried until she ran out, but she never let go of his hand.

 MAY 2015

NOVI GRAD, SOKOVIA

“Daddy?” Her voice came out a whimper. She felt weak and small.

“Hey baby girl, I’m uh…I’m guessing you’ve seen, right? Yeah, it’s bad, Care.”

“Dad, what’s going on?”

“Listen, baby, I’ve gotta end this. Me and Thor, uh, we think we’ve got a way. A lot of people will die if we don’t do this. You're the best thing, you know?" His voice was soft, even as he continued to fight off robots and save the world. The line grew staticky and Caroline couldn’t stop the tears that spilled from her eyes. "I'm so glad you showed up on my doorstep all those years ago. I’m sorry for taking so long."

“Why does it sound like you're saying goodbye? Daddy you're scaring me!” Her voice was a desperate whimper, and a pain in her chest bloomed violently.

“I love you, Caroline. Remember th-" Horror erupted over her features as the line went dead. Not knowing whether she'd ever see him again, she made her way to New York, her heart dragging painfully behind her.

 NEW YEARS EVE 2015

AVENGERS COMPOUND

UPSTATE NEW YORK

Caroline and her Father walked through one of the many laboratories of the new compound. On her 18th birthday the Stark girl was offered a position as a biomechanical engineer for the new era S.H.I.E.L.D. program, built following its collapse in 2014. Taking after her Dad, she had excelled in school, and to the amazement of her new bosses, had landed a glowing recommendation from Iron Man himself. The decision for her to live under a different last name to Tony was one he himself had requested in a bid to keep her safe for as long as he could. She had never really met the other Avengers, and only three other people knew of her existence; Pepper, Happy, and Natasha Romanoff. It was easy enough to hide her identity.

Caroline didn’t mind too much. She could still see her parents as much as she pleased, and it prevented any special treatment from schools and professors. Those around Caroline herself knew; her school friends knew, she didn't want to keep a secret from them, and besides, she didn't know any better when she told them at 8 years old.

“How’re you settling in? Are you sure this isn’t too soon? This is too soon. I’m taking you-“ midway through his rambling, Tony realised his daughter both lived and worked at the compound, rendering his threat useless. "I'll take you somewhere. Details, schmetails."  

“Dad! Calm down! You’re spiralling. I’m fine, I’m settling in just fine! Now come on, I need to meet everyone.” A proud smile graced the young girls features as she tried to rid her rather of any worry. With a sigh, he took his daughters hand in his own and led her to the Avengers quarters. Separating just before they entered the room, Caroline took a shaky breath.

“Folks gather round. This is our new Doc. With Banner MIA," his brows drew together as he spoke, and his gaze fell to the floor for a second before finding Caroline "she’s our go to! This is Caroline. Caroline Lockwood.”  A half smile appeared on his face, the bittersweet moment getting the best of him. After a few brief introductions, the girl bid them goodbye to get ready for one of Tony Starks famous New Year’s Eve parties.

 JUNE 2018

AVENGERS COMPOUND

UPSTATE NEW YORK

Pepper sat with her daughter, a blanket around the two of them as they hid. They sat in silence, unable to find the words. Trying to maintain hope when everything around them told them to give up was the hardest battle they'd fought yet. “Momma? We’ll be fine, right? We always win.” Her voice nothing but a whisper in the darkness, she felt her adoptive mothers’ fingers tighten around her own.

“We'll be fine, baby. Your Dad will do what he always does. He'll save us. He'll save everybody.” The sad smile on Caroline's face couldn’t be seen in the dark, but Pepper could tell the moment that it fell. She felt the energy in the air shift. Did they lose? “Baby? Baby what’s wrong?" Placing her soft hands either side of her daughter’s face, she gasped sharply as the blanket fell around them, no longer supported by two bodies. Instead, a dark ash took the place of the youngest Stark.

“I’m sorry, Momma" she choked out before disintegrating completely "I'm sorry.”

Pepper was left alone, covered in heartbreak, grief, and the ashes her child left behind.

OCTOBER 2023

ATLANTA, GEORGIA

"Hey, sweetie. Do you want Mom?" Morgan shook her head and stepped closer to her sister.

“Can you help me? You’re my sister.” With sad, glazed over eyes, Caroline nodded. It's not difficult to sympathise with the two girls. Morgan knew all about her big sister. Stories were told, and pictures were framed in every inch of the house. Morgan idolised her before she’d ever met her. And when, by some miracle, they did meet, it was a few days before their fathers’ funeral. Two days before that, Caroline had been dead.

Dead.

It'd been one hell of a week.

To say the oldest Stark sister walked on eggshells around the younger one would be an understatement. Allowing their relationship to be on Morgan’s terms was the least she could do. The thought that Morgan may reject her completely never left her mind, despite Peppers constant reassurance. “I can braid your hair, if you’d like. Momma taught me when I was a little girl."

-

"Where's Morgan?" Pepper's voice barely registered in Caroline’s brain. She could feel herself drifting further and further away every day. But she didn't have the strength to fight it.

“Happy took her for cheeseburgers.” A hint of smile traced her mouth, but it didn't stick. It never stuck. The bags under her eyes were heavy and dark, and the once rich brown of her eyes seemed to have dulled miserably. After receiving her own private recording from Stark, she felt as if she'd broken completely. Turning to face Pepper, she struggled to continue, her voice hoarse from crying and screaming in the night. "They should be back an-"

“MOMMY SISSY UNCLE HAPPY BOUGHT EXTRA.” Watching the tiny girl stumble through the door, a brown paper bag clutched tightly to her chest, Caroline just stared in awe. Of course, Morgan was too young to really understand what happened. She missed her Daddy, and she knew he wasn’t coming home, but she managed to smile. Her eyes shined bright as ever. The world hadn't tainted her hope, it hadn’t torn away her faith.

It would be so, so easy to just let go. To just give up and fall into the oblivion that called her name. But in doing so, she'd miss even more time with her sister. Watching her eat with a pensive look on her face, clutching on to Pepper and watching all the strangers around her, Caroline made a choice. She could do it for Morgan. She could hold on and keep going.

So, she did.

TAGS:

@bucky-castiel​

[chocolatemillkk]

CM I

Conor’s been a nuisance to me for as long as I could remember. It was stealing my bike when we were four, telling me santa didn’t exist as soon as he found out at six, blaming his shenanigans on me in school in all the classes we had together, and telling every guy I was interested in that I had herpes. The ones who knew Conor, dated me anyway, but Conor could have very well scared away the love of my life-I’d never know.

Ever since we graduated school and I went to college while he focussed on music, we’d seen each other less and the only bothering he did was tagging me in pointless memes. But every so often when I visited home and our gang met up, I would have to put up with him all over again.

“Come over here!” Jessie tugs me as soon as I get out of my uber. Our friends stand around the car parked in front of her house and they greet me while my face stays buried in Jessie’s shoulder

“Tell me it hasn’t been half a year since we saw each other,” Sam joins the hug and Mel says something about taking a picture of us. When they release me I grab Fran in a hug even though she hated them and notice Conor wasn’t around.

“Where’s Conor?” I ask.

“I thought you’d be glad not to see him,” Mel exchanges a glance with Fran but I don’t understand it.

“Just curious,” I say cautiously. “He’s never missed our mini-reunions.”

“He messaged the group, he’ll meet us at the club.” Jessie says. “Probably already attached himself to a girl there. Let’s go before he does anything stupid.”

“In that case, let’s take our time.” I say dryly with a hint of irritation and my friends just laugh.

We pile into the car and eventually find the street after driving in circles for fifteen minutes. “Could that little shite have picked anything more obscure?” Jessie sighs as she parks.

I hadn’t been to our last meet-up a few months ago due to exams and Conor had missed the meet before that so it’d been a little under a year since I saw Conor. The last time was on the weekend of my 20th birthday where he tried to shove a cupcake in my face. But there was a moment I can’t help but remember. As we were waiting for our separate ubers and he’d leaned into me drunkenly, saying something I’d never forget.

“I think I always loved you.”

“Y/N?” Mel snaps. I hadn’t realised the group was already to the door while I stood still on the sidewalk, remembering the way the words felt against my skin.

“Coming!” I hurry, my heels clacking again the pavement. I catch up to Mel and we walk in silence into the club.

“How’s work been?” I ask Mel, the silence becoming too much.

“Been keeping me busy,” she responds quickly. “I think they went that way.”

With that, she walks ahead of me to the bar where our friends are figuring out the drinks.

“Hey,” I pull Jessie aside after we order them. “Is it just me or is Mel acting weird?”

“Mel?” Jessie was the only person I felt comfortable asking since I knew she would always be objective. “She seems fine to me. Why?”

“I dunno,” I couldn’t put my finger on it. Mel was usually silly with me, teasing me that I was becoming a big nerd. But tonight she’d been serious, deliberately cut the conversation short as if she was mad at me. I would ask her if she was alright later, I decide.

“Ladies,” Sam approaches us, wrapping his arm around Jessie. They’d started dating the summer after graduation and it was no surprise to us. A relief actually, to see all the sexual tension built up between them for years disappear overnight. Quite literally.

“Let’s dance?” Jessie asks us but she’s mostly looking to Sam.

“I’ll just finish my drink first,” I smile-I didn’t feel like being a third wheel. Jessie makes me promise I would join in later and I watch them leave, now all alone. I spot Fran and Mel talking but it seems intense so I turn my back to the crowds and lean on the counter.

“Is it hot in here or is it just you?” I hear the familiar gravelly voice in my ear. My heart beats a little faster as my back straightens in anticipation of the stupid routine Conor and I had.

“You’re so full of shite you should probably find a toilet,” I say easily before turning to stare him straight in the eye. Except. He looked different.

I lose my smirk and my defence as I try to remember what I was going to say to him. He looks older; somehow in the last year he’d lost the boyish look and his features were sharpened by maturity...not that he had any....and with that thought, I remember who I was looking at.

“Still a complete arse, I see.” I look Conor up and down.

“A bigger snob than usual, I see.” Conor retorts but it lacks his usual snarkiness too. Almost as if seeing each other knocked us out of the ring we always fought in. I sip my drink as we find our footing still.

“How’s it going?” Conor asks.

“The usual-going to my snobby school and doing my snobby work.”

Conor chuckles. “Nice to know some things don’t change.”

I don’t answer that, thinking back to what he’d said that night. He was so drunk but apparently not drunk enough to forget because a few mornings after, as I was on the train back to school I’d received a text from him.

I was shitfaced the other night so whatever I said was just nonsense.

The text stung a little even though I never really considered being in love with Conor. His next text reminded me why I never considered it: It’s not like it could work out anyway. You’re too freaky.

Thanks, I’d sent back with an eye-roll emoji. And that had been that.

But it hadn’t been just that. The more I thought about it, the more I realised that deep down I enjoyed the banter. It had become familiar, more reliable than a lot of other things in my life. I’d never miss the juvenile pranks he played on me but our banter was our own little language. And it made me realise other things too, like how it might feel to not have that...like it would make a bigger hole in my heart than I initially thought.

“Have you been working out?” Conor asks beside me and I only barely make out the question over the noise.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I roll my eyes but secretly flattered that he’d noticed.

“No I’m being serious!” Conor says. “You look good!”

I turn my body to him and raise an eyebrow, assessing if he was going to tease me but he seemed genuine. “I’ve been rock climbing recently, and training for a marathon.”

Conor whistles. Well he looked like he was whistling but I don’t hear anything.

“You don’t look bad yourself,” I comment without letting on that I thought he looked really good. Like really really really really good.

“I’ve been making some changes,” he says casually. When I raise an eyebrow he continues, “I cut back on the alcohol but that’s cuz my label said I need to clean up my image and stop partying so much.” He laughs but it has an edge. “And I try to go to the gym but it’s...”

“A losing battle?” I laugh. “Remember that one summer we all made a pact to work on our ‘summer bodies’ but you went for a week and missed your alarm every week after that.”

“To be honest,” he says. “I never set an alarm after the first week.”

My mouth drops, “You piece of shite! You had us all convinced you were struggling!”

Conor laughs with his whole body and my breath catches with the way the room narrows down just to him. Coming out tonight was not good for my heart-I was only falling

“I can’t piss you off now that you’ve been working out-you could probably beat my arse.”

“Who said I couldn’t do it before I worked out?” I tease as I flex my arm. Conor’s eyes widen and he touches the muscle I’d proudly built over the last few months. His touch sends a zap to my nerves and I drop my arm back to its side.

“That’s like-proper muscle.”

“Yeah!” I’d lost the humour as my heart continued to race. It was just Conor. Just Conor.

“What are you two gossiping about?” Meg and Fran appear and she shouts to be heard. I balk-for a few minutes we were actually getting on.

“Was the world ending or were you two laughing with each other.” Fran reads my thoughts and I blush and glance at Conor who’s glancing at me too.

“I was just getting her comfortable for the trouble I have in store later,” Conor says without the usual sauciness. The girls seem to pick up on it because they glance at one another again. God, that was getting annoying.

“I think Conor’s finally growing a brain in that skull of his,” I joke.

“Is that where my brain’s supposed to be?” Conor bounces off my joke and my laugh’s cut short when I realise Meg is staring at us as if we’d grown another head.

“So Conor,” Meg says after we sip our drinks in silence. “It’s been a while since I saw your face. You haven’t sent me any vocal clips anymore of your music.”

“I’ve been working on lyrics actually...” I tune the conversation out, Meg’s comment making me uncomfortable. I don’t remember Meg being anything but snarky towards Conor yet he was sharing his music with her. And not me. Actually he’d never even talked about his music with me, I have to remind myself. Why was I getting jealous over a stupid comment?

“So Fran-you’re even more quiet tonight than usual.” I say.

“I had a long shift this morning.” She groans. “Kids can be brutal.”

“Aw,” I grab her arm. “Then your next drink’s on me!”

“I have a weird question,” Fran says once we get the drinks. She was never one for beating about the bush.

“Shoot,” I say.

“Do you have a thing for Conor?”

My drink nearly comes out of my nose as I choke. Fran hands me napkins as she pats my back and I begin laughing.

“Why would you think that?” I ask, paranoid that my small-big crush was obvious.

“You two are always going off on one another,” she shrugs. “Maybe that’s your way of flirting?”

“Oh my god,” I laugh. “When I flirt, I’m a lot less aggressive! At least I hope so.”

“So the little piece you were doing just now with him?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Uh-wh-no?” I stutter. Fran and I stare at each other before bursting into laughter.

“You are so bad at lying.” Fran shouts.

“Lying about what?” Jessie shows up with Sam trailing behind her.

“Hey! Weren’t you two dancing?” I ask, hoping to distract from the question.

“Yeah! You never showed!” Jessie says. “And I want a drink. Non-alcoholic don't worry.”

“I’ll give you the seat,” Fran slides off and says she was going.

“Not a word!” I shout out to her and she makes an X over her heart.

•••

“Shotgun!” I shout into the dark as our eyes adjust from the flashing lights to the night sky.

“Aw no!” Sam complains. “You know my legs don’t stretch in the back!”

“Should have thought of that before! Shotgun rules says it’s my seat.” I say, a little tipsy but mostly just happy having all my friends together again.

“I call a window!” Sam frowns.

“Where does Conor sit?” Meg asks. “There’s not enough seats.”

“I’ll sit in Y/N’s lap,” Conor wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me to him so I stumble in my heels.

“Get off!” I shove him away, the scrunchie in my hair sliding off. “Ugh.”

“You cut your hair?” Jessie asks as we get in.

“Yeah! Just last week. So many dead ends...” We continue the small talk as the gang piles in the back, Meg agreeing to sit on the floor as she was the smallest. I connect the car with bluetooth and put on a throwback playlist as we reminisce about the old times. Meg falls asleep and we all laugh, the boys taking snaps of her to make fun of. Just as I feel relaxed, the music goes fuzzy and a familiar voice sings through the speakers.

“Isn’t that-“

“Conor!” I twist in my seat and aim to hit his knee but I get Fran instead and while I apologize Conor begins singing out loud which earns groans from everyone.

“Stop hijacking the Bluetooth!” I say and turn my music back on but Conor puts his on again and I feel my frustration rise so I turn it off but Conor just finds a way to play his music again. I cross my arms and sigh, deciding to just ignore it while Jessie starts to hum to the music. Fran and Sam are having a discussion and I feel Conor playing with my hair from the back.

“Stop that!” I twist to see him again and he’s grinning. “Ugh, I hate you.”

“Only because you’re afraid of how much you’d love me,” Conor teases but the words hit too close to home so I flip him off again and turn back in my seat.

Fran and Sam get off first as they lived a few houses down from the other. Next, we drop Meg who took a few shakes and shouts to wake up. Conor says to drop him off at his brother’s and we do so but before he goes in he leans his elbows on my open window.

“You’re gonna get run over,” I say as a car whizzes by behind him.

“So are we doing anything later? This week or something?” Conor ignores my comment.

“Ah I don’t know.” Jessie says. “We can all hang out after work but Y/N’s home for the whole week before she disappears on us again.”

Conor doesn’t even look back at Jessie when he asks me, “Great, maybe I can show you some of my music then.”

I blush, thinking he’d noticed my earlier bitterness about Meg’s comment but his face is casual. “Sounds cool,” I nod and when he’s out of sight Jessie squeals.

“You two are so into each other.”

[scandalsavagefanfic]

Hello. For your 500 followers Prompt-A-Thon request, how about Death/Jason. Honestly, I'm just wondering what the batfam's reaction would be to finding out Jason is dating death. Like their reaction whenever there's a near death experience and Jason is talking to thin air (because only he can see him/her). Then one day Jason is the one having a near death experience and Death comes physically to talk to him. Congratulations, BTW!!

Ok. So. Once I got going, this turned out a little differently than I expected. I hope you still like it. And thank you for the congratulations!

Matter of Life and Death - Read on Ao3!

Rating: Mature (a teeny bit of mostly glossed over smut)Warnings: Lots of talk about death. Kinda sorta suicide discussion...Words: 3161 

Pairing is Jason Todd/ Death of the Endless, btw 

(And while I did read some stuff, I’m not super familiar with the Sandman universe so if anyone out there thinks I wrote Death wrong you’re probably right so no need to bite my head off ;) )

___________________________________________

He’s not supposed to be there. So she says as much.

“Look lady, I… I don’t even know where here is. So… uh…” theboy trails off.

She can’t blame him. If she doesn’t know what’s happening,she can’t expect the maybe-sorta-dead human youth to know.

He’s dressed absurdly in what would be green texturedshorts, a red tunic, and a yellow cape, complete horrendous green pixie boots,if it weren’t for the way color was leeched from all things in this place. Ithelps fill in some of the gaps. But certainly not all of them.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened,” She asks, taking asmall step toward him. He’s obviously frightened and even though he’ll neveroutrun her, she doesn’t want to chase him down. “Then we can figure out—”

“No offense,” he interrupts, crossing his arms over hischest, “but I don’t know you and the last thing I remember was getting beatento gory mess, blown up, and gasping for air in a grimy warehouse. Now,suddenly, I’m—” he looks around at the black void and shivers, “—here, with akinda-hot-kinda-creepy lady who is… unnaturally white. So why don’t westart with who you are, and then go from there.”

She just gazes at him for a moment. The situation isunprecedented and for once in her extremely long life she is genuinely… surprised.Not just because he’s there. Even if that is the primary concern. Humans, orrather their souls, aren’t meant to see this place. It’s just… connectivetissue—a pass through. No one has ever just… stopped. But it’s clear he alsodoesn’t recognize her.

Stretching her memory back to the beginning, she can’trecall a single soul, separated from its physical shell, not recognizing her onsight. As such, she is certainly used to a much more… respectful tone.

It’s both insulting and refreshing.

“Am I… am I… dead?” The oddly dressed boy asks softly.There’s a tremble in his voice and he’s gripping the hem of the cape tightly.

If he was dead, he wouldn’t be here. If he was dead, hewould know her. But if he was alive, he wouldn’t be here, and he wouldn’t seeher at all. It feels extremely disconcerting to be unable to answer.

And yet, a part of her is thrilled. She doesn’t think she’sever just… not known something before.

“I can’t be dead,” the boy mutters, more to himself than toher, as he drops to sit on the inky void that surrounds them. “He needs me. Ijust… I made a mistake. I need him to know… to know that it wasn’t him. Notreally. I wasn’t trying to… to replace him. I just needed to know.”

She watches his shoulders shake when he drops his forehead tohis knees, unsure how to respond.

Finally, she sits at his side.

“You are… you seem to be caught in limbo,” she answersfinally, gently as she is able. “You are not alive, but your soul has… taken anuncommon detour and you have not actually died. If you had, you would know me.”

There is no recognition in his eyes when they rise to meethers. But the blue of his irises somehow manages to burn through the void. Theonly color that exist in this place.

“I am Death,” she continues, surprised and intrigued whenthe only reaction the revelation receives is slight widening of his eyes. Whichshe can’t stop looking at. She can perceive the colors things were supposed tobe in this realm but there shouldn’t be any actual pigment here. “You are…something entirely unique.”

He tears his gaze away from hers and actual color, a softrosy pink, rises in his cheeks.

His name is Jason. The young protégé of one of the manysuperheroes on one of the many worlds in one or the many universes.

She spends a great deal of time with him over the nextmonths or years, time means very little to her. It does, however, still mean agreat deal to Jason. She can move between the realms, but he is stuck in thevoid. She was away for a week the first and only time she left him and returnedto find him distraught and inconsolable after being alone in the still, silent,nothing.

The best she can guess, after discussing the mystery with aless than helpful Destiny, is that he isn’t meant to die permanently. He can’tmove on because he’s destined to return to his flesh.

It is, in her opinion, a particularly grisly thought. Butone that proves accurate when he is suddenly ripped from her side in the middleof a conversation and when she checks on him, finds him desperately strugglingto escape his airless coffin buried deep under the earth.

She shouldn’t interfere but she can’t help it. It’s a simplethink to crack the wood, to move the dirt more than he should be able to.

He’s not himself when he emerges, face wet with tears andgasping for air. She can tell. The young man she spent so much time getting toknow needs healing she can’t offer.

But she resolves to keep an eye on him.

_______________________________________________

The next time they meet would feel like a coincidence ifDeath didn’t know better than to believe is such a thing.

She doesn’t know why she still bothers to come for the Demonwhen he’s on her doorstep, when so often he laughs and runs away. Perhaps it’scuriosity. Will this be the time he can’t quite manage to evade her?

It’s a different kind of void this time. Acid green andviolent, burning, agony. Death is not meant to be circumvented, she thinks, itis not natural to outlive ones’ welcome.

But then she sees Jason in the thick color and allows thatit is not her will the universe follows. That she is a just another mechanic,keeping everything in working order. That perhaps there is a future purpose forthose who are fated to evade Death.

Except that Jason is different, she thinks, watching hisface twist in pain as he’s stitched back together.

The Demon has been on her list for centuries, rising to thetop, just to drop back down again.

Jason was never fated to die.

She reaches out and touches his face. When his eyes open, heknows her. He knows her even though he’s never known true death.

His pinched, agonized expression smooths out at her touch.His eyes soften when they find hers.

She is unused to the reaction. Most people feel fear orsadness or anger when they see her and know.

But Jason finds comfort in the presence of Death.

_____________________________________________________

“You’re asking if I can bring someone back from the dead?”

He's not entirely wrong but even she doesn't know the rulesthat allow her to do it and when. So she doesn’t know what makes him think thatshe can.

“I know you can.” Jason’s voice cracks on the words. “Ididn’t tell him because I didn’t know how to find you again. Then it just cameto me and I… I had to try…”

He’s shaking like a leaf behind the steering-wheel of anautomobile that isn’t his and doesn’t suit him. All black and mean looking withtoo many lights on the dash and too many buttons. The front is smashed andsmoking and there’s a cut on Jason’s forehead from where he smacked into thewheel in front of him. The broken, bloodied skin of his knuckles aren’t fromthe “accident” though and she suspects his tears have more to do with theprevious fight than any physical pain from the wreck.

“You did it for me,” he sobs, choking on the lump in histhroat, “you can do it for my little brother.”

Ah. She supposes that from his perspective, that is the onlything that makes any kind of sense.

She rests her hand on his shoulder and wonders if he canfeel it when he doesn’t react.

“I can’t raise the dead, Jason," she explains, even ifit's not entirely true. She doesn't want to get his hopes up. "As much asI wish I was responsible for your second life, I’m not. And I can’t bring backyour brother.”

He is an al Ghul though, she thinks to herself, and one ofJason’s beloved Bats. His name was on her list. But she wouldn’t be surprisedto find it there yet again.

He cries quietly in the seat next to her for a long minute.She doesn’t like to see him in pain. It… it stirs something in her that shedoesn’t recognize. The fact that she hasn’t seen Jason free from his tormentsince he was pulled from her side only makes that thing inside her more…passionate.

“I can’t stay long,” she finally says into the near silence,“A sudden, near death experience may bring me to your side. But it can’t keepme here for more than a couple minutes.”

Jason swallows loudly and finally turns to look at her. TheDemon’s green has tainted his eyes, but she sees the fiery blue much moreclearly. Even despite the redness and swelling. She hasn’t missed the how muchtaller and bigger he is now. How handsome he’s grown.

“I miss you,” he all but whispers. “Sometimes I wish I’dnever come back. Being in the empty void with you was better than being alone inan ocean of people.”

If she had a heart, she’s sure it would break.

She takes his face in her hands and the surprise in his eyestells her that yes, he can feel it. Then she leans in and brushes her lipsagainst his.

There’s a spark of warmth on her mouth and it tingles as ittravels all the way down her spine to settle somewhere in her belly.

She knows her own eyes are as black and empty as the void;most souls won’t meet them.

But he does. And it’s not fear or sadness or anger in hisgaze.

It’s longing.

_______________________________________________________

The nature of his life means she sees him often.

Or… ‘often’ relative to how ‘often’ she sees other humans.Which is not. Ever. Not like this.

A death in his vicinity will allow her to see him for a fewminutes. One of his own near-death experiences tugs at her and she spares aminute to make sure he’s alright. But otherwise, she has too much work to do.

“You should be more careful,” she scolds him on oneoccasion. One when he actually ‘died’ again for a minute. He wasn’t one of herappointments then either. But that’s not unusual. Momentary heart failuresaren’t enough to bring her around. Unless it’s him. “One of these days, you’llforce me to escort you over.”

“Please,” he laughs, even though he’s clearly still a littleshaken from the demon possession. “You’re my get-out-Death free card.”

She smiles at him because he knows that it doesn’t work likethat. But he doesn’t know that he’s not listed. Ever. She needled Destiny intolooking him up in the Book of Souls.

Jason Todd. Born. Meets Batman.

Then nothing. Just swirls of ink that won’t settle.

She doesn’t know how to tell. Doesn’t really know what totell him, even if she knew how. It’s a strange feeling, not knowing.

“How much longer can you stay?” he asks, sounding hopefulbut resigned.

“I don’t have any souls who need me here,” she answers,reaching up to tame a wild strand of hair. “I am needed elsewhere.”

“I just wish you could stay once in a while, you know? Thisis… this is ha—”

“Jason?”

They both turn to look at Batman. Death smirks when Jasonflushes pink at the look of wary confusion on his mentor’s face.

“Kinda in the middle of something, B,” Jason barks, tryingfor and failing to find his usual façade of bravado.

“He can’t see me,” she reminds him.

“He could if you’d let him.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Jason? You’re acting strange after being possessed bydemons,” the Bat tries again, “I’m going to need you to say something to me orI’m calling Constantine back.”

“Just what I need,” Jason groans.

“John’s not so bad,” Death responds with a smile.

Jason makes a face at her and she kisses his lips just towatch him turn a darker shade of red.

“What the hell is going on, Jason?” Bruce snaps.

“Have fun explaining that,” she says as she pats Jason’scheek, just to the right of his scowl, and disappears.

________________________________________________

This is her chance.

She has all day and she knows exactly how to spend it.

She puts herself in his path. It’s a test and it isn’treally fair because he doesn’t know anything about it. Her siblings say she’slost it and about time. It’s her turn, they said, and falling for a weirdmortal ranks.

He brushes past her in the aisle. Offers a distracted butpolite ‘excuse me’. Then steps away.

But before she has time to be disappointed he turns back toher, taps her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, I swear this isn’t a line but… do I know you?I mean, do we know each other?”

She smiles sweetly. “I don’t think so.”

It isn’t enough. He needs to say it. He needs to knowher.

“Oh.” He sounds disappointed. His expression falls a little.“Sorry. You’re just very familiar… to…”

He’s searching her face and she searches his. When theireyes meet—his supernatural teal, her very human hazel—his brows go fromfurrowed to wide in recognition.

“Death?”

Stepping back in surprise he looks her up and down. Her skinis much darker than it usually is, her hair a soft brown and curly.

There’s no reason he should recognize her. There’s no explanation.

Other than: Jason Todd knows Death.

They spend the whole day together.

Jason promptly discards his plans, puts what he had in hiscart back, and starts gathering a whole different list of ingredients.

Then they return to his apartment, a small but comfortable placekept immaculate and tidy.

They make idle chit-chat while he cooks for her. Somethingcomplicated that she’s never had before because she never wanted to waste heone day a century in a restaurant. But time spent with Jason is easy andpleasant.

They eat. Beef Wellington, his grandfather’s recipeapparently. Pistachio soufflés for desert.

He wants to watch Casablanca, she wants to watch MaryPoppins. So they meet in the middle and pretend to watch High Societywhile they finish off the second bottle of excellent wine and make out.

It was a quiet, beautiful day.

And it’s a soft, lovely night.

Despite his brash, sarcastic exterior, Jason is kind and givingand… eager to please.

She spends an hour with his head buried between her legs andcomes twice. Then he lifts her off the sofa, her legs wrapped around his waist,and she kisses him as he carries her to his bed.

They fall into it together. She threads her fingers throughhis hair as he kisses his way down her neck, between her breasts, across herbelly. He pauses on his way back up to suck gently at her nipples, scraping histeeth over them lightly before moving back to her lips.

“May I?” he asks as he rolls his hips gracefully againsther.

She chuckles. “You better or next century we won’t get outof bed at all.”

He’s frowning when he looks up at her. “Next century?”

“I only do this once every hundred years. And it only lastfor a day.”

His face falls even further. “I… I don’t think I’ll bearound next century.” He tries for a smile but it’s weak. “Not all of us areimmortal personifications of cosmic forces.”

“Hmmm, we’ll see,” she hums. Then she pulls him into a kissbefore he can ask for clarification she doesn’t have, and flips them.

He’s breathless and flushed beneath her and she thinks that’sonly fair considering he had her the same way.

Closing the space between them, she takes his lips again andsinks down onto him. They both sigh happily at the same moment.

It might be the best day she’s ever spent as a mortal.

_____________________________________________

Jason Todd is still around the next century.

And the one after that.

And the next.

The first one wasn’t so bad.

But the ones beyond…

It’s after his great-grand nieces and nephews have gone,when that link to family, to the past, becomes so tenuous it just dissolves.

It’s when his strongest link to existence is an immortalpersonification of a cosmic force who he can only really be with once every 36,500days.

It’s when he stands alone, in a sea of people, tired, beatendown, ready to go and move on but unable.

“Why?” he asks, not for the first time.

“I don’t know,” she answers again and she knows it won’t bethe last time she has to say it. “I wish I did.”

He can’t meet her eyes. He hasn’t looked at her in decades.She knows he doesn’t blame her. But she also knows sometimes he has to remindhimself that it’s not her fault.

She’s not sure if that’s true. And she hates not knowing.

“I don’t know how much longer I can stand this,” he says,tears dripping down his cheeks because even if he can’t there’s nothing he cando about it. “It feels like that time you left and I was alone in the emptinessonly this time it won’t end. I can’t leave and… and no one is coming back.”

“You still have me,” she offers, nudging him with hershoulder.

It’s not enough and she knows it. Especially since…

“No I don’t,” he mutters even as he leans into her all tooinfrequent touch. “I never really had you. Not anymore than you ever really hadme.”

Death sits with him as long as she can. Which is justanother couple minutes.

“It’s only a few more years before my day.”

“Twenty-seven. Twenty-seven years, four months, seventeendays, and three hours, before your next mortal day.”

“What? No minutes? Seconds?”

He does her the kindness of forcing a smile before nudgingher back and saying, “You have to go.”

“I can stay a little longer.”

He sighs, a shaky, broken thing. “No you can’t.”

She leans over and presses a reassuring kiss to his cheek.Knowing it won’t work. Wishing she could do more.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“I know.”

Because he does. He knows her.

And she knows him.

The curse of life is knowing that there is peace only indeath.

[novantinuum]

Fifteen

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 1.6K~

Summary: Every year, on the fifteenth day of the eighth month, Pearl runs away.

I managed to churn out a hurt/comfort one-shot focusing on Pearl and her relationship with Steven and his birthday for the occasion. Happy birthday, lil’ fella!

AO3 link to be posted in reblog. 

__

Despite their shortcomings as an intelligent species otherwise, Pearl would be remiss to admit that humanity at least has a few positive attributes and customs.

The concept of leisure, for instance, is a good example. After all, back on Homeworld, actions that don’t directly benefit the Great Diamond Authority’s cause would be labeled as treason. Knighthood is another one she quite fancies. Despite her origins she’s always admired the thought of pledging one’s lifelong service to another by active choice, and all the honor and decorum that goes with that lifestyle. From there, the list is short, but cherished: humanity’s inclination to collect otherwise useless objects as mementos, their innate desire to seek out physical means of affection, (thanks to their attitudes towards cross-fusion, something else considered incredibly taboo throughout most of the empire), and the fact that their music isn’t something that’s restricted to only the elite.

Five attributes she admires. Many, many more she’s confused or even disgusted by. Amethyst’s obsession with human food, for instance, she’ll likely never understand. But out of every universal custom the denizens of Earth partake in, the one she’s never managed to wrap her mind around is the idea of celebrating one’s day of... emergence.

Gem emergence back on Homeworld is no impressive event. One moment you don’t exist, and the next— you do, imbued with just enough knowledge to properly carry out whatever purpose you’ve been assigned to fill in the ever-spinning clockwork of Gem society until shattering or the eventual heat death of the universe. That’s it. Clean cut.

In stark contrast, human birth is a complex, messy affair, marked by hours of nonstop wailing and suffering at both ends. So why, then, does humanity insist upon spending a significant portion of their already minuscule lifespans planning, attending, and observing celebrations of this day? She hasn’t a clue. Honestly, from her perspective it seems quite distasteful.

But She, on the other hand, couldn’t get enough of Earth’s frivolous celebrations. She made it her purpose to understand as much about their primitive way of life as possible. She— despite all her desperate pleas for her to choose otherwise— decided to take her overly obsessive fascination one step further and submit her body to it.

Which is how fifteen years later, Pearl finds herself broken, alone, sitting atop the same floating mountain where she first pledged her willful, eternal loyalty to the former diamond she now mourns. Her shoulders shake as she sobs without restraint, lithe fingers gripping so hard into the grass that she pulls up roots. Tears drip off her chin and into the dirt. She’s a coward. One of the most important days for humankind, despite her lingering confusion as to why, and she can’t even manage to pull herself together for a second to be there for... for him.

Just thinking about it sends her whirling through every year of her regrets as if she’s living through it all afresh.

She isn’t there at the very beginning. None of them are. It‘s just Greg, and, and... and Her, and some local she can’t remember the name of who agreed to act as midwife. The next ten or so years are much the same, every single one of them except the boy’s father keeping their distance so they can grieve in their own private ways. Garnet grows more withdrawn than usual, holing herself away in the burning room to conduct inventory of the bubbled Gems. Amethyst always warps to her former Kindergarten to do shard knows what, likely resorting to violence as a means of burning through the confusing emotions. And as for herself, she runs here. Every time. To Strawberry Battlefield, where the others dare not follow.

Eleven years. Despite Greg’s warnings otherwise, the energetic young half-Gem personally invites the three of them to his party. Garnet and Amethyst politely decline this invitation, knowing they don’t have the emotional strength to deal with the other young human children on this already difficult occasion. They do, however, concede to join him and Greg for a small cake lighting ceremony later that evening.

Pearl attends neither.

Twelve years. This time, there is no big party full of noisy, ungrateful human children the boy’s age. Most of their families had since moved away. (If she has to guess, the town’s prevalence for dangerous Gem activity was the root cause of that.) Upon Greg’s request, the others agree to meet up on the porch of the house—almost complete— to sing him that dreadfully banal song.

When approached about it later, she claims she forgot. No one dares press further.

Thirteen. She must leave immediately to take care of an urgent solo mission. No, she doesn’t need help, but thank you for offering.

Fourteen.

For the first time, she actually attends the celebration. It’s small, cozy. She manages a smile for most of that day. Manages to keep her thoughts pointedly directed away from the raw, recent past she’s usually running towards in her own self destructive way. Foolishly, she dares to imagine that maybe, just maybe she’s beginning to move on, to change with the rest of them, just like that young half-Gem is with every passing moment. But then the new shirt Connie got him is pink, and the whole countryside is spinning around her, and she can barely hear Amethyst asking her if she’s alright, and before she knows it, her feet have propelled her away, away to the warp pad nestled in the nearby field, and straight into the strawberry scented arms of the grief she can’t quite separate herself from.

It’s not normal. At least, it shouldn’t be normal. Grief isn’t something Gems of a lower cut have reason to even express. Where one is shattered, a replacement is incubated in the crust of some other unlucky world. Even for a Gem as powerful and rare as a diamond, such deep sorrow is waved away as nothing more but a waste of time and resources. And yet in this case the gem in question isn’t actually shattered. Perhaps it’d be a different story if She were. Perhaps Pearl could find the strength to finally thrive on this anniversary if that gemstone’s achingly familiar song really was cut off for good, if she could bury all her unresolved feelings with the shards She left behind.

Instead the song lives on, unceasingly, within the very boy she's helped raise.

Fifteen.

She hopes he knows that she tried this year, she really did. After everything they’ve been through together... every truth she’s revealed, every secret he’s confided with her, every hard wrought battle they’ve won... she honestly tried.

But no matter what, she can’t quite dodge the guilt ridden fear that his happy day will never be happy for her.

Miserably, she hugs her legs to her chest, her hard light form long since purged of all strength from her weeping. The tracks of her tears have already dried on her cheeks, and they’re left feeling sticky as a result. Looking up, the fields below are stunning in the stark amber glow of sunset. They genuinely are. Beyond the floating mountains wild strawberries stretch as far as the eye can see, but today they stir nothing within her.

Today, even beauty is without meaning, and in the moment so is she.

The vines emerging from the base of her solitary plateau crack and rustle, knocking her from her thoughts. She startles with a gasp, almost whirling around to see what’s disturbed her, but then... that song, oscillating through the thick air in waves far too small to hear. Of course. Who else would have the courage to run after her?

“Pearl,” he says softly, edging towards her frail, quivering frame.

And truthfully, she’s not sure if she’ll ever get used to the sound of that boy’s voice, how low its dropped ever since his sudden growth spurt a few months back, so, so different in register and yet intimately familiar regardless. Arms wrap tight around her midsection. She sniffles in response, hot tears threatening to burst their dam at any moment. Yet, still every bit as stubborn as the day she emerged from under the iron rule of Homeworld, she refuses to look behind, refuses to visually acknowledge the truth that’s weighing down on her more than even the fate of entire rebellions: the undeniable truth that like it or not he’s changing, faster and faster as the days creep onward, growing and maturing into a young man she knows with every burning fiber of her being that She would be so proud of.

It’s almost not fair, how quickly humanity can change. Progress... move forward.... leave behind.

Forget.

Die.

She begins quivering once more, not able to hold back her tears for his sake. They’re messy, every bit as undignified as she deserves in this moment.

To his credit, the boy doesn’t say anything more, knowing her well enough by this point to merely comfort her in silence as she brokenly wails. Minutes pass. At some point, he leans his face against her back, hugging her the same way as the first time he followed her here. It’s grounding, a welcome reminder of all the other days she has to live for. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she closes her eyes for a period, reaching up to blot at the edges of her puffy eyes.

“Happy Birthday, Steven,” she whispers, wiping the last traces of tears away before clasping her hand solid in his, steeling herself in both mind and body to face the unknown future with him together... one fifteenth of August at a time.

[gone4neow]

The New King ♔ dks

Chapter One

- kyungsoo x reader, royalty AU, prince!kyungsoo

warnings : swearing, mature themes, arranged marriage, i don’t know anymore at this moment

word count : 2,832

chapter two or masterlist

♔ ♔ ♔ ♔ ♔

The atmosphere of the large ballroom was nothing but joyful. There were hundreds of people inside the stunning room, all dancing or cheering for those who were dancing. Their cheers were almost deafening combined with the noisy sound of the music playing in the background. A live band played enthusiastically as their eyes flickered back and forth between their instruments and the crowd before them. It was a royal celebration, therefore everything was extravagant and significantly closer to perfection than any regular celebration. There was no one in the universe that did not wish to be attending this party - except for the two people the party was being held for.

They were dancing together. Their sweaty palms pressed together while their bodies unwillingly swayed in synchronization. Large smiles were plastered on their faces as they stared into each other's eyes. It appeared they were madly in love to the outside world, but they knew the truth. Every touch, every glance, every little whisper was nothing but one giant lie. It was all a facade to protect the truth and the truth was the prince and princess could have wanted nothing more than to be light years away from one another. It wasn't that they hated one another. In fact, their personalities meshed together perfectly and in another lifetime they could have been great friends. They couldn't stand to be near one another because it only reminded them of the cold reality that they would be stuck together for the rest of their lives. It was a choice that they had not made. Their parents had come to an agreement two weeks ago and since then they had been forced to spend every moment of their day together.

"Please don't lower your hand too much," The princess spoke quietly to the prince as she gave his shoulder a warning squeeze. She felt his breath tickle over her ear as he scoffed in disbelief.

"Don't flatter yourself. I wouldn't be touching you at all-"

"If you didn't have to. Don't worry, we're on the same page," The princess finished for the prince with a small sigh. The prince looked down at the woman with a smile that was almost sad.

"The night is almost over. You won't have to be with me much longer," he told her in a quiet voice. The princess leaned back and let her head raise so she could look him in the eyes. The prince was a handsome man and anyone who said differently was wrong. She watched his features soften as the fake smile on his face vanished gradually. His eyes were her least favorite trait of his. They were a deep, warm shade of brown that seemed like liquid gold in the right lighting - breathtaking, really - but every time she looked into them she saw the disappointment swimming within them. What she saw as disappointment due to their forced engagement was really disappointment that he could never love her. The prince wanted to, her really did, but he couldn't no matter how much he tried. He was terrified of sharing the rest of his life with someone he couldn't love and even more terrified that she would come to love him. The princess was far from worried about falling in love with the man.

It wouldn't have been such a problem. He was handsome, kind, and funny but he wasn't the man for her. He was too outgoing for her. He loved being the focus of everyone's attention. His views on the world were different from hers. They were so different that there was hardly anything for them to talk about when alone, aside from the devastating situation they had been pushed into. Most of the time they sat in silence, sharing shy glances whenever they thought the other wasn't looking.

"Prince Sehun!" Called a voice full of cheerfulness. She recognized it as that of Baekhyun. Byun Baekhyun was a close friend of the prince. Together they would practice in combat and sports, sharing whatever time they could with one another. The princess found him to be humorous but overly enthusiastic about everything. He found something to say about everything and often teased her for things no one else did. He was exciting all in all. He approached the pair with Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo was the prince's younger brother. Though their parents pretended the young prince didn't exist most of the time, all of Sehun's friends had accepted him with welcoming arms. The young prince was more reserved than most of them. He was quiet, observant, and extremely intelligent. He spent most of his time alone in the library or with his closest friend, Jongin. The princess found him to be mysterious. Unfortunately, this sparked a flame of curiosity inside of her that she wished she could put out.

A wide smile was formed on Baekhyun's face as he looked between the prince and princess. Kyungsoo stared at them with his usual blank expression. Both of the men were dressed elegantly. They wore matching suits that were colored like the deepest part of the ocean, paired perfectly with the black shoes on their feet. Prince Sehun was dressed in a royal purple and it went so well with his dark hair color. They were each overwhelmingly handsome and it wasn't hard to tell that the rest of the party thought so too. Women shared lingering stares at the men, their lips parting slightly as they danced by the men. They were all oblivious or simply ignoring the burning stares.

"Ah, Princess Grace... it's wonderful to see you, as always. You look ravishing," Baekhyun greeted the princess. He held out his hand for her to place her own in and she allowed herself to separate from Sehun so she could. He kissed her soft hands with a gentleness that she had never known men to possess. She felt her face flush as the feeling of his warm lips against her skin.

"Baekhyun," Sehun warned in a low tone. The man pulled his lips away from the princess's skin and she retracted her hand away from his hole. He raised his eyebrows at the eldest prince and released a laugh.

"Relax. I'm well aware she is all yours. It's just too fun to watch her grow flustered," Baekhyun grinned. The princess looked away from the man at his words, no longer wanting to participate in his flirtatious game.

"Brother, you look nice tonight," Sehun complimented his brother as he let his hand reach out to run along the collar of the young prince's suit. Kyungsoo smiled a small smile and nodded his head.

"You look well put together for once," Kyungsoo told his brother. It was as close to a compliment as the older sibling would get from the quiet man.

"Do you know where my father is?" The princess interrupted their conversation. She looked at Kyungsoo, growing intimidated when his stone-like eyes met hers.

"Is it wise to leave my side?" Sehun asked her before his brother could answer. She glanced up at her fiancé and sighed in annoyance. Perhaps it wasn't wise to leave his side but she was willing to gamble five minutes of her time to visit her father.

"I wouldn't let you leave my side," Baekhyun commented, laughing at his own joke once it had rolled off of his tongue completely.

"Your father was near the balcony the last time I seen him," Kyungsoo finally spoke. She found his eyes again and nodded her head at him.

"Thank you, Prince Kyungsoo," she said quietly before she turned on her heels and began to push through the sea of dancing guests. The balcony was located near the long tables of food that had been prepared for the night's guests and it wasn't hard for her to find. She pushed the doors open, welcoming the cool night air that brushed against her exposed skin. Her father stood under the moonlight with his head raised towards the dark sky. They had been staying at the northern kingdom for the past week and she knew he missed his home. She missed their home.

She approached his side quietly. He leaned against the cool, metal railing that enclosed the balcony and she copied his pose to do the same. They didn't speak when she first arrived but they didn't need to say anything. The atmosphere automatically felt far more welcoming here than it did when she was inside the ballroom.

"I was wondering if I would get to see my daughter tonight," The king finally spoke. His voice was scratchy and shaky tonight, but then again it had been the same way for the last few months. On the better days he was able to speak like he used to when he was healthy but his illness made it hard for him to do anything he used to do. He was dying. It was something that she had caught onto before he told her. When she had confronted him he had cried and told her it was true. She had never seen her father cry before. They had spent the day lying in bed together with misty eyes and broken hearts. Since then, they had come to understand that their time together was limited so they refused to spend it being heartbroken over the inevitable. It made most days easier for the princess.

"I would have caused an argument with someone if you didn't. I'm not used to being away from you this much," The princess's voice was soft as she spoke. She stared out at the bright moon with distant eyes. There was nothing she wouldn't give to return to the time when things were normal. Her father reach over and took her hand in his, causing her to look away from the moon and into her father's honey colored eyes.

"I do not like seeing you so sad. You don't smile anymore," he told her with a deep frown on his face. She felt as if she had committed a crime as she watched his eyes wash over with shame. She placed her free hand on top of his and gave it a tight squeeze.

"I'm fine dad. You shouldn't worry about me so much," she told the man with a small smile. He couldn't resist the smile that formed on his face at the sight.

"It's my job to worry about you and I will always worry about you," he told her quietly. The princess grew sad at his words. Today was not most days and it certainly wasn't easier.

"Not always," she breathed out in a shaky voice. Her father placed his unoccupied hand against her cheek. She leaned into his hand and let her eyes close. She didn't want to live in a word where she could not spend time with her father like this.

"What are you doing out here? The prince will grow lonely," a high pitched voice filled the night's air. The princess's eyes snapped open almost immediately, wishing she never had to hear the sound again. Her father's hand fell from her face and he turned to look at the moon again.

"I'm spending time with my dad. Is that a crime?" The words were falling from the princess's lips before she could stop them.

"Don't speak to your mother like that. She's right, you should head back inside," the king told his daughter. The princess wanted to argue but she didn't want her father to grow upset with her. She slipped away from his side, his hand falling away from hers. She shared a sharp look with her mother as she brushed by. Entering the ballroom after spending time on the tranquil balcony was like entering hell; hot, stuffy, and far too loud. The princess guided herself through the busy crowd until her eyes met the prince's. He was smiling brightly at something Baekhyun had said. The princess noticed Kai and Jongdae had joined the men she had left on the dance floor. When the eldest prince noticed her return, his smile faltered. As if reading his mind, his friends turned to look in her direction. She felt shy under all of their stares but she still made her way towards them.

"Hi everyone," she greeted them in a shy tone. Sehun's hand found her waist as soon as she stepped back into her place beside them. Kai and Jongdae bowed in her direction with kind smiles plastered on their faces.

"That's not necessary," she told them with a small sigh.

"Of course it is. You're our future queen after all," Jongdae replied. She smiled at him and didn't say anything else. She knew it would be an endless argument.

"How is your father?" Prince Kyungsoo spoke towards the princess. She looked at him with wide eyes, hoping she hid the surprise she felt inside. His expression was one of genuine concern. His eyes locked with hers, his stare as intimidating as ever.

"He's fine. Thank you for asking," she replied. Though she had lied, a genuine smile formed on her face for the first time that night.

"We're stealing too much of the couple's time! You guys should be dancing the night away, unless you have places to dance the night away later tonight," Baekhyun ruined the lightened atmosphere. Jongdae laughed lightly at the man while Kai and Kyungsoo shook their heads in disbelief. The princess looked up at Prince Sehun with flustered cheeks. His eyes met hers for a second and he found himself ready to escape his friend's' company with her. He bid a goodnight to the four boys and led her deeper into the crowd.

"I am sorry for Baekhyun's behavior. He makes this harder," Sehun told her once he had her in the heart of the ballroom. His left hand rest against her hip and his right hand was intertwined with hers.

"It's not his fault. I think he senses that there is something off between us and he tries to lighten the mood," The princess replied lowly.

"It would make sense. Baekhyun is a smart man, much to everyone's surprise," Sehun hummed as he spoke, almost as if he were voicing his thoughts as they came. The princess nodded in agreement. Without anything left to say, she pressed her face against the prince's chest. She could hear his racing heartbeat even through the fabric of his suit. She wished she could bring him comfort but she knew she only did the opposite.

It wasn't until around midnight that the celebration came to an end. It was one of her duties to stay until every last guest had gone home for the night. She stood beside Sehun with a smile on her face. Everyone complimented her appearance for the night and wished her with in her future marriage. They said similar things to Sehun as they went on down the line. When they had all gone, it was time for the royals to head to bed.

The prince and princess were silent as they walked up the stairs together. Sehun's hand rest against the small of her back as they walked. It wasn't much but it was enough to comfort her a little bit. She felt overwhelmed with several different emotions, something she was growing familiar with. She had been raised to become a queen but as time ticked on she felt herself doubting whether or not she was fit to be queen. The only example of a queen she had ever had was her mother and she was certain that the woman was only an example of what not to be when it came to ruling a kingdom.

"Goodnight Prince," The princess whispered when they came to a stop in front of her chamber doors. 

"Try to not dream about me too much," Prince Sehun attempted to joke with the princess but she was so emotionally drained for the night that she could only laugh half-heartedly.

"Only if you promise to do the same," she told him. He held up his pinky finger and she eyed it with disbelief. Still, she let hers wrap around his before she pulled away and entered her chamber without another word. He watched as her doors closed with a gentle thud. The guards standing at the doors wore masks but he could feel their eyes boring into his face. He turned and made his way towards his brother's room for the night.

The lights were completely off when he entered the room. Sehun checked to make sure Kyungsoo was in bed and laughed gently when he heard his young sibling curse at him for disturbing his sleep.

"The princess is okay?" Kyungsoo asked quietly as Sehun prepared to climb into bed.

"As far as I know. She's a hard one to read," The prince answered his brother. Kyungsoo hummed in response. Sehun climbed into bed with his brother and the two bid each other a goodnight.

a/n : this is one of my first attempts at writing a serious fanfiction, so i’m sorry if it sucks. also, i apologize for the weird spacing. i’m not entirely sure how to work tumblr yet. any feedback is appreciated. thanks for reading!

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence, short 5--Hair

Recovery is a tedious, nonlinear process. Demyx, Ienzo, and the others living in Radiant Garden's castle have to learn to come to terms with their pasts and their memories, learn to grow, and begin to understand what, exactly, it means to be human. While there is unexpected joy in this, there is also unexpected sorrow. A series of oneshots set after Beyond this Existence.

Current short: “Hair.”  Demyx helps give Ienzo a haircut, but this is not as simple as it seems.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

----

Weekends, Demyx insisted, were for resting. So here Ienzo was. Doing nothing. As time passed, he felt less guilt for doing so. He needed time for himself. To rest the mind.

He brushed the hair away from his shoulder, only for it to settle back into place. It was a tangible signifier of weeks and months passing. He never minded the weight of it. But it was long enough that it was starting to tickle his collarbone, noticeable enough to be irritating.

“I brought you some tea.” Demyx shoved a mug into his peripheral.

“Sweet of you. Thanks.”

He pecked him on the cheek and then settled into the armchair opposite Ienzo. He’d been calmly composing all morning, transcribing recordings of his own songs from the gummiphone. Ienzo found he did not mind spending time together separately, so to speak. A companionable silence.

“What are you reading?”

“A trashy mystery novel,” he said. “It’s obvious the nephew did it. Yet these idiots keep blathering on and ignoring the complex foreshadowing.”

He smiled a little. “So why not read something else?”

“I’m this far into it. I might as well finish the job.”

“You know. You can like shitty things.”

“I know.”

He tried to get back into the story, but he could feel the hair there, rubbing despite the shirt he wore. Pulling it away from his eyes also caused a certain uncomfortable level of sensory input. He huffed, a touch unconsciously.

Demyx raised an eyebrow. “You having problems?”

“It’s--this mess,” Ienzo said emphatically, tugging at his bangs. “It’s getting too long. Too unmanageable.”

“Want me to fix it for you?”

“What?”

“I can fix it. I’ve always cut my own hair.”

Ienzo bit his lip. “I don’t exactly think our sensibilities quite match.” He’d been all-too-pleased when Demyx grew out the mullet, replacing it with a more mature (well, for him) undercut.

Demyx scoffed. “I wouldn’t change anything. Just cut off the extra bits.”

Ienzo considered. He was too sensitive about this for it to go on much longer. “All right. Fine.”

Demyx stood and offered his hands. “Step into my office.” He carried a chair into the bathroom. “Wet down your hair. I’m going to go find some scissors.”

Ienzo did as he said. The water in the bathtub was cold against his skin, and he shuddered. Kneeling over it like this was also not comfortable. He wrapped a towel around his shoulders. The more time passed, the more he was convinced that humanity was an endless list of small problems which needed small solutions. What to make for dinner. What to do with one’s appearance. After so long living with heavily macroscopic, high-stakes problems requiring complex thought and planning,  Ienzo realized that he found these little problems more stressful. Oddly enough.

Demyx came back with a pair of sewing shears and a comb. “I’m back. Pop a squat.”

A cool wave of anxiety washed over him, and his hands trembled where they held the towel. Demyx parted his wet hair and began to delicately snip at the strands on Ienzo’s left side. Seeing the silvery clumps fall to the floor send another shudder through him, as though he were shedding his skin.

“Are you cold?” Demyx asked.

“Perhaps a little. There was no hot water.” The lie made him feel a bit guilty. “Did you know that the human body continually changes its own cells? Eventually, after about seven years, you’ll have a completely new one. Bones and all.”

“Really?” He kept trimming carefully, every now and again making sure he had the right length. “What made you think of that?”

“Well, seeing all this hair made me realize that someday I’ll have a body completely unaffected by all that trauma.”

“How do you feel about that?” Demyx moved from left to right. His gaze was intense and focused.

“It’s yet another reminder that this is the next phase of my life. Part of me still feels as though I may wake up back in that castle.”

“It was your home for almost twelve years.” He said this matter-of-fact. “No matter how shitty it was, it’s part of you. You want your bangs to come down to your chin, right?”

“Yes.” Ienzo wished he could see what Demyx was doing. The soft snip of the scissors by his ear was not helping the anxious knot in his stomach. Demyx hefted the hair gently, fitting in the layers, checking the length on both sides. He seemed sure enough of himself, and Ienzo tried to take comfort in this.

“Almost done,” he said. “I’ll just clean up the back a bit.”

Ienzo could feel the scissors, cool and sharp at the nape of his neck--

--An icy sharp hand wrapping around his throat--

And the next thing he knew he heard the scissors clattering loudly against the wall. He’d pulled himself tightly into a ball, one hand cupped around his neck as though for protection. The water in the tub was running, and Demyx was washing off a jagged slash against his wrist. Ienzo tried to speak, to apologize, but no sound came. Demyx whispered a spell over the wound and it healed. He approached Ienzo slowly, but he could see that he was guarding himself.

“Hey,” Demyx said softly. “You alright?”

Ienzo cleared his throat and coughed a little. Not silence; just shock. “I’m truly sorry.” His voice was barely a whisper. “I felt the sharpness against the scars and I could remember --”

“I thought that’s what it was,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“This is something that hasn’t affected me in a long while. It didn’t even cross my mind.” He was shivering all over, numb. “Your wrist--”

“It’s fine,” he said. He showed it to Ienzo; there was nothing but a quickly-fading red mark. “See? No harm done.”

Ienzo forced himself to uncurl and looked behind him. The scissors had broken in two against the tile wall, and there was a faint--but noticeable--spray of blood.

“You’re shaking like a leaf,” Demyx said. “Can I touch you?”

He hesitated. This was the second time he’d hurt Demyx in one of these spells. It was all entirely unconscious and out of self-protection, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t regret it. He nodded a little. Demyx took the towel off of his shoulders and drew him gently into his arms. Ienzo tried to ground himself, to put some distance between himself and the memory.

-- “You know, he’s a good a place to start as any.”--

It was all too bright, too rich, too vivid. His breath was hot in his throat. The replica had strangled him with one hand, yet the darkness had sliced into him all around, like a noose.

It was not easy to remember how to die.

Eventually, eventually, the panic started to fade, leaving him fraught with exhaustion and vaguely achy. He wiped at his eyes. Demyx held him out at arm’s length. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I… despise what these memories do to me.”

“I’m fine,” Demyx reasserted. “Look, I should have known better than to touch you with something sharp. Trauma isn’t all that smart.”

“Aren’t you angry me? Or at least afraid?”

Demyx furrowed his eyebrows. “Would you feel better if I were mad at you?”

Ienzo groaned and put his head in his hands. “No,” he conceded. “I am… humiliated.”

“You couldn’t help it.”

“Even so. Why are you always so gentle with me?”

“Do you feel like you don’t deserve that? Because that’s the vibe I’m getting right now.”

Ienzo cursed his insightfulness.

Demyx knelt so that they were roughly eye level. “I don’t mind taking care of you, because I love you. That’s what we do. We look out for each other.” He sighed. “I don’t know if this… helps, but you know that if that hadn’t happened, you wouldn’t be here right now? You wouldn’t have changed, or grown. I’m not saying that invalidates how absolutely horrible you feel right now. But you’ve got another chance.”

He looked at his hands, which still visibly shook. “Factually, I know that. I know that my death was necessary. And yet… I am haunted.”

“I am too,” Demyx said softly. He touched a small spot under his ribs, and then shook his head.

Ienzo took Demyx’s hand and kissed the healing mark. Touch was grounding. He wrapped his arms around his waist and rested against him for a while, listening to his heart beat. The terrible trembling stopped, slowly. He felt, if not better, at the very least stable.

Demyx stroked his hair slowly to the ends. "I'm guessing this bit will wait a while," he said to the top of Ienzo's head. He brushed his fingers against the scars hesitantly, but skin wasn't nearly as frightening as the sharp scissors. "I can fix this."

Ienzo looked up.

"The… the scars." He bit his lip. "I can heal them. Maybe not all the way, but… maybe a little. Would you want that?"

Ienzo cupped his throat. "I…"

"You don't have to. But I know how you feel about them."

"Would that be ignoble of me, to want them gone?" He tried to imagine it. At the very least, he wouldn't have to worry if his shirt would cover them.

"No. Not at all."

"If only you could dull the memory."

"I wish I could." Demyx kissed his forehead. "You can think about it. I just… I hate seeing you in pain."

He didn't even have to ponder it. “I want you to try. To fix it, I mean.”

He pressed his forehead against Ienzo’s. “Okay. I can… I’ll do my best.”

Ienzo touched his throat. He wasn’t erasing the memories, or the way they’d made him change. Just the scars. This was not something he needed to move forward. “What about you?” he asked after a long moment.

Demyx looked confused. “What about me?”

“Have you considered the same for yourself?”

His hand shot to a spot against his ribs. “Honestly? I haven’t,” he said. “I don’t… think about it much. They’re easy to cover up. I’m… used to having scars. I don’t know if it would make me feel better. I don’t think I feel the same way about Demyx’s death anymore.”

It was always strange to hear him talk about himself in the third person, but Nobody Demyx and this Demyx were two separate entities; moreso even than Ienzo and Zexion. Zexion had had all of Ienzo’s memories. Nobody Demyx had… nothing. Which explained the discrepancies in his personality.

“In a way, I’m kind of glad it happened the way it did,” Demyx admitted. “I… I couldn’t imagine life without you. Or anyone else here, for that matter.”

“It does seem like a twist of fate brought us together,” Ienzo said. “At least, on paper.”

“At least I didn’t have to die twice.” He scoffed. After a moment, “Do you think we’ll ever hear anything about Sora?”

“I certainly hope so.” Abandoning that research had been the right thing to do, but that didn’t mean it came easily. “The only person who knows anything is Riku, and I haven’t heard from him in a long while. I truly feel in my heart that this isn’t the last we’ve seen of Sora. Or Kairi, for that matter. If I’ve learned anything, death… doesn’t quite take for those in dire circumstances.”

“It’s in the bonds. Right?”

“Yes.” Ienzo squeezed Demyx’s hand.

His smile dropped, and his expression became more serious. “Can I ask you something?”

“What’s on your mind?”

“When you were… asleep, all those weeks, did you ever have the choice to go on?”

Ienzo hesitated.

“I know I did,” Demyx said. “When my memory came back, if not for you, the pain would’ve made me lose the will to live.”

There was a reason he’d never discussed those weeks of dreams. He hadn’t… lied, exactly, but nobody had ever asked if he’d felt or remembered anything from that time, and he had sort of… let that delusion take root. He could either make it a real lie, or admit the truth. Ienzo tried to find the words. “...Yes,” he said slowly. “It was a more or less constant struggle, to hang onto my life.”

Demyx bit his lip.

“I wouldn’t say it was pain, not the way you experienced it. Moreso an atypical form of exhaustion.”

“Aerith said you wore down your will.”

“I did.” Ienzo shut his eyes. “To live was a conscious thought, one that made me ache. More than once it became a burden I could not psychically bear. But I… I heard your voice. And Ansem’s. And Even’s. But especially yours. And I knew it wouldn’t be right to die without doing everything in my power to live first. So I did.”

Demyx’s eyes were watering.

“I do not intend on leaving you again,” Ienzo whispered. “I can promise you that.” He kissed him. He felt Demyx reach up and cup his cheek, always with such gentleness. “After all, there is still so much left in this life for me to experience. There’s so much we’ve missed.”

“I know,” he said.

“We always seem to end up in these dreadfully existential conversations,” Ienzo said, in an attempt at lightness.

“I like listening to you talk,” Demyx said.

“You’re rather insightful as well. I notice you tend to hide it, though.”

He shrugged, though color rushed to his face.

“You’re always observing. It’s one of the things I love most about you. You always see more than you admit to.”

“It’s gotten me in trouble,” he muttered.

Ienzo touched his face. “Let’s agree not to hide anymore.”

He nodded, blinking back tears. “Okay.”

[alicezan-ncgred]

Bleeding Red

Preface: I’ve been bitching around the bush of this long enough. So, I’ve been really silent on a bunch of stuff that’s been eating me alive which has made me both inactive and unproductive. I’m going to get straight to the point, starting off with the TL:DR from my post on my main blog. Context: An anon asked me if I was alright because I hadn’t updated in a while.

TL:DR You probably didn’t ask this to hear about all the bad shit of my life so here’s the short of it. No, I’m not doing fine. I will try get next weeks post out on time and I’ll work on making up on the lost posts. Updates will return regularly, ‘ite.

Time for the thick and thin of it.

Insecurity and being shafted: I’m stoic, even at my worst I won’t say anything. I’ll push through regardless of my current condition and since I’ve gone years like this, it’s not hard for me to do. In my real life situation, I’m currently in a place of social isolation. This has lead to a somewhat near reliance on Tumblr to be my social outlet. This present many issues.

The main one is that I’m quite the isolationist. This has only been reinforced by many interactions throughout the entirely of my life. Because of this, I can’t say I’ve ever had anything really more than two friends at a time. While in a way this has helped me express myself so well through writing, it’s come at the cost of social skill. I don’t talk to anyone.

With this kind of issue you could easily imagine that the THREE PEOPLE (four now, but very limited) to ever directly talk ended up in a way shafting me. The first blocked and disconnected with me without warning or reason. At this point we’ve been talking to each for about a month and we hit it off very well and then one day, silence. Never heard from them again. That fucked me up hard when I finally realized what happened.

The second person left during the Tumblr P**n Purge. We were talking about how to contact each other on other platforms and then they stopped responding. I had already given contact to other platforms of which they pinged me in any way. Another person that I trusted massively on here just abandoned me and I’m still hurting from that. Wasn’t fair at all.

Then the third person was someone that I been following for a while. This person is actually the reason that I’ve been putting this off for so long. I don’t want them to see this post but they will. I got an ask from them that ultimately turned out to be misinformation. I said I wasn’t mad but I was. I was so fucking angry about it and I’m still kinda mad, but I didn’t want problems. I still don’t. I just didn’t want them to worry about it. This will come back later.

I try my best to be as inoffensive as possible. The problem with that is that much of the things I believe or enjoy are highly divisive. Hell, even my own identity can be seen as offence. I’m bisexual, non-binary (I’m currently still questioning this. I might actually be gender fluid but in the overall scheme, that’s worse than being non-binary), and nonreligious. I’m in a very religious area so you I’m still “in the closet” about much of this IRL. I though it would better online but with how much people are saying bisexuality doesn’t exist, or that non-binary isn’t a valid gender (or that being gender fluid make you insane and you should be locked up) and all the hate people who say they are this are getting, the very community that’s supposed to accept me, HATES me. I had a bi pride flag icon last year during Pride Month. I never doing that ever again. It was terrible.

I’m trying my best to come out of my shell like I said I would when I made this blog but it seems I’m just crawling further into it. People I think I can trust keep setting me up to fall, people I know in real life won’t ever accept my existence if they knew who I really was, and my own mental health problem and self loathing are eating me alive. But that isn’t the total of it.

Crumbling Pillar: I’ve always ended up in the position where things were thrown onto me. In which no one wanted to do, I was stuck with. Because of this not only do I have a severe distaste being around my family (beyond everything mentioned before hand) but I grew to have a negative out look on everything. This effect is still quite obvious in my writings, especially my poems. Out of the 14 poems on my poem blog @washed-soul​, only one has a happy meaning.

The one happy poem was called dreams. Under a metaphor it talks about how a demon kept me trapped in a dark space. I start to get better and nearly break free before I have a negative relapse back to my old ways. The poems ends with the demon putting a end to itself leaving the nightmare in which it was keeping me in to slowly fade away, letting one crack of light peeking through to become a window to a door until one day I walk free. When writing this poem, I never thought I would find myself rebuilding the nightmare but that’s where I am.

I’m done with holding things together that other people have placed onto me. Because of this, issues have began showing in my private life. Issues that should’ve been solved decades ago are only now being addressed. This change in the status quo of my life has caused many issues in my productive and mood. Between everything else I’m too tired to do anything.

Is that a reason, is that an excuse. No it isn’t but it’s the best thing I got as a reason. I’m doing my damnedest to do the best I can but of course, when it comes to the thing that matter I just fall short. Big fucking whopha my intelligence and capability does me if I can’t use it for anything that means a damn.

Meaningless Triviality: I’m a very emotional person. I’m very strongly bound to my emotions and if everything above hasn’t given it away, my emotions are very negative prone. But it just doesn’t stop there, it goes back into my memories. I can only honestly place 3 happy memories for certain that aren’t either A) a dream or B) me escaping reality through my mind. Besides that, almost all my memories are negative. 

People like to throw around the word Nihilist to describe themselves because today's culture is very, god while I hate to use this word, edgy. For those who don’t know a Nihilist is someone who views the world as being completely  meaningless and reject all religious and moral principles. I very truly struggle with this outlook of life. It’s a daily for me to berate myself saying “just kill yourself” or “I want to die” or just shutting down and crumpling up while say “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” over and over again. Hell, I did that while writing this. 

I take things very hard, even the slightest transgression. I’m so used to trying to make things perfect and because people have the image that I’m the smart one, the mature one, the capable one, I’m left with the over hanging expectation of excellence. Almost no room for margin of error or being human. Since I’m the silent type, I put up no challenge and work to meet it. Only time I get any praise for anything too. 

I guess as a little self promotion to my main blog, for those that have read the very first few updates of my main blog @the-truth-behind-redacted, or read Defiance’s character sheet, while The Machine and Defiance are separate character, they both share the name Machine. That in part is a reflect of said above expectation. How ravenous and inhuman it can be all under the guise of something human. Those characters are the two sides to the same coin. 

Remember how I said I try to be un-problematical and how I try to avoid any potential conflict. In the first segment I told on how I lied about my feelings just so another person didn’t have to worry over something that honestly, in hindsight, wasn’t even really a big deal. But I also said how it consumed me in anger. I just don’t want to bother anyone over anything. It’s part of the reason why I am writing this post, as some way of a self enforced rehab program to get better. 

This absolute consumption of negative emotion has pushed me into a non human state before. I hit a point of absolute mental exhaustion and in such a self enforced bubble of actual hatred I became completely apathetic. I felt numb to everything. I watched and heard of terrible things happening to people, and felt nothing. I watched people lives crumble before them leaving them nowhere to go and LAUGHED. “Just another worthless pathetic worm on this rotting carcass of a planet being hit with the hard reality that life doesn’t care for them. What whimsical pathetic bullshit they deluded themselves with to think otherwise.” This isn’t an exaggeration on how I thought, this is what I actually thought. Which brings me too.

The Mandatory Sob Story: Roll your eyes everyone and get the tiny violin. I guess in order for everyone to exactly understand the place I’m coming from when it comes to mental health I’ll have to detail my experiences. I have a long standing history with mental illness. I have professionally diagnosed OCD, Bipolarism, Anxiety, Chronic Depression, and visual and auditory hallucinations. I take 600 mg of Seroquel a day as well as Amitriptyline when needed. I’m also still currently in therapy to deal with said OCD, Bipolarism, Anxiety, Chronic Depression, the visual and auditory hallucinations, as well as Suicidal thoughts, and my Nihilism. There’s a reason to why I’m so god damn familiar with mental illness and treatment plans.  

OCD and Bipolarism run in my family on my fathers side. My Father’s Father had them, my Sister has them, my brother most likely has them (however he refuses to see a doctor because he uses said possible mental illnesses as a get out of jail free card. He doesn’t want to be treated and he has FUCKING ADMITTED IT), my father has them, and I have them. I, however, have the misfortune of having it real bad. I said yes to well over half of all the total symptoms when I was being tested (I don’t remember exact numbers but I remember there being three pages worth of common symptoms) which was very worrying to the doctor. I was currently in an inpatient hospitalization program at the time for both suicidal thoughts and actions, and severe depression. 

On that, my graze in with suicide. Before I went into my first inpatient program I was contemplating suicide. I was sat in front of a mirror with a bottle of over the counter medication. It was an unopened bottle of ibuprofen, 1000 200mg tables. What I planed to do was down the whole bottle with benadryl and die in my sleep. I had the small box of benadryl got from the Kroger pharmacy and a hand full of ibuprofen poured out looking directly into the mirror. My suicide note was sitting on the desk on my room with an online copy on my laptop open.

I sat there for an hour in the dead of midnight complicating my life. I had lost all hope in the world, filled with hatred, anger, pain, and despair. I had no god or after life to look forward too, part way hoping that a Hell existed for me to burn in. I hated myself that much. I was close to taking the first handful before before I caught a glimpse of my own eyes in the mirror. In what was in a weird sudden epiphany I realized that I truly did become what I hated but not for any reason I told myself. I became the very bastion of negativity I sought to fight and rid of in what little friends I did have. That was what set off my path to recovery in spite of the medical system. I guess if people care I’ll make a separate post on that. 

Before I move on, I feel I should explain my history with the visual and auditory hallucinations. It should be no surprise that with everything else above, I also had extreme paranoia that led to me having very bad insomnia. Insomnia is, just like most other medical disorders like Depression, Self-harm, Anxiety, OCD,  Bipolarism, is romanticized to hell. Insomnia isn’t having one nights bad sleep where you got 5 hours of sleep instead of 8.

You know what Insomnia is? insomnia is being physical incapable of sleeping despite not sleeping in 2 to 3 day while your body suffers massive agony brought on by this. Muscle spasms and seizing, difficulty breathing, your eyes feeling like fire ants are eating them, and of course visual and auditory hallucinations. Now I already had issues with visual and auditory hallucinations even when I could get sleep regularly but the combined effects of my OCD and Bipolarism made this perfect condition of Insomnia, Anxiety, Paranoia, with the already added in disposition to hallucinations and I felt like I was actually losing my mind. 

My hallucinations presented themselves in three forms. Disassociation of reality, night terrors, or alterations of reality. Disassociation of reality often were complete black out moments. I would lose any perceived connect to reality and enter an episode of my mind. I can’t remember what they actually were but I do remember what it felt like. Cold sweats, anxiety to point where if I didn’t lock up I would vomit, actual physical pain, mind numbing fear, and intense fatigue. 

The second were night terrors often in the form of horrific “things.” I do remember these and most of them were as best as I could describe, forms of things that were vaguely human and formations of industrial machinery. The most vivid one I remember was of a long lengthy apparition that was for the most part human but many locations of it’s impossible physiology were rebar beams and mechanical sockets. It began when I was about to fall asleep and it was next to my window. The thing was making week groaning and gasping sounds before it violently slammed against my window breaking it then letting out a horrific howl that I can’t describe as it tossed itself out followed shorty after with the sound of bones breaking against the dirt. 

Now that might not seem so bad, exspecally with everything that is in horror movies or games now, but keep in mind that was fucking real to me. It was as real as the clicking of the keys of my keyboard as I’m writing this. As real as the chair I’m sitting in and as real as the wall in front of me. As far as my mind was concerned that thing, what ever it was, actually existed. It took me physical touching my window to make sure it wasn’t actually broken and checking outside to see if there wasn’t a body there. This isn’t the type of thing I talk about lightly. 

Finally there is the alteration of reality. This is very simply but it’s something that fucked with me hard. For very little meaning or warning, I would have trouble interpreting the world around me. My hearing and sight would be warped and there wasn’t any real way to tell what I was hearing or seeing was real or not until the episode was over. The way I got through these was the ultimate fake it till you make it. Obviously, very often I failed and this created issue in my schooling. 

Ending Message: I’ve been in a very bad state for a while now and as it is now, no signs of getting better. I also strongly believe my medications are being to fail me which I’ve been telling my doctor and therapist for over a year now but nothing’s been done. Mainly it’s my Depression but insomnia episodes are beginning and my own paranoia been on the rise. It’s gotten to the point where I can’t even look at a creepy image or thumbnail without having a very bad episode. 

I’ve managed to eat something today which was nice but my body is cramping hard. And to possible stave of a possible comment, I’m biologically male. Like I said I’m not in the best head space, or living for that matter. If this gets better, only time will tell. 

[aer-in-wanderland]

JBL | Character Analysis - Ha Moon Soo

The following started out as part of a post on the way in which grief and loss are dealt with in the drama at large, but it got so long that I’ve decided to section Kang Doo’s and Moon Soo’s off as separate posts. What follows is an analysis of Moon Soo, particularly in terms of how she reacts to her tragedy and her emotional journey over the course of the story. 

Even if we’re family we can’t feel the same emotions. It’s just…I can only imagine that, more than my sadness at having lost my younger sister, mom’s sadness at having lost her child must be greater. 

I’m not a good kid. I have a huge plate on the back of my head. You couldn’t tell earlier, huh? They say I was hurt when the accident happened, but I don’t remember. All I remember is…that I left my sister there alone…that because of me, there was yet another person who never returned. But here I am living normally and well all by myself. I was bad, wasn’t I?

When we first meet Moon Soo, she appears well-adjusted, self-contained, and mature. This is no accident - it’s something that she consciously works at. In the aftermath of the collapse, Moon Soo’s parents’ marriage fell apart as each blamed the other for Yeon Soo’s death. When the fighting got too severe, her father left the house, leaving Moon Soo alone to assume responsibility for her mother, who had turned to alcohol to drown her pain.

Moon Soo is strong because she needed to be strong. She is also uncommonly kind. As in the above quote, Moon Soo feels that her mother’s pain must somehow be greater than her own. While it’s true that no two people experience the same tragedy the same way, that doesn’t mean that one person’s pain is more or less valid - they’re simply different. But Moon Soo minimizes her own pain by comparing it to her mother’s, thereby dismissing her own grief as comparatively less. ‘If I’m sad, it will only make things harder for mom.’ So she hides her pain, even from herself. As it says in her character profile:

Moon Soo is also sad and in pain. It’s simply that she’s lost the chance to be sad. But instead of showing her true feelings, Moon Soo bravely continues about her daily life. That was Moon Soo’s method of coping with her sadness.

Moon Soo also struggles with self-loathing and survivor’s guilt. She blames herself for leaving her sister behind, and for calling Sung Jae to the accident site that day. Perhaps even more than Yeon Soo, Moon Soo feels responsible for Sung Jae’s death, because if it weren’t for her, he would never have been there in the first place. Later on in the story, when she learns of her past with Kang Doo, she blames herself for what happened to him as well. This is all due to a combination of her personality and the way she’s processed the accident. 

Why on earth did the accident happen on that day, at that time, at that place? No matter how she thought about it she couldn’t understand, so it was easier to shift the blame to herself. Why on earth was ‘I’ at that place, on that day?

In the aftermath of a tragedy, people try to make sense of things, to find reason in the random, when often there is none. We look for a cause, for someone to blame, for something to point to and say ‘if not for that.’ Moon Soo’s parents blamed each other. Moon Soo blamed herself. As a result, she lived her life in self-imposed penance. One way this manifests is in her work. Moon Soo became an architect out of guilt. It was only later that she came to genuinely like her profession. She had other dreams, but she gave them up.

Moon Soo remembers that afternoon. The wind that blew and the rattling glass, the building that collapsed in an instant, she remembers them. After the accident Moon Soo came to a decision. In exchange for having survived, to not be greedy, to not be swayed by trivial emotions. She simply wished for time to pass, for her to live according to her lot in life, without being noticed.

This is the context in which she meets (or is reunited with) Kang Doo, and at first, he’s an uncomfortable existence for her. At first glance, he is her exact opposite: he’s reckless, he does as he pleases, and he talks as if he cares for no one but himself. It takes time before Moon Soo comes to realize that, in fact, he seems to care for everyone but himself (I’ll do a separate analysis for Kang Doo next). But as much as he bothers her, she also recognizes some part of herself in him. Though she can’t remember, they were in the same accident together, and she senses the same sadness from him. What’s more, he keeps seeing her at her worst and drawing out her true emotions that she’s worked so hard to suppress. Though she initially finds this dynamic awkward and unsettling, it soon becomes a breath of fresh air for her, and the two fall into an easy and genuine friendship. As they grow closer, Kang Doo teaches her to express her emotions instead of always keeping everything bottled up inside.

Moon Soo’s character arc, then, is in some respects the reverse of Kang Doo’s, because, for her, the first step towards healing is to admit that she’s not okay. She may appear to start out well-balanced and then devolve in response to certain incidents and revelations, but it’s mostly that she’s finally learning to face everything she’s not allowed herself to feel for the past 12 years. 

So when Moon Soo gets into an explosive fight with her mother, I can’t help but feel that the timing is no coincidence. Yes, part of it is that Moon Soo’s mother discovers that she’s been working at the accident site and feels betrayed, but what’s significant is that, for the first time, Moon Soo fights back. Up until this point, Moon Soo has always held back, suffering in silence, hiding her hurt all the while. What I find most painful about Moon Soo’s relationship with her mother is that, essentially, she’s emotional collateral. Not only is she unable to express her own grief and sorrow, she has to bear up under her mother’s resentment of her father, her apparent favoritism towards Yeon Soo, and the fact that her mother perceives Moon Soo’s stoicism as callousness. And Moon Soo lets her, in order to protect her from the added pain of Moon Soo’s own hurt. 

Moon Soo was 15 at the time of the accident. What she needed most was a mother to comfort her and tell her ‘it’s okay.’ Instead, she had no choice but to assume that role, and in doing so, she not only lost a parent, she was also now responsible for another person who was dependent on her being the ‘strong one.’ With her father emotionally and physically absent, and her mother emotionally volatile, Moon Soo bravely assumed the role of caretaker, and part of that meant that she had to be ‘okay’ for them both. It would have been so easy to become resentful, but she isn’t. After yelling at her mother, Moon Soo feels apologetic, like she’s gone too far, said too much. Because she loves her mother and sympathizes with her pain, and because in between the rough spots, she’s still the same loving mother that she always has been. 

Which brings me back to the timing of the fight. To my sense, the reason Moon Soo finally finds her voice when she does is that, for the first time, she has someone to whom she can fall apart and take comfort in - Kang Doo. It’s only after she begins her relationship with Kang Doo that Moon Soo allows herself to fall apart, to fight back, and to confront her fears and guilt by asking him to come with her to see Sung Jae’s mom. Kang Doo becomes her safe place, and it’s through his help and his love that she begins to truly be okay, instead of just appearing so on the outside. Kang Doo accepts her as she is. He tells her it’s not her fault, that she’s not a bad person for being the only one to survive. He understands her sadness because he shares it, and he knows how important it is for her to confront her pain in order for her to heal. It’s why he asks Joo Won to leave the memorial project in her hands, and it’s why he insists on seeing it through with her to the very end, even as he’s sick and in danger of dying. 

One of the many wonderful things about Kang Doo is how he shows Moon Soo, in word and in deed, again and again, that she’s a good person, that she’s smart, and capable, and pretty, when she thinks of herself as somehow ‘less’ in comparison to Yeon Soo, and not a good person. He never holds back, partly because he’s a very straightforward person, and partly because he senses how important it is for her to hear it. When Moon Soo tells him that she’s ‘bad,’ he doesn’t answer reflexively. True to character, he thinks it over until it’s true in his heart, and when he tells her ‘no,’ he means it. When she confesses that she hates herself, he tells her, ‘Then I’ll just have to like you more.’ When she worries she was out of line with her mother, he reassures her that it’s okay to throw a fuss every once in a while - that her feelings are valid and important. 

In terms of Moon Soo’s emotional journey, if there was one thing I would have liked to see, it was Moon Soo overcoming her guilt and self-loathing and choosing to stay by Kang Doo’s side not because he was dying, but because she had come to understand that what happened truly wasn’t her fault. There’s a big difference between knowing something logically and believing it in your heart, but accepting that logic is an important first step. I’d like to think that that’s what she spent that night in the hospital struggling with as she waited for him to wake up after collapsing in front of her house. 

We may not have gotten to see that resolution, and Moon Soo may not yet believe it in her heart, but we do see her resolve in the wake of it. Though she’s devastated for Kang Doo, she doesn’t give in to that devastation, choosing instead to live each day with him to the fullest while they still can. They complete the memorial, date, and spend the night together. She stays by his side up until what may well have been the end. Ten months pass.

When we catch up with Moon Soo the following winter, we see her visiting her mother in rehab, exchanging messages with her father, and eating ice cream (hee ^ ^). It’s true that their family will never be the same again. The loss of Yeon Soo broke something fundamental, but they still have and love each other. That healing process will take a while yet, and it will never be complete, but the drama gives us hope that they’re headed in the right direction.

What’s more, we get a visual callback to the first time we saw her out front of San Ho Jang in episode 1, and this time, she smiles. The final sequence, with her and Kang Doo together on the roof, is so important because it leaves us with the sense that they’re happy, and that they’ll have the rest of their lives together in which they can enjoy ‘nothing-special’ moments. That doesn’t mean that their grief is magically erased and that all the wounds of the past are healed, but it does mean that, when that grief finds them again, they’ll each have the other to help them through it. As Halmeom tells Kang Doo:

Sad and painful things are always with us. You have to accept them. Instead, meet even better people and live even more fully. You can do that. Don’t worry. 

And they do.