#that were born kind and were taught different by the world

[mavigator]

i talked about it a little bit already but i have things to say about it. for context, i was born with amniotic band syndrome. the amniotic band wrapped around my left wrist in utero and stunted the growth of my hand. i was born with about half a palm, four nubs for fingers, and a twisted half of a thumb. i can open and close my thumb and pinkie joint like a claw.

yesterday at work i had a shift in the room with 5-10 year old kids. i had my left hand hidden in my sleeve (a bad habit of mine). a kid asked if he could see my hand, and even though internally i was debating running into traffic, i said “sure you can” and showed him my hands. he stared for a moment, looking disturbed, and then said “i don’t want to look at that anymore”. that hurt to hear, but i understand that kids are new to the world and he probably didn’t mean it out of malice. i put my hand away again, told him that it was okay, and that i was just born that way.

he then went on to talk about how he knows a kid with a similar hand to mine and called it “ugly”. i told him that wasn’t a very kind thing to say and that he wouldn’t feel good if someone said that to him, and he replied that no one would say that to him—because he has “normal hands”, and he’s glad he does because otherwise he’d be “ugly”. i tried to talk with him for a bit about how everybody is born differently, but he just started talking about a girl he knows with a “messed up face” and pulled on his face to make it look droopy. i went on some more about how it wasn’t very kind to talk about people that way, but the conversation moved on to something else.

i’ve told my supervisors about it and they’re going to have a talk with his mom. what i wanted to say is this: i’m genuinely not upset with the kid. kids are young and naturally curious, and he clearly simply hasn’t been taught about disabled people and kind ways to speak to/about others. which is why i am upset with his parent(s). i know he’s encountered visibly deformed/disabled people before (he said so himself!), yet his parent(s) clearly haven’t had any kind of discussion with him about proper language and behavior. i knew from birth that some people were just different than others, but my parents still made a point to assert to be kind to and accepting of others. i wonder if adults in his life are the type of people to hush him and usher him away when he points out someone in a wheelchair. that kind of thing doesn’t teach politeness. it tells children that disabled people are an Other than can’t be acknowledged or spoken about; which, to a child, means disability must be something bad.

i’m lucky enough that this was a relatively mild incident, and that i’m a grownup with thicker skin. i’m worried about the other kids he mentioned to me. has he been talking to them this way? when i was a kid, i had other kids scream, cry, and run away at the sight of my hand. or follow me around pointing at me and laughing at me. or tell me i couldn’t do something because i was ugly or incapable or whatever. one time a girl at an arcade climbed to the top of the skeeball machine, pointed at me, and screamed at me to put my hand away and wouldn’t stop crying until she couldn’t see me anymore. another time, a kid saw my hand, screamed at the top of her lungs, and ran into my friend’s arms, crying hysterically about how i was scaring her. that second incident made me cry so hard i threw up when i got home. i can kind of laugh it off now, but having people react to me that way as a child is something i’m still getting over. why do you think i have a habit of keeping my hand in my sleeve? it just irritates me to see children that have clearly not been taught basic manners and kindness—their parents Clearly missed something pretty important .

[ghostaholics]

𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn medic!Reader (same reader from here, but this is a stand-alone) ➸ SUMMARY: You kiss Simon's very minor injuries. And then some. (Or, alternatively: He's not actually wounded. He just wants to see you.) ➸ WARNING(S): some graphic descriptions of old injuries ➸ A/N: Need to preface that this isn't smut despite how the title and summary sound. Anyways, Jo knows I listened to Hozier's Other Voices 2020 version of "Work Song" for a week straight while writing this. ➸ WC: 2k

❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃, ❞ he admits, low-timbered. It feels intimate, especially coming from him. Simon's sitting on the cot; it sags under his weight. He curls his hands over the edge of it as he leans forward. No casualties post-mission means he's got free rein to pick wherever he wants in the medical tent.

"Oh, yeah? What about?"

"That I should probably do my best to avoid injuries so I don’t keep pestering you. Can always just tell me to fuck off, y’know.”

“You’re gonna break my heart if you stop coming around.

“Mm,” he says in agreement. “Can’t have that can we?”

You nod your head earnestly. “I like your company.”

“Tryin’ to say that you’ll miss me?”

“I would.” More than he knows.

It’s routine now. He gives you just enough room, adjusting his position. You step into the space made between Simon’s splayed knees, his massive legs nearly bracketing yours with how close they are. He’s bigger than you. Well, considerably more mammoth-like in his proportions compared to an overwhelming majority of the soldiers that you’ve encountered, to be quite honest.

Simon acts as though he’s acutely aware of his size. You suspect that he purposefully makes himself smaller in your presence. Like now, how his shoulders are rounded forward, the column of his spine not as straight-arrow in that standard, militaristic posture most servicemen have adopted. As if he doesn’t want to appear too intimidating. Not that Simon could, to you. Hours doing his stitches and idle chitchat on your part have taught you that he’s much less ruthless than people seem to paint him as. But you appreciate the thought anyway.

You conduct the assessment – a typical evaluation normal for combat casualty care, more in-depth than the one you’d done when he initially stopped by and you did a quick once-over for any obvious injuries. Though given the complete vacancy in the medical tent, you find it hard to believe that you’ll come across anything on him since the mission went that smoothly.

The first thing you notice this time: he doesn't smell like spilled blood. It's different. Not that sweet, rusted iron of wet tackiness – the one that reminds you of a generous stack of two pence coins held between a pair of hands cupped together. He comes in that way a lot. Reeks, because war means that he's no stranger to charging through a shower of copper and lead-forged bullets out on the field. Everything else is still there, though. Maybe a dying campfire – crackling logs and blackened earth. Soft dirt excavated from a foxhole for cover while under enemy fire. All gunpowder and Marlboro Lights and diesel-fuel smoke. Fresh rain and a blue-violet sky after a storm. Victory without consequence.

You'd breathe it in if you could, pull the collar of his jacket up to your face. At this proximity, it’d be easy.

He drops the act when he’s in front of you. Lieutenant. Ghost. Battle-hardened, gruff. A natural-born leader. The kind of person to rip this world apart brick by brick – scraped up palms clutching onto broken pieces – to make sure that the plan is executed accordingly, no matter the cost. It’s hard for him to shed that layer. A drop in the bucket of information that you’ve gathered about this man.

You’ve seen him at his best. But you know him at his worst.

The laundry list of injuries over the years: blows to his torso and his back and his limbs that were brighter than technicolor – purples and reds and sickly yellow-green shades – deep, blotchy medals of violence decorating his skin like some kind of fucked-up kaleidoscope that was nothing to be proud of; when some bastard drove a knife right into his upper thigh, that dirty blade wedged through tissue and muscle which was sure as hell going to induce the nastiest infection without serious TLC and a tetanus shot; rib fractures 7-9 because he aborted an exploding heli, seconds to spare before landing on his side wrong from a height that was equivalent to three stories tall; old GSWs dotting his body the same way you’d shove push pins into a paper-flimsy map to mark the places you’ve been to.

And then there’s no contest for the top contender. 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 #𝟏: when he was rushed in on a stretcher, barely clinging to life. Lower abdomen shredded by exploding shrapnel. He was outside of the window of opportunity. Too far beyond that golden hour, so his chances of surviving plummeted to a single-digit percent.

He’s more than just a patchwork of scars. There’s a complex person underneath the surface. A miracle in the flesh to have toughed it out through all of that. Resilient. Perpetual. His callsign makes sense. Ghosts really do live forever.

Several seconds pass before you speak again. It’s a silly comment, teasing – poking fun at him. You don’t have any reservations when it comes to picking on Simon; he’s good about taking these things in stride. Funny, actually. He’s got a dry sense of humor. “I think… you like the idea of someone taking care of you.”

His response isn’t immediate. It’s delayed, said with intention. He doesn’t ever waste words. “Not just anybody.”

You nearly reel back at that. Warmth floods your face. You aren’t quite sure what to say, didn’t expect it. So you let the comment hang in the air between the two of you, busying your hands with slipping off his tac vest, triple-checking for hidden wounds, doing anything to keep yourself occupied while you stand this close to him in the wake of that remark. You’re engrossed in your work, in search of a distraction.

(He’s a distraction, isn’t he?)

And then your eyes stop in their scan. Right there: a small nick on the exposed sliver of skin between his glove and sleeve – open to the direct path of some wayward debris that happened to graze him. So tiny. You’ve seen paper cuts more harrowing than this – wouldn’t have even registered on your radar, especially if it’s being dwarfed by other critical wounds that hold decisive sway over somebody’s fate when it comes to your average life-or-death scenario.

Of course, you take your job very seriously.

You feign a sharp inhale. “Ah,” you say solemnly, guiding his arm up to your face for a closer look. “Found your problem.”

“I’ve got a problem,” he echoes, voice laced with amusement.

“See, you came to the right place. Anybody else would’ve missed it.”

“The verdict, then?”

“So terrible. Earth-shattering, in fact—”

Simon starts pulling away. “Alright, that’s enough of you takin’ the piss outta me,” he gripes.

You chase his arm to recapture it into your grasp. “Wait!” you say, huffing out a laugh. Your mouth sprouts into a wide grin that makes him roll his eyes.

“You gonna treat me or what?”

Your humor bubbles away as you come back to your senses. Those once-loud peals of laughter start to die down when you take his question into consideration. Because there’s really nothing for you to do; he doesn’t need you.

The realization is slow-moving. It washes over you, rolls like waves as you finally begin to sober up.

Simon wants to be here, and he’s looking for any excuse to stay. He just can’t find the courage to own up to it.

“I dunno. Might be unconventional,” you throw out casually, playing along. “Risky, maybe – never been done before.”

But he’s undeterred. “Sure. Whatever you gotta do.”

You pause for a beat, fingers still wrapped around his forearm because you haven’t managed to let go yet. His skin is warm under your palm. You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to do it – emboldened by his encouragement, given complete carte blanche; he’s leaving this to your discretion. So you press your lips to that area where the cut is, right over his pulse point. If you had lingered for longer, you probably would’ve been able to feel it thudding, that solid rhythm and easy strength reminding you he’s alive.

You expected him to withdraw his arm in bewilderment. He should’ve kicked up a fuss about you violating his boundaries, should’ve told you that you overstepped. Something, right?

But he doesn’t do any of that. Simon’s studying you. Dark pupils. So chasm-deep that the ground beneath your feet might slip away. Ocean trenches, midnight-black like the charcoal smudged around his eyes. When they land on you, his gaze goes molasses-soft. He’s fond; there’s little room for doubt. The way he looks at you says everything. None of that usual coldness he harbors during an op. Instead, relaxed and more human than you’re used to seeing – all of his attention focused solely on you.

“Where else, Simon?” you whisper.

He’s thinking – carefully weighing his options – the same expression that he gets when a crossroads lies ahead of him and he knows his make-it-or-break-it decision will invariably affect the outcome of a mission.

After several moments, his hand comes up. Simon’s fingers curl underneath the hem of his mask; he’s been wearing the fabric balaclava more often since you’ve fixed the stitching on it. Then he lifts – not the entire way. Just to reveal the bottom half of his face. There he is. Sandpaper-rough stubble. The sharp cut of his jaw. A mouth that you’re convinced wears a scowl 24/7 behind his mask but is now slightly twitched up.

Even though you’ve seen it before, the sight of him never fails to steal your breath away. Feels like meeting him for the first time again. With how rarely he does this, it might as well be – that slow, heart-melting sensation is steadily filling the cavern of your chest.

And you lean in. Your lips brush against his; it’s a chaste thing – the kiss – if it can be called that. Gentle. Like how you’d stitch up his wounds with a light touch and kind intent. He’s built of sterner stuff, but if there’s anything you’ve learned about him, it’s that he’s capable of breaking just as easily as everyone else. You always handle Simon with care: unequivocal compassion and empathy when there’s so little of those left on this side of war – privileges that he’s never taken for granted.

“Better?” you ask quietly, tipping your head in question.

Simon hums his approval – this pleased, low sound in his throat. His hand slides across your lower back. He tugs you towards him. “Wouldn’t mind some more attention,” he murmurs, before slotting his mouth over yours. And then he kisses you like it might heal him from the outside in.

[sp0o0kylights]

Steve’s mother was the black sheep of her family.

Stella hated the snow, and the isolation of the small town she grew up in. Hated the bright colors, and sheer friendliness of the neighbors. How everyone was always involved in each other’s business, at all times--and how getting involved meant sharing.

Giving up your time for the greater good.

‘We’re one big family!’ Her father had told her, and hadn’t understood why she found the concept utterly revolting.

Just like she couldn’t understand why they never agreed with her ideas. Things would run so much more smoothly with more rules, better regulations. They didn’t need to rely on magic when they had spreadsheets.

Who cared if some people were upset? If some of the workers where put out of jobs, or “hurt” by her changes?

That was how evolution worked.

The strongest survived, and the business world demanded only the strongest of leaders.

She didn’t regret leaving.

Didn’t look behind her for a second, all too happy to go to college and find herself a rich man to make miserable.

Even had a child, though they were never her favorite things. Her Steven of course, would be so much different from the children she’d grown up among or the ones she helped oversee for her father's work.

He wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t shriek or scream or make demands of busy adults. Steven would know his place, and he would stay in it until he had grown into a reasonable adult.

No unrealistic expectations, not from her son.

And absolutely, 100%, no magic.

(Unfortunately for Stella Harrington and her relationship with her son, magic does not obey the whims of one person.

Particularly not that kind of magic, one far older than Stella could comprehend.)

See: Steve knew where he came from. Would never say it of course, outright refused to put a name to it.

Knew better, even when he was young, than to speak it aloud.

Though his mother had long abandoned any powers given to her, Steve was still born with his. When lonely, he often found he could wander into a different kind of woods. 

One absolutely covered in snow.

Steve should have been cold in those woods, but he never was, not even the first time he stumbled into them at the tender age of seven.

These trees never scared him. Not like the ones in his backyard sometimes did.

The whole place felt rather welcoming in a way his own house had never been, and as Steve had stumbled along following the faint glow of lights, he found himself feeling more relaxed.

Happy.

Even at seven, Steve was smart enough to know he needed to turn back, after a while. That his mother would be furious with him if he caused her to miss the meeting she needed to go to.

That he had a responsibility to be where she put him.

He hadn’t crested the hill yet. Hadn’t quite figured out where the glow was coming from, when he realized he needed to go home--but his trip wasn’t wasted.

A baby reindeer distracted him.

It peeked around a tree, and upon seeing him, came dashing his way.

Steve should be scared, would have been scared, but something in him told him this creature was his friend. He held out his hands and greeted it as such.

He was right.

A few more little reindeer came up over the hill, running around him, and together he played what felt like a game as he walked back in the direction he thought his house lay.

Said his goodbyes when the snow started to wane and made promises to return.

Found, sadly, that he wouldn’t get another chance too for almost a full year. He was too busy, signed up for multiple sports, handed over to tutors and taught life skills by a parade of nannies, none of whom ever stayed for long.

He dreamed of the snow.

The gentle way the woods felt.

It was what made him tell the lie that let him go back.

Steve was eight by then, and smart to how his parents and nannies worked. That some of them overlapped their stays when his parents went away.

So it was easy to tell Mary that she could go.

That it was okay, really. Carla had just called, she was on her way.

Just like it was easy to tell Carla that his parents' plans had changed. Let her know she wasn’t needed after all.

What harm would it do if he was alone for a night? His father kept telling him he was a big boy. Soon he’d be on his own anyway.

The snow found him faster this time, when he went for his walk in the woods.

Delighted, Steve kept an eye out for the reindeer, fingers skittering across tree bark as he looked around, once again tracking the soft glow that came up over the hill.

It was a long walk to that light, but Steve didn’t mind.

Not until he heard the crying.

“Hello?” Steve called, voice prim and proper as always. It was a little high--Tommy teased him endlessly about it, but he had been assured it would deepen.

The crying didn’t stop, but things got quiet for a moment, in the way that happens when someone was trying hard not to be found.

(Steve knew exactly how that felt, not wanting to be found. Wanting to cry for a moment, without someone telling you to toughen up, be a man, ‘God Steven you’re too old for all this--’)

“It’s okay!” Steve rushed out, trying to locate where the muffled sounds were coming from before they ran away. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise!”

Which is right about when he almost tripped over the other kid.

He was hunched against a tree, knees drawn into his chest with brown hair hanging into his eyes. His clothes were a odd--a little like how his teacher had made Steve dress when they’d done a play about the middle ages.

“Who’re you?” The boy asked defensively, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

“I’m Steve.” He said, before kneeling down himself. “Did you get hurt?”

“No.” The boy sniffled. After a moment he added; “M’ Eddie.”

His eyes were large, and reminded Steve of a puppy he once saw. All cute and round and shiny.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.” The boy said and it wasn’t an accusation, but it wasn’t friendly.

“I’m not from around here.” Steve told him. “At least, I don’t think I am.”

It was kind of hard to know, given Steve wasn’t sure where here was, exactly--and absolutely knew better than to ask his parents.

“Well then you should go home.” The boy sniffled again.

Steve wasn't put off by it. Tommy had been a lot meaner than this after all, when they'd first met. 

Given their parents made them play together anyways, Steve felt he he could get this kid to like him too. 

"I'm gonna, later. I'm looking for something right now though--you wanna come?" 

Which he felt was a pretty nice offer. Might distract Eddie from whatever was bothering him.

(Steve liked distractions, when he was upset. It made it a lot easier to swallow down the bad feelings.) 

“You shouldn’t hang around me.” Eddie said suddenly. His nose was as red as his eyes, and he refused to look Steve in the eye as he hunched further into himself. “I’m bad.”

“You’re not bad.” Steve told him. 

He got a glare for it.

“How would you know?”

“I dunno.” Steve stopped, brows furrowing in thought. “I just--kinda do. I always have.”

Which was true. Steve was awfully good at identifying who was good and who was bad, from adults to his fellow classmates. It had gotten him in trouble before his mother had sat him down, and told him he just had a good business sense.

That he needed to keep to himself who was good and who was bad, especially the adults, because it wasn’t his place to say such things.

(‘But it’ll serve you well in the future.’ His mother told him, tucking an errant strand of hair back behind his ear. ‘Particularly for business deals.’)

“Well you’re wrong then, because I was born bad.” Eddie scoffed, arms crossing over his chest. “Everyone says so!”

It was dramatic as hell, and Steve couldn’t help the giggle that escaped him.

“I’m sorry!” He said immediately, when Eddie’s face flushed angrily. “I’m sorry it’s just--you look kinda silly.”

He mimed Eddie’s stance for a moment, including a dramatic little huff of breath. It unbalanced him, and Steve ended up dropping on his butt, which made him to laugh even louder.

“No one who does that can be bad.” He said finally, through the giggles. 

“That’s--stupid. You’re stupid.” Eddie said, except he was clearly trying to hide his own laugh at Steve’s antics.

“I’m not stupid--and you’re not bad. I promise.” Steve said, before reaching out a hand, one pinkie extended. “I’ll swear on it.”

“What’re you doing?” Eddie asked him, but he didn’t sound sad now. More curious. 

Curious Steve knew, was a lot better than sad. 

“You wrap your pinkie finger with mine. Then it’s a pinkie swear, which is like--unbreakable!”

That’s what Carol had told him at least, and so far it had held true. Steve figured it must work doubly so, in a place like this.

Cautiously, Eddie reached out, entwining his pinkie with Steve’s. Like any minute Steve would snatch his hand back, and tell him it was all a joke.

Instead, Steve bobbed their hands up and down once, before letting go and asking; “Do you wanna go find that light with me? I wanna see what it is.”

He pointed up the hill, toward the glow that had haunted his dreams.”

“Oh that’s boring.“ Eddie told him, but he had a grin on his face that felt infectious. “It’s just the town. I’ll show you something way better!”

“Yeah?” Steve asked, and let Eddie snatch his wrist, launching to his feet and bringing Steve with him.

In doing so his hair blew, revealing that he had pointed ears.

Steve stared at them in awe as Eddie tugged him further into the trees, until they burst into a clearing filled with gingerbread houses. They ranged from teeny tiny, to large enough that Steve and Eddie could walk in them, and it wasn’t long before the two started a game of tag, broken only by laughter. 

In retrospect, this was his downfall.

Because the little gingerbread houses were really cool, and Eddie was a lot of fun. It was easy to play with him--like the two of them had been made for each other.

Steve had never connected like this with a person before. Never had so much fun with someone before.

Not even with Tommy and Carol, his very best friends.

Eddie seemed to feel the same way, and not even an hour into meeting him, Steve knew he would remember this for the rest of his life.

Remember Eddie.

Steve ended up losing track of time. Stayed so long that his lie was discovered.

The person who came looking for him wasn’t his parents, but looked weirdly like his mom--if his mom were a boy.

He introduced himself as Steve’s Uncle Nick after he called the two boys to him, hands on his hips in a way Steve kind of wanted to mimic.

Steve knew it to be true, in the same way he knew how to find the forest, and if someone was good or bad. A feeling inside him he could tap into, warm and fuzzy in a way that, should he ever be pressed, he might admit to feeling like magic.

“Now how did you get here?” Uncle Nick asked him, like Steve's presence was a surprising little puzzle.

Knowing better than to lie, sensing that his Uncle would be able to tell if he did anyways, Steve told him the truth.

It got him exactly what he expected, which was an upset adult.

Unlike his mom or dad however, his Uncle didn’t yell at him, or grab Steve’s hand in a punishing grip. No nails dug into his skin, no harsh words were hissed. Uncle Nick simply pinched the tip of his nose, before giving a sigh that shook his massive frame.

“Your mom is going to be very upset.” He said finally.

Like Steve didn't know. 

“I just wanted to see the lights.”

“The lights--oh.” Uncle Nick glanced over his shoulder. “Could you see them from your house?”

Steve shook his head.

“No but I could feel them.”

Like a pulse in his chest. A compass, or--a guide.

“He says he can tell who's naughty or nice.” Eddie chimed in, oddly quiet for how loud he had been. “He says I’m good.”

This was said as a challenge, and Steve eyed his new friend out of the corner of his eye. He’d never dared speak to an adult like that, and was both a little in awe of Eddie doing it, and afraid for him.

Something his Uncle seemed to sense.

“Edward, go home.” He said, firm but kind.  Not like how Steve's mom was when she was mad, or his dad when he had a bad day at work.“I’ll come talk to you later. Come on Steve, let me walk you back. I best explain this in person.”

Then he took Steve’s hand in his, while Steve called out a goodbye to Eddie over his shoulder.

“You’ll come back and visit, right!?” Eddie yelled back. 

Steve shouted an affirmative, even knowing it wasn’t likely he’d be allowed.

(Wished with all his heart, that he'd be allowed.) 

“Eddie is really good, you know.” Steve said once he no longer could see his new friend, because it felt important to tell his Uncle that. Necessary, for some reason.

“I know.” Uncle Nick replied gently. “But let’s not worry about him right now, okay?”

“Okay.”

Then they were back in Steve’s woods, the ones that were sometimes unfriendly. In his backyard, and up to the door, and even from here Steve could hear his mother and father screaming at each other, in a tone that made his stomach curl.

“Come on kiddo. Time to face the music.” Uncle Nick told him, and Steve found he really didn’t want to let go of his Uncle’s hand.

He did though.

He was a big boy, and well trained. He didn’t flinch from his parents. Didn’t disobey when his mother demanded he tell her exactly how he got to the fun place, with all the snow--and listened further still when she demanded Uncle Nick take it out of him.

Take what Steve didn’t know--not until his Uncle lost the argument.

Reached into Steve’s chest and did something to him, something that killed that warm and fuzzy thing that had always lived inside Steve.

He cried harder than he ever had before that night. Cried and begged for Uncle Nick to put it back, that he was sorry and he wouldn’t ever use it again if they just let him keep it.

(He promised, he promised, he promised-!)

Sank to his knees and told his parents that it hurt.

They didn't listen, and they didn't put it back.

His father told him to get up off the floor, and then pulled him up when Steve found he couldn’t.

Hauled him to his room, even as his Uncle warned his mother that he couldn’t get rid of it. That he could only suppress it, the same way she suppressed hers, but those words didn’t really matter to Steve just then.

Not when he was hurting, and tired, and found himself wishing for his new friend.

(His mother told him he’d feel better in time.

Steve never did.)

xXx

The hole in Steve’s chest had never filled.

It kept him up at night. The yearning for something just out of reach, tormenting him with a feeling of being hollow.

He didn’t know how his mother could stand it.

Steve stopped fussing about it though--or rather, he stopped the first time his father had slapped him over his complaining.

“Enough, Steven! You’re perfectly fine. Now start acting like it, for fucks sake!” He’d roared, and shocked as he was, Steve had still done what he’d been taught to do.

Toughed it out. Sucked it up. Got over it.

Dumped his entire life into basketball and swimming and other parent-approved activities, even if he felt empty.

He was eight, then ten, then fourteen and soon Steve wasn’t healed, but he'd adjusted. 

Got aloof to the pain as his popularity skyrocketed, and his parents left him on his own while they chased the almighty dollar.

(Secretly, Steve tried to fill the void in his heart with parties and people, alcohol and even the occasional drug, though most just left him feeling worse than before.

It was perhaps how he ended up acting as he did.

Turning from the sweet boy who was always helping others, to someone who was fast with their insults. Popularity was a sharks game, and though he refused to participate in the bullying his friends enjoyed, he made sure everyone knew who the biggest fish in the pond was.

Because the hole was always there, in the back of his mind. The thing inside him that was missing, that made him crave the snow, and the lights, and the boy with pointy ears. 

He might be able to force himself to forget about all of that, if only the hole in his heart would allow him.)

xXx

Five days before his fifteenth birthday, some random guy showed up in Steve’s yard.

This wasn’t unusual--Steve invited a lot of people over.

Tommy and Carol both had a standing invitation to use his pool and Steve often used it to curry favor with the upperclassmen--but even underwater, Steve didn’t recognize the teenager leaning over to watch him swim.

Plus it was a little weird for someone to pop up on a Sunday.

Refusing to be intimidated, Steve surfaced right under the guy, head whipping up to make sure he splashed him in the face.

Laughed as the other guy sputtered.

“Can I help you man?” Steve drawled, hooking his arms on the lip of the pool.

“I’m looking for someone. Steve Harrington?” The guy told him, glaring as he wiped water off his face.

His hair just touched his shoulders, in that awkward stage of growing out that made him look like a pageboy.

Steve tucked that little observation away for later, in case he needed it.

“Congratulations, you found me.” He said, eyeing him over.

Black jeans with holes in the knees, wallet chain and a black shirt with a faded logo of some band Steve had never heard of proudly displayed. A checkered plaid shirt topped the whole outfit, with a red guitar pick dangling around his neck from a chain.

Like the guy thought he was some kind of rockstar, and not in bumfuck Indiana.

Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Though I think you’re in the wrong place. The audition for the new town jester is being held at the high school.”

He got a frown, like the guy knew he was being insulted but didn’t quite want to believe it. “I’m not here for an audition.”

“You sure? Cause you’re definitely dressed the part.”

“Okay, you are definitely not Steve.” He said, arms crossing his chest. He had a ring on each hand, catching the light as he clutched at his arms. “Steve wasn’t this much of a dick.”

Which wasn’t the first time Steve had been called out for his behavior--but it had never been by the people he was supposed to care about.

Those people, the people his parents liked?

They loved it.

“Times change.” Steve told the stranger. Kept his tone light and playful, the way that always made girls giggle at him and guy’s listen.

Well the ones he wasn’t making fun of, anyways.

“People do too.”

He rearranged himself, planting both palms flat against the concrete, bouncing once to build energy before rocketing out of the water.

Stood, and watched with interest as the new guy’s eyes raked over his naked torso, before his whole face flushed red.

How he looked away, like he suddenly couldn’t bare to look at Steve.

“You shouldn't have changed that much.” He muttered, but Steve already had his number.

"Why were you looking for me anyway?” Steve asked as he went and grabbed a towel. Wrapped it around his waist, but kept his upper body shirtless.

Idly scratched at his hip and watched as the guy acted like Steve had practically stripped naked in front of him.

Weirdly enjoyed the little spark it gave him, to watch this guy appear so affected by his bare chest.

Defensive, the stranger bit out; “We were friends. I haven’t seen him in a long time, I was just checking up on him.”

That made Steve pause.

Really look over the guy standing before him.

The fidgeting, the blushing, the way he avoided Steve’s gaze.

He opened his mouth, an odd urge to draw this out guiding him when the hole in his chest pulsed.

Like a convulsion, a miniature seizure that took Steve entirely by surprise.

It had been a long time since it had done that, long enough to throw Steve off his game.

Make him feel unsafe, unmoored.

Abandoned.

“Yeah?” He wheezed, before covering himself and the flood of wrong/want/need with a harsh cough. “Well now I know you’re definitely barking up the wrong tree. I’d never be friends with a fucking queer.”

At that, the guy’s mouth dropped open, head whipping around to stare at Steve in shock.

"Don’t deny it, I can tell. You’re practically drooling over there.” Steve smiled with all his teeth, even as he struggled to keep his breath even. “It’s disgusting.”

“You know what, fuck you. I thought you were different and you’re not.” The stranger spat, with far more venom than Steve was prepared for. “You’re the same as all the rest.”

He scoffed, before whirling on his heel, middle finger high in the air as he stormed off into the woods.

“Have fun with your sad, beige fucking life!” He yelled, voice a little choked up.

“I will!” Steve yelled back at him, oddly heated.

Rubbed his chest when he was gone, before sitting down to try and figure out what the hell just happened--and why the hell his chest hurt so much.

xXx

Steve’s life remained completely and painfully normal--until Nancy Wheeler.

Nancy and her smile, Nancy and her reminder of what it felt like to be loved. 

She didn’t fill the void inside him, but what she did came close.

Felt similar.

Steve found he’d do anything for her, looking at life once again through the lens he had back when he was seven.

It was great.

Better than great--it was the best he’d ever been.

Then Barb went missing.

Shit hit the fan so fast that in retrospect, Steve still doesn’t understand it. There was Jonathan and his camera, with the background of his missing little brother. Tommy and his insults, grabbing Steve up by the collar. Nancy being weird, Nancy ducking him to hang out with the guy who took photographs of them having sex.

Steve's brain tracks it all in little snapshots. The way he realized that maybe Nancy was right--he was way more of an asshole than he thought. How he decided to clean the theater, and then apologize to Jonathan.

(Creepy shit or not, Jonathan’s brother was gone. Steve had never had a brother, but he understood how it felt when something important was taken from you.

How it made you act after.)

There was a shift inside him. Not coming from the void, but from how Steve dealt with it.

And then there was a fucking monster coming out of the ceiling.

This is how Steve learns the magic he once had wasn’t special. That it’s not the only supernatural thing that exists in the world.

Only unlike the snow and gingerbread house and boy with pointed ears and an Uncle that looked a hell of a lot like Santa Clause, this version came with evil government laboratories, the Upside Down and his girlfriend holding a gun.

It was kind of a lot, really.

Particularly because his parents weren’t home.

(They still came home of course, but it wasn’t with the same frequency as it used to be.

The business trips went from once a month, to every other week, to long stretches of away periods. Long enough that Steve spoke to them over the phone more than he did in person, and knew more about business mergers than he ever cared too.

Also his fathers love life, courtesy of his drunk mother.)

Steve didn’t exactly handle it well.

Doesn’t think any of them handled it well, really, even if Nancy blamed him for trying to pretend he was okay. But right as their relationship blew up in Steve’s face, shit started happening again.

Flickering lights and freaky monsters. A group of kids Steve found himself in charge of, who were doing their level best to commit suicide.

(“We’re helping El and Will, idiot!” Mike Wheeler protested in the back of Billy Hargrove’s Camaro when Steve brought up that this was not what being benched meant, and Steve let him have that one given the way the world was spinning.

God that asshole hit like a train.)

Another snapshot, full of fear and fury, and things were over once again. 

Steve was telling Nancy it was okay. She could go with Jonathan, that he could tell it was what she wanted.

It hurt him to do it, but he wasn’t going to be like his own parents.

Realized with a weird amount of clarity, that he wanted to be the very opposite of his parents.

Late in the night, feeling every ache and pain in his body but knowing everyone was safe, Steve finally started the long trek home. 

He didn’t have his car (he hoped that was still at the Byers place) and he didn’t have his keys (no clue where those went but he was praying it wasn’t in the freaky tunnels) and was well into the middle of his walk when his chest started acting weird. Really weird. 

Steve ignored it.

He kept ignoring it, focused on getting back to his bed, and his bed alone.

(Maybe he had been thinking more than that. About how the last time he had truly been happy wasn’t with Nancy, but with Eddie. That he’d give anything to go play in the gingerbread houses again.

Maybe he was even thinking of how warm his Uncle had been, the way he was so gentle when he held Steve’s hand.

How he’d argued against Steve’s parents, when no one else ever did.

It was probably just the head injury.)

Unfortunately--or fortunately, depending on who you asked later--the weird feeling didn't stop.

It grew and grew, until it felt like something was breaking out of him.

Like a cough you’d long suppressed that crawled forcefully up and out of your throat, it both hurt and felt amazing, a pang echoing out through his very core--

Then suddenly there was snow on the trees and Steve was stumbling into a teenager with fluffy hair.

“Sorry.” He muttered, right before he went down on his knees.

“What the hell---” Fluffy haired guy said, spinning around and looking at Steve like he was a ghost. “Oh shit, are you okay!?”

“I’m fine.” Steve lied, even as he gave in and laid down.

Man, this snow was nice.

Comfy and soft, and cold on his face.

There was a string of curses coming from above him, and Steve made the effort to twist his head so he could watch fluffy hair kneel frantically next to him.

“ What happened!? How did you get here!?”

“S’long story man.” Steve slurred, feeling bad and looking worse. His head fucking hurt.

“Don’t suppose there’s a guy named Eddie around? He has uh,” Steve fumbled, hands trying to point to his ears. “Pointed. You know.”

He gestured to his own ear again.

(Figured he might as well ask, given all the snow.)

The Fluffy Hair pulled said hair back at that, revealing his very own pointy ear. “Dude you’re in the North Pole, all us elves have pointy ears.”

The North Pole.

The words Steve had only ever dared to think, and never said out loud.

“Cool.” He said instead, not really feeling like he was inside his own body.

“Just--stay there, okay? My name's Gareth I’m gonna go get someone.” Gareth the elf (an elf, wasn’t that a trip. Did that mean Eddie was also an elf?) said, hands hovering awkwardly in the air, before he darted off, out of Steve’s sight.

“Can you get Eddie?” The question came out in a whine, the hurt in Steve’s chest overtaken by the pain in his head.

He didn’t get an answer.

Which was okay, he thought.

He didn’t really need one.

He had the snow, and the woods that weren’t straight out of a fucking nightmare, and, he could just sleep right here…

“Steve!”

He blinked, and found he must have passed out.

“There you are. Stay with me.” A blurry face was saying. A couple more blinks brought it into focus, and Steve knew this person, even if he couldn't put a name to a face.

The hair was longer, and there were more rings on his fingers, ones Steve could both see and feel as a hand ran along the back of his head.

Worried doe eyes met Steve's own, and just through the curtain of curls, he caught the outline of a pointed ear.

“Ed--ie?” He croaked, unsure.

“Yeah Stevie, it's me. You're okay, we brought you back to my place. Gareth is getting help.”

He was trying to sound reassuring but he mostly just sounded worried.

Not that Steve cared, because he finally figured out why older Eddie was familiar.

“Oh.” He managed, the words feeling like he had to push out. “It was you. By the--pool.”

“What?”

It felt like eons ago. The weird guy, asking after him. Back when Steve had been doing anything he could to fill the void his magic had left behind, and turned into a raging shithead as a result.

“M sorry.” Steve slurred, voice cracking in its honesty. “I was--asshole. M'sorry.”

The look Eddie gave him was wild. Like he couldn’t believe Steve was here, and definitely couldn’t believe Steve was apologizing.

Which was fair. Until last year Steve wouldn’t have ever apologized, to anyone, ever. 

“Yeah you were, but we can talk about it later. Right now I just need you to stay awake.” Eddie said instead. It was gentle, a lot more gentle than Steve felt he deserved.

It made him want to explain, more than anything, what had happened.

“I was tryin to fix…the hole. Inside.” Steve needed Eddie to understand. Needed it more than breathing, just then.

“I know, big boy.” Eddie soothed, and his hands were back in Steve’s hair.

It felt nice.

“S’not an excuse, promise it's not. I was hurt--hurting, and--I was mean.” Steve continued. It was getting harder to think, the world swimming in and out of focus, but this was important.

Perhaps the most important thing he’d done in a long time, sans saving the kids from the demodogs.

“It’s okay, Stevie. I didn’t get it back then but I understand better now and…”

He might have said something more. Steve thinks he was, but then Eddie was shaking him harshly, and Steve realized he might have tried to pass back out.

“Come on Stevie, sweetheart, you can’t sleep right now. You have to stay awake for me, okay? Steve?”

Steve tried to shake his head and hissed when he found out how much that hurt. Breathed in and out through the pain, before his brain connected back to what he’d been trying to say.

“Not jus’ to you.” He panted. “Wasn’t mean just to you.”

That was important too. That Eddie knew he hadn't been targeted. That Steve was a dick to pretty much anyone he came across.

“I know. I've uh, been watching you, from here."

“Yeah?”

“We have this giant globe. Like a crystal ball, but it’s set deep into the floor so you can only really see half of it. It can also connect to snow globes, and it can let you see places. Watch people.”

Eddie’s voice was soothing, the deep timber of it echoing through Steve’s chest. Belatedly he realized his head was in Eddie’s lap.

That felt nice too.

“I was real mad at you but the Bossman--uh, your Uncle, he kinda showed me you once or twice and then I started watching you myself. Sorry I know that’s weird--”

“Least you didn’t take pictures.” Steve wheezed and then tried to grin because that was very much supposed to be a joke.

(He definitely had felt more put together when he dropped the kids off in Billy's Camaro--so what the hell was happening? Had the shock worn off? Adrenaline?

Fuck maybe he should have just driven Billy’s stupid car back to his house, instead of leaving it at Max's house.

Asshole deserved to not know where his car was anyway.)

Then suddenly there was a lot of noise and light and fuck did that all make his head hurt. Hands went all over him, people barking orders, and a girl Steve was pretty sure was his age was peering at him.

“Steve?” She asked, but it sounded distant. Echoey and unclear.

“I can’t keep him awake!”

That from Eddie, who sounded much clearer, if not utterly panicked. 

“It’s okay, I’ve got him.” The girl said, tight but professional in a way that typically belonged to someone used to medical emergencies. “You can let him go now.”

“Are you kidding me, Buckley you’re an apprentice medmage-!”

Steve frowned at that, but found something was drifting over him. A weight, like an invisible blanket pressed down gently, and he had a second to recognize that this too, was some kind of magic before sleep tried to take him.

He fought it for a moment as a thought occurred.

One last thing he needed to say.

“You’re still good. Eddie. You’ve always been--”

The magic took him away.

xXx

It smelled like cinnamon.

Cinnamon and sharp hints of peppermint, the kind that tickled at Steve’s nose as he slowly rose back into consciousness.

Steve winced as he sat up, head itching like ants were crawling all over it. Idly he tried to scratch at his forehead and found himself touching a thick bandage, at about the same time his body seemed to catch on that he was awake.

It reminded him that he had had a hell of a night in the form of an onslaught of aches and pains.

His fingers traced the edge of the bandage as he took in the cheerful red walls surrounding him. The room was the exact kind of kitschy his mom hated, little twirls of white here and there making the place look like the inside of a candy cane.

The center piece was the full size window, taller than Steve was and twice as wide. Fat, fluffy flakes of snow drifted lazily outside it, some sticking to the window panes as they floated on by.

It was a little like being knocked out and waking up in the Wonka factory, but given all the shit that he had been through the past twenty four hours, Steve didn’t mind it.

Snow was infinitely preferable to the weird ash that came out of the Upside Down.

As if sensing he was awake, the door opposite the window swung open. A tray came through, positively stacked with a stupid amount of pancakes and oozing with maple syrup, the type Steve could smell.

“I,” Eddie announced, head just visible above the good, “had a very embarrassing meltdown when they tried to take you away from me. So suck it up Harrington, because you’re stuck with me now.”

Steve stared at him, mildly concerned he was a hallucination.

“I brought you pancakes.” Eddie added, pausing as he approached the bed like he hadn’t actually thought through to this point.

“I see that.” Steve said, just to fill the sudden, awkward silence. “There’s…kinda a lot there, man.”

So much so it was threatening to escape the confines of the tray and drip down onto the carpet.

“You play sports things don’t you?” Eddie defended, making the executive decision to put the tray down on the bed. “Kinda thought you’d need like, a lot, especially if you're healing." 

Steve snorted, but didn’t bother to hide the smile that crept onto his face.

Even if it hurt.

Dragged his gaze from the pile of pancakes now laid before him, to the man fidgeting awkwardly by his bedside.

Realized belatedly, that Eddie hadn’t changed much.

Not since Steve had last seen him, though he never in his life would have thought one of Santa’s elves would wear so much black.

(Frankly Eddie looked just like every other teenage metalhead Steve had ever met, sans the pointed ears. One of which was now pierced and had little metal hoops threaded through it.)

Eddie realized Steve was looking, and bashfully twist a strand of his hair in front of his face.

It was cute.

It made him look cute.

“You might as well sit and help me with this, it’s way too much.” Steve told him.

Which was the truth--Eddie had brought him a shit load of pancakes and Steve wasn’t exactly sure he could chew all that well right now, considering his left cheek was so puffed out it felt like a chipmunks.

Didn’t want to turn down a gift though--or rather, turn down a gift from Eddie.

Who he absolutely still needed to apologize properly too.

“I guess I should start off with a thank you.” Steve began, as Eddie dropped onto the bed. “I think you might have saved my life, though I swear I wasn’t doing that bad off before I got here.”

“Robin said the shock wore off.” Eddie told him. He didn’t wait for Steve to dig in, grabbing a pancake and rolling it up like a sausage before stabbing one end in syrup. “She also said you had a hell of a concussion, two cracked ribs and a literal boatload of scratches,”

Which sounded about right, considering.

“Still though.” Steve frowned, looking at his hands. “I mostly just fought off Billy, the demodogs never got me.”

Something he was incredibly thankful for, given the sheer amount of teeth.

“I think you’re downplaying your injuries here, handsome, you gave Robin a hell of a fright. She cursed in four languages." Eddie talked fast, just like the little boy Steve remembered him as.

It made him grin. 

“Handsome, huh?” Steve teased, and regretted it the second it slipped out of his mouth.

He hadn’t meant to call attention to it. Not just yet anyway. Wanted to work his way up to his apology and then the things he had kind of realized on his walk home (and possibly before that, though he thinks he might have…repressed it.)

Given the way Eddie froze, Steve figures he’s got about two seconds to talk himself out of it, before Eddie rightfully shut him out.

“I like it. The nicknames.” He said, which is also not what he intended to come out of his mouth and God he was really blowing this, wasn’t he?

“Steve,” Eddie started, sounding a little strangled and nope, no, he was going to fix this dammit!

“I’m sorry.” He said honestly. “I know I was an ass when you came to check up on me, and I know I said some terrible things to you. I regret it. I regret it a lot, and I shouldn’t have treated you like that.”

“You weren't wrong.” Eddie cut in, twirling a ring on his finger, eyes firmly on it. “I am gay. I am flamingly gay. And I understand if after today, you don't want me here.”

Which apparently answered the question about whether or not elves gave a shit about such things.

(Or maybe they did, and it was humans who cared, and Eddie was giving him an out for it.

Steve figured he’d ask later.

After he had finished groveling.)

“I want you here.” He said, as seriously as he’d ever said anything. “I think the real question is why you would want to help me?”

It was the one thing that didn’t add up. Why Eddie had been so nice, when he’d shown up.

Sure it was one thing to be a good citizen or whatever, help out a guy who was passed out on the ground, but Eddie hadn’t just gotten help.

He’d stroked Steve’s hair. He’d kept him awake.

Hell he called Steve sweetheart.

And now he was here again, right by Steve's bedside, checking up on him.

You didn’t do that for the guy who was a downright douchebag too you, even if it had been a few years.

Eddie bit his lip, before he chanced a look back at Steve, up through his bangs. “Because you said I was good Steve. You were the first person who ever said I was good.”

Quieter he added “And because we were friends once.”

“I'd like to still be friends.”

“Even if I'm gay?”

Steve took a deep breath, and let out a truth that he’d maybe been ignoring for almost as long as he’d tried to forget about the hole in his heart.

“Cards on the table Eddie, I’m not sure I’m not gay Or whatever both is." 

He'd heard the word once from Chrissy, but hadn't cared to remember it.

(Regretted that a little bit.) 

He got a mighty frown in response.

“Don’t do that. Don’t--joke, like that.”

“It’s not a joke.” Steve said slowly, feeling the words as he spoke them. “I think this is part of the stuff I always just--ignored. Didn’t want to deal with it, because my--”

Steve couldn’t bring himself to say magic, and so, aborted the sentence entirely. “I couldn’t deal. So everything connected to this place, to the rest of my family, to you, I just pushed aside. Pretended it didn’t exist.”

Pretended that he was normal.

Just like his parents wanted.

Then he’d met Nancy.

Realized what he felt about her, he’d always felt about Eddie. That the way she looked at Jonathan wasn’t the way she looked at him--and even then, in the love he had for her, Steve hadn’t looked at her like that either.

Steve had been attracted to her for her yes--but initially, maybe, because she’d looked a little like someone else.

Admitted to himself that he the reason he could clock Eddie so fast back when he was fourteen, wasn't because he was that good at reading people, but because he recognized what it looked like to get caught checking out a guy.

“But I could never forget about you.” Steve added because well. “I’ve never been able to forget about you.”

He’d already said cards on the table, hadn’t he?

Might as well reveal his whole hand.

“You were the last thing I thought of, when I was trying to get home. I wasn’t thinking about my house, or my parents. I was thinking about you. I’ve never been able to come back here, not after Uncle Nick,” He cut himself off again, frustrated that he couldn’t just fucking it, but made himself take a breath.

Continue.

“--but I could, last night. I could get to you.”

Technically he’d gotten to Gareth, who Steve probably also owed a thank you too, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers.

Gareth had found Eddie anyway, in the end.

“I absolutely get if you want nothing to do with that, considering I think I’m just now accepting this about myself but. I wanted you to know. You’re important to me, Eddie. You always have been.”

It was weird--Steve should have felt laid bare. Vulnerable now that he’d laid out all these things he’d suppressed, that he thought taken away alongside his magic.

Instead he felt lighter than air.

Like the weight had finally been lifted and he could breathe deep once again.

For a long moment no one said anything and Steve figured this was it, he’d gone too far, when Eddie darted in, pressing a quick kiss to Steve’s cheek.

He pulled away just as fast. Wide eyes searched Steve’s face, as though expecting Steve to change his mind. 

If anything, it just solidified it.

Steve reached out slowly, gently grabbing on of Eddie’s hands. Brought it up to his mouth and kissed the back of it, while maintaining eye contact.

Enjoyed the way Eddie’s face went bright red.

“You’re important to me too.” He managed, voice awed. “You’ve always been important to me. Stevie.”

Finally feeling like he knew where he belonged, Steve grinned back. 

xXx

Bonus

“When I said let him sleep Munson, I didn’t mean with you!” Someone screeched a few hours later, jolting Steve awake.

“He was awake when I came in!” Eddie protested, shoving himself up onto his elbows when the women from yesterday--Robin, Steve thought her name was--stormed in. “We fell asleep together after Robbie, I swear!”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Hi.” Steve said with a little wave, before the two of them could screech some more. “I’m Steve.”

“I know, Dingus.” Robin told him, eyes narrowed in fury. “You’re a member of the Clause family, everyone knows who you are.”

“Oh.” Steve said, though it felt less cool and more weird that someone had finally said it out loud.

That he, Steven Harrington, had an Uncle, and that Uncle was Santa Clause.

‘Dustin is gonna freak.’

“I’m sure Mega-Idiotson here hasn’t told you, but I’m the medmage that saw you last night. Or kinda--see I’m an apprentice medmage, but my teacher was kinda out with the Boss seeing someone a town over and time was tight and we couldn’t exactly wait--”

“Breath, Buckley. In,” Eddie teased, before demonstrating a deep breath on himself, hand sweeping into his chest before he loudly exhaled. “and out.”

“Shut up, Eddie, I’m working up to something here!”

“What is it?” Steve said, feeling like if he didn’t interject Robin would take a while to get to the point.

“I might have accidentally undid whatever was on your magic?” Robin rushed out, so fast Steve nearly didn’t catch it. “Like I can tell that’s the Boss’s magic, and that he did--whatever that was, but I couldn't figure out how to heal you with it there and it was kinda already leaking out so I just--took it off?”

Steve gaped at her.

“You fixed me?” He managed after a moment, hand darting out to squeeze at one of Eddie’s.

“Um. Yes?” Robin cautioned, like she wasn’t exactly sure that’s what she did.

“Oh my god. Oh my god!” Steve laughed, then felt absolutely stupid for not checking in with himself.

Because Robin was right.

The hole was gone--and his magic was back.

How had he not noticed that his magic was back!?

“Eddie, Eddie she’s right--I have it back!”

He turned in bed, dropping Eddie’s hand so he could cup his face and kiss him instead.

“Okay, I don’t need to see this--” Robin complained, but Steve didn’t care.

Could only laugh delighted into Eddie’s mouth, before Eddie deepened the kiss.

(“Guys seriously I am still right here! Can’t you at least wait until I’m gone!?”

“No. Now get out Robin, you’re ruining my moment!”

“It’s okay, Eds. I’ll give you as many moments as you want.”

“Ew, ew, ew-!” )

This whole ass thing on A03 if you'd rather read it there!

[churipu]

★ ─── KILLSWITCH LULLABY . . . ( 03 )

warnings. cursing, toji vs parenting, in a world where toji actually takes care of baby gumi, gumi is at least 8 months old, non! sorcerer au, infant doctor! reader, toji uses the zenin clan name, but baby gumi is a fushiguro (takes after his mother).

note. this was not proofread, and extremely rushed omg :(

-> series masterlist.

"first day of training went well, judging from how you look?" you asked, hopping on a bar stool — and toji who had his uniform disheveled, the navy colored tie was somehow loose and in an odd direction, "you look amazing."

he rolled his eyes, "shitty people everywhere, your cousin stands this kind 'f work?"

"can't speak for him, he's always been a people person, you know what i mean?" you shrug, pulling your bag strap over your head before lightly tossing the fully filled tote bag onto the counter, "where's he anyways?"

"went home, said some important shit came up and he needed to go, so he told me to lock up the place." it was relieving to say the least that megumi was fast asleep in his baby carrier, his head uncomfortably nodding off, a vague stream of liquid dragging from the corner of his lips down to his chin.

"need help?"

he was hesitant, but nodded anyways, "i have no fucking idea how to clean the espresso machine," his voice was hushed — but you could hear it loud and clear, nodding your head.

"don't worry, i'll take care of that. (cousin) taught me some stuff back when i was in college," approaching the espresso machine, your movements were swift. what toji had been trying to do for at least half an hour prior to your arrival was all done within ten minutes by you, "there. all done. anything else i can help with?"

" . . . thanks, and no, i got everything else done."

nodding, you took a good look around the dim-lit room. chairs flipped and placed neatly above the table — floors mopped clean, and here toji was, wiping the counter top with a baby latched to his chest, "you've got the handle of it, and it's surprising that it's your first day of training. great job."

the male didn't answer you, although his hand continued moving in a slow pace. slowly he walks over towards the sink, wetting the cloth he had under the running water to clean off any specks of sweets, spice, and everything nice. he uses his hands to rub the wet cloth against each other before tapping the water off, stretching excess water off the cloth; folding it neatly before placing it right by the sink.

"there any reason to why you're not leaving?" toji questions. asking himself if the question he had just asked came out too harsh or inappropriate for you.

tittering out at his question, you shook your head, "i usually come here, but (cousin) never said anything about him clocking out early today. so, 'm just keeping you company, y'know?" you walked around the bar and hopped back on top of the stool, leaning your chin onto the palm of your hand.

if toji hadn't know the basics of you — he'd think you were making fun of him, "right, you don't have to do that."

all his life, toji's been majorly alone. at least until megumi was born, loneliness isn't a stranger to him. he's been so used to receiving that treatment, to the point where a person's company . . . made him feel surreal. in the past, the constant feeling of loneliness gnawed inside him persistently, always leaving him hollow and yearning.

but today? today was different. toji had gotten so used to that feeling that he's practically one with it now.

"do you want me to leave?" you asked.

he raises his head up slightly, shooting you a look that screams out, "do whatever you want."

"would you mind if i stay, though?" he shook his head slowly, not a single word or sound escaped his throat, "then i'm staying."

"do whatever you want . . . 'm just saying you didn't have to keep me company, i'm fine being on my own." he mutters out, letting out a light grunt at the end of his statement.

eyeing him, you chuckled, "do you live around here?"

toji nods, swinging his bag over his shoulder carefully not to wake megumi up from his deep slumber, "why'd you ask?" he narrowed his eyes slightly in suspicion.

"good, i'm driving you home," jutting your chin out towards the doors where a pristine white colored old sedan was parked expectantly by the sidewalk in front of the closed cafe, then you look at him with high hopes.

the male sighs, "it's fine, i can take the bus."

you immediately shook your head no at his revelation, "the bus is pretty scary at night — you have baby gumi with you too, 'ts pretty dangerous at this hour, you know?" you were right. but toji hated the fact that if he was to accept your offer, he'd triple the debt he had with you.

" . . . i can fight."

"not with baby gumi, you're not." you shut him down, grabbing your car keys, "just hop on, you said it was nearby, right? i really won't mind at all."

toji exhaled loudly, "how should i repay you for a ride?"

you grimaced out in disbelief, head shaking out in denial, "'m not asking you for anything — just let me drive you home, toji." the male shifted a bit on his spot, hand flying up, enmeshing his fingers along his lightly disheveled hair.

"it's fine, doc."

doc? you raised a brow briefly before letting out a defeated sigh, spirit bent under the weight of the male's persistence, "well— you have my number, in case anything happens, feel free to contact me, yeah?"

"right."

[ y/n l/n ] : did you arrive home safely?

toji stared at his phone screen, switching it off before turning it back on again with a slight tap to the screen — he'd wonder if it was the fatigue catching up with him. or did you really ask him about his safety?

the notification had gone in at least fifteen minutes ago, and toji had been staring at it since it first attracted his attention after he tucked megumi in his little crib. sitting under the dim light, he exhaled loudly through his nostrils.

[ toji zenin ] : yeah

and not even a second later, his phone vibrated right on top of the wooden surface of his dining table. it was expectant, but of course you had replied back to him — in a matter of seconds at that, but toji decided not to take a look at it. laying the old device, screen down onto the table before he laid his head down slowly onto the table top.

his breaths were shallow as he hunched over a bit. for quite some time he stayed in that position, pondering over the events that had washed over his dull and boring life in the past few days. meeting his son's doctor that left him with lingering uncertainty in his mind and even getting a new job because of them.

toji had lost count for the times he wished life could've been easier on him. yes he made stupid choices, and earned stupid prices. the mere action that he made that one dire night had consequences, and he lived to bear it — he had to go into job interviews only to receive nothing but looks that contained disdain, scorn, and disrespect for having his infant son with him, the loud whispers those people thought could never be heard by him were louder than a rasping hiss.

it was completely repulsive.

but life could be pretty strange. time resembled a fractured mirror that reflects distorted fragments of the past, present, and future. uncertainty walking on a tightrope. toji didn't know what was next. the male is so full of distrust that meeting you could either be a new beginning in this little life of his — or you could be a new addition to his long list of mishaps.

the thing is, everything comes back to him to decide.

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[botanybulbasaur]

Schneider's family ; The significance of Marian

REVERSE 1999 SPOILERS AHEAD : FOR CHAPTERS 1 AND 2 ! Please tread carefully and make sure you only read about what you're willing to know.

I know we're all still completely in shambles from Chap. 2, but I wanted to make a speculation about Schneider-- and a comment about how well she's written !

Let me start with this: In many pieces of media, viewers, listeners and readers alike are told that a character has people they care for. They're told a character has a lover, a wife, kids, a family, a sister. We're told the same about Schneider: that she has 11 older siblings, and that she works in the mafia to support them.

However, it's very rarely that we're given a name and a face for these supposed loved ones. And even rarer is it that they're written well, not just as a ploy for empathy, but as their own character: Ladies, gentlemen, and esteemed guests: I present to you, Marian.

Marian is one of my favorite characters just as a stand-alone: she's realistic, she's anxious, she clings to Schneider like a lifeline-- but she's brave, too. I'd love to do an in-depth analysis on her another time, but we're here for another reason.

Marian, first of all, shows us what Schneider's family is like. How they were raised, what they believe in, who they depend on. Soft topic, I know, but as someone of Italian lineage, it's very important to me that I point this out: Marian is extremely religious.

Immigrants of every kind tend to be religious. It gives them much more faith than they ever could have: a new lifeline. They managed to make it across such a winding sea? Oh, thank the lord. They haven't been kicked out of the Americas for emigration? Thank you, holy one. There's so many more reasons for this than "they need something they don't have"- maybe the fact that the rendition of god in every religion is said to love everybody, not just those who were born into wealthy families with the bluest eyes and the blondest hair.

When in a moment with no reason, and all different kinds of desperate measures being needed.. Schneider does what her family coaxes her to. She prays.

(I can't find a screenshot, but please refer to the iconic "I didn't know you prayed" scene, and the screenshot directly below this sentence.)

I also want to point out a large difference between Schneider and her family: Schneider's perspective on a 'god' differs so, so much from her family's.

She looks to whoever may be above, in her world, scornfully-- at least, in the present day. In her past, there is a particularly impactful line I want to debunk.

"The god there ... loves the world." Schnider's family seems to believe that god was the one guiding them, the one who will forgive them-- Schneider believed that it was a whole different entity. This kid believes that the god in Sicily, whoever they may be, does not love the world-- and mio dio, if that's not fucked up, I don't know what is.

And, when Schneider comes to America and sees that shit isn't as it's cut off to be, she's resentful of whoever this god may be. She gives a pray as her last bet-- what her family wants.

And it's not that she doesn't believe in this god-- no. She just doesn't believe they love her.

"Finally forgive me" -- Finally being the key word here. She's lived all her life never being treated to mercy or being 'forgiven for her sins' -- and at her most fragile, exposed moment, she relents to what her family has taught her. To what she truly believes-- to Sicily, to Marian, her sorella. Maybe even all 11 sorelle and her parents.

And, again, they're different at face value. Marian is calm, kind. She dresses modest and has her hair grown out: she's timid, too, not befitting of a mafia boss. She's different from her younger sister.. but she's still important. She shows us another side of Schneider: and, more importantly, she shows us what-- no, who Schneider is fighting for.

Marian provides us with extremely beneficial background context of where Schneider comes from-- and, in that process, gives many of us someone to empathize with. Yes, I too know somebody at least a little like her. You do too, likely.

Maybe, you're even like Schneider-- maybe she's someone you'd aim to protect.

,,aaand that's the little lore rant. Whew! Now to study for my math finals. I hope you have a good day :)

[anjaelle]

Hello darling 💙

Would you consider writing for Count Vronsky from Anna Karenina?

Pairing: Count Alexei Vronsky x Foreign Socialite!Reader Warnings: Borderline Toxic Infatuation, Vintage Slow Burn, (almost) Infidelity Summary: A foreign born socialite/heiress visits a friend in Russia and meets a straight up demon. For @bettytaylorversion (AU where Anna doesn't go back to Vronsky and chooses to stay with Karenin.) Word Count: 2.3K a/n: I remember that Tolstoy made this character so straightforward that you can kind of play around with him as much as you like without changing much about who he is at his core. I can't be left to my own devices. That being said, I don't want purists yelling at me. So I hope everyone takes some of my choices here with a grain of salt.

--x--

Everything about Russia felt intimidating to you: the language, the size of the country, the power of its military, and the show of their aristocratic wealth. You were wealthy. But this was a different kind of wealth. You came to visit your close friend who was another socialite that you met through overlapping inner circles. It'd taken you a while to accept the invitation as you weren't sure how kindly they'd take to a foreigner.

You understood some of the language based on what your friend taught you, but you still weren't confident enough to converse in just Russian. Instead you opted for French, which seemed to work well enough. You knew your native language was a lost cause. While some people in the parlor were polite, others had no interest in speaking with you. A small number seemed interested in you and your home country. Or maybe they just noticed your Very New and Very Parisian wardrobe with your collection of gifted jewels. They decided you were important enough to talk to.

When she introduced you to Count Alexei Vronsky, an officer in the army, you felt her grip on your elbow tighten just the slightest bit. You knew about him. She told you all about his affair with the married woman from Saint Petersburg. You weren't sure how you pictured the man. She said he was handsome, but you lived in a world full of beautiful people. How much different could he be?

That was a terrible miscalculation. The minute he met you, he watched you with the intense interest of a fox stalking its prey. You felt your cheeks warm and your heart thud when he pressed his lips to your gloved knuckle. You averted your eyes when he rose from his bow, not really wanting to convey anything uncouth about the interaction.

The first time he found you alone, you were in your friend's library looking at a map pinned to the wall. He told you about every country he'd lived in, every country he'd traveled through, and which ones he'd be eager to see soon. When you pointed out your country on the map, he licked his lips and an easy smile graced his beautiful face.

"I suppose I have no choice but to come see you now." He said in his thick accent.

You realized, then, that he reminded you of angels you'd see painted on the walls of grand, gilded churches. You told him that you and your fiance would be happy to invite him to your engagement party.

"Hmm." he said, eyeing the map. "Fiancés..." he finished the statement in Russian, so you couldn't understand him.

Before you excused yourself to go find your friend, his fingertips gently grazed the back of your hand, stopping you in your tracks. "Your fiancé is incredibly lucky to have such a beautiful, clever woman."

The second time he found you alone, you'd been exploring the estate and decided to rest in the garden among the wildflowers. As you raised your face to the summer sun, he made his presence known by clearing his throat, causing you to jump to your feet in surprise.

"Good afternoon, startled rabbit." He chuckled, and you rolled your eyes at him.

"How long have you been standing there?" You warily asked, anxiously adjusting your skirts and brushing the grass from your hair. He cocked his head, studying you, "Long enough to notice that your beauty in parlor candlelight cannot compare to how alluring you are in the light of day."

It was interesting to see him dressed so casually compared to the night before. You wondered what he was still doing at your friend's estate when you knew he had a home of his own. You quickly glanced at her window to see the curtains still closed.

When you boldly asked him if he'd been watching you, something akin to amusement danced across his face, "You like the idea of that? Me watching you?"

"I have a fiancé."

He took a step closer, "That doesn't answer my question."

“You didn’t answer mine.” You countered, looking him square in the eye.

That wasn’t particularly ladylike, and you weren’t sure how anyone would react if they happened upon you and Vronsky standing so close in the garden without a chaperone.

As if reading your mind, he glanced down at your lips, then his eyes fell lower to your bodice. Your engraved gold locket rested on the top of one breast, with your fiancé’s initials glittering under the sun.

“I wasn’t watching you. I was…preoccupied.” His eyes met yours again and you felt like you’d been splashed with icy water. “Your husband—my apologies—your fiancé…he is a man of means? That necklace of yours is exquisite.”

You weren’t stupid. He didn’t care about the necklace. “That is a very inappropriate question to ask.”

“So he is not a man of means.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Who gave you that necklace?”

“Why does it trouble you to know?”

“You deserve a better one.” He murmured. You were unsure if he was still speaking about the jewelry. His fingers ghosted over the exposed skin of your forearm, "I could do that for you. If you wish." You took one large step back and glanced again at your friend’s window to find her watching you both suspiciously.

For the remainder of your stay in Russia, your friend treated you coolly. Though she was kind in private, she wasn't as warm in the company of others. Specifically, in the presence of Count Vronsky who seemed eager to appear more often during your stay and even more eager to get you alone. You reminded yourself that it was a temporary trip, and that you'd be back at your father's estate--and back in your kind fiancé's arms--in no time.

"It's truly fortunate that you're betrothed," your friend said as you gathered your belongings to meet the carriage in the courtyard, "or it'd be a shame to see your name added to the Count's incredibly long list of jilted lovers." There was an edge of bitterness to her tone, but you chose not to bring it up. Instead you marked it as an incredibly odd ending to an otherwise enjoyable trip.

A month later, you nearly fell down the stairs when your father called you down to the foyer to greet his newest client who arrived that morning from Russia. Count Alexei Vronsky bowed as you descended, but you could see the mirth dancing behind his eyes when he righted his posture behind your father's back.

"He says you spoke extensively about my craftsmanship. He felt compelled to come by the shop for his own fitting while he was visiting!" Your father exclaimed merrily, pulling you in for a kiss on the forehead, "My brilliant girl. This will do wonders for us. I knew I could count on you."

Sure, you had spoken highly of you father's tailoring and shoemaking, because as popular as your father was it never hurt to expand the reach of his influence.

That being said, you were sure Vronsky wasn't there for that conversation, and you never continued any form of contact after you departed Russia. You assumed he learned about where you lived through mutual friends. You swore under your breath when your father left you alone to get his sketches from his workshop in the east wing of the estate. Vronsky eyed you briefly, then redirected his interest to the art and artifacts decorating your home. Ever the son born of Russian ice and stoicism, he looked out of place in the warm atmosphere of the home you grew up in.

"Your country is beautiful," he said, arching a dark brow, "a bit too hot for my liking. Though, it is nice to see you in your natural element. I don't think wildflowers like you belong in the comparative cold of a Russian summer."

You felt like you were being tested, but you decided that there wasn't much he could do in the confines of your home. He was, after all, in your territory. Your shoulders relaxed and you chanced a small smile his way, "You'd be surprised to know how resilient I can be."

Surprisingly, he laughed, "I don't think I'd be surprised at all. I know you better than you think I do."

You felt like you'd regret it, but you decided to ask anyway.

"What do you mean by that?"

He began to stroll through the hall of your foyer, pausing every so often to examine a portrait or vase as you trailed behind him.

"You attended your fiancé's nameday feast a few years ago. Of course, he was not your fiancé, then. He was merely your father's apprentice and a quite talented shoemaker from my country who moved and quickly fell in love with...your country." He chuckled to himself at a joke only he seemed to know. "I remember you. I remember that you were an absolute vision in white, and you danced with everyone in the room. Though you were incredibly quiet when you weren't wrapped up in the melody of the orchestra." He glanced over at your confused expression, fighting a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, "Like I said: startled rabbit. Always quiet. Always watching. I remember the way your dress hugged the delicate slope of your shoulders, and the way your necklace caressed your neck. That may have been the first time I craved to exist within the confines of a jeweled pendant. And though I was otherwise...occupied with someone...I do remember the way you consistently laughed when he whispered things to you. A kind gesture, as he's never been that funny."

"So you know him. You were there that night." You whispered, feeling chills running up your arm.

"I was," he shrugged, stopping again at a more recent portrait of you and your father, "as was my duty as his elder brother."

You felt your heart stop in your chest and your brain short circuited. Your fiancé never told you about any siblings, let alone an elder brother. You knew your fiance's father was possibly dead, and that his mother raised him alone in Russia. Was he lying about his life? You weren't sure what was conveyed on your face, but Count Vronsky turned to address you directly.

"My father was not an honorable man. He forbade us from speaking to my half-brother or acknowledging him. Of course, Father is dead now, and God hasn't struck me down for disrespecting the wishes of a dead man. This also isn't the first time I've ever sinned." He grinned widely at you and took a step closer, though you were too shocked to move. "From the minute I saw you, I knew I had to have you. And every time I've seen you since, I regretted not stealing you away for myself."

"That doesn't make any sense..." you murmured, hiding your anxious hands behind your back, "I've never met you before. I'd know. I'd remember."

"You make your presence known at those silly little soirées the ladies have. I never stay for very long, but I've always..." he took another step closer and you realized you'd been backed against a pillar, "I've always noticed you. Dancing. Laughing. Drinking. Sometimes smoking. Does your father know you smoke?"

You glanced down the hall over his shoulder, and in a small voice that surprised you, you whispered, "I don't always do that."

"Mhmm." He reached out to run his warm, slightly calloused fingers along the chain of your necklace, stopping just before the pendant that rested in the valley of your cleavage. Your chest involuntarily heaved, and your knees felt weak, "What other bad things do you 'not always' do?"

You parted your lips to attempt something sharp, but instead you swallowed hard and said, "I'm to be married."

"But you are not married." He was so close, "Do you know how badly I've wanted to come see you since you left?" You could smell the sweet wine of your country on his tongue as he whispered lowly to you, "The thought of his hands on you made me want to abandon all of my obligations to cross the sea. Did you think of me?"

Your gaze fell to his lips, slightly stained red, and then back up into his piercing blue eyes. God, he was beautiful. He caught the action.

"You did."

"I didn't."

"Your eyes betray you, wildflower." His hand grazed your hip above your skirt, and his lips ghosted over your own, "I thought about you every night. I think about how you'd look spread out for me on those expensive sheets your father bought you. Waiting for me. And you're wearing that charming necklace my brother gave you while my tongue is deep in that sweet little--"

Footsteps echoed down the hall, and Vronsky swiftly turned away from you to examine the nearest vase again, as if nothing happened. You hadn't realized that your hands were grasping your skirt in your fists and that you were squeezing your thighs together.

You realized then that it'd been so long since you were last touched.

When your father entered the hall, he shot you a curious look before handing Vronsky his latest sketches.

"Here you go, young man. Let me know if these are to your liking. We can begin as early as tomorrow afternoon."

The blond shot your father a charming smile and bowed graciously, "Thank you for taking the time to help a stranger on such short notice."

The conversation sounded like white noise in your ears as you willed your heart to slow down. Even as you composed yourself and released your skirt from your hands, you still felt out of sorts.

When he turned to you and bowed again, he rose and allowed his eyes to trail down the length of your body.

"Always a pleasure to see you again."

[ruukina]

WOLFISH

FANDOM: final fantasy xvi PAIRING: clive rosfield x reader ( gender neutral, afab ) RATING: explicit / 18+. minors dni. SUMMARY: After an exhausting week of running around Valisthea, you return home with your heart full and missing a certain outlaw. What you find upon your return is different... but not unwelcomed. WARNINGS: slightly rough sex, dirty talking, breeding kink, implied heat cycle. WORD COUNT: 7.7k

A/N: yeah i'm fairly down bad for this man. i normally don't write reader fics but i'm trying to expand my horizons so. here we are. gotta feed myself in this economy right?? expect more ffxvi stuff, whether its reader insert or other shit because the brainworms are very bad.

read on ao3!

It’s a silent ride back to Hideaway, as it always is on these solo missions of yours.

It’s not a common thing, but every so often you find yourself having to run around all of Valisthea with the job of making payments and collecting orders from the many kind souls that have been helping the cause that even keeps your personal home afloat. In fact, you could even say as Cid’s personal advisor, this was your main job; Otto was busy running the Hideaway and keeping it in check, so the job fell to you when you weren’t tailing after the man you worked under.

You also didn’t mind it, because it meant you had some time to yourself. You had the wind at your back, the smell of sea water to keep you company, and you could be in your thoughts alone.

Usually you didn’t mind it, at the very least. 

It’s not a long task to do or even a hard one, in fact you’d argue that most of your time spent there is arguing with the likes of Martha and Isabelle and even L’ubor to accept the gil that Cid himself has offered to give them, but this month’s mission of yours was different. It seemed like a certain boss of yours had racked up a few requests and the people he graciously helped either wanted to give him a reward or send a letter to ask for more help. And since you were unfortunately playing messenger, it meant that you were basically running around and doing his job… in the sense of gathering the requests and gifts, of course.

So, you were being a little delayed in returning. You made sure to send a Stolas, to let everyone know you weren’t dead - just incredibly busy.

But now you finally found yourself on the ferry back home and you were impatient to get back. Excited to get back to everyone, excited to finally be returning after about a week of having to travel by Chocobo to get to everywhere.

Excited to return back to him.

“Hey, Obolus, are we almost there yet?” You peer over to the ferryman, the wind wilding through your hair.

Obolus didn’t even look back at you, as he ‘tsks’ in response. “We’ll get there when we get there. Asking every five seconds won’t make the boat go any faster.”

You scrunch your nose at him, but he did unfortunately have a point. The trip usually never feels so long, but after being away for what seems like months, you were just anxious to get back and rest your feet. The silence of the ride passes, with only the sound of waves pressing against the exterior of the boat. 

You lean against the side and take the chance to reflect on all that’s happened. All that you’ve experienced. 

All that you’ve done.

You don’t really remember when you became Cid’s advisor. It’s had to have been years at this point, you remember only barely being what one would call an adult. You were a bearer without a brand, hiding your magic behind crystals. It’s what your father had taught you, to protect you from the cruel world you were born in. You were cursed, your mother refused to even acknowledge your existence - even more so after the death of your father. You only lived the way that you did because your mother loved your father more than she loved you, and made your father take care of you.

Your father never gave up on you. An idealist in a world of realists, he really thought you could be the one to change the world. 

He set himself up for failure, you bitterly had thought when news of his death arrived at your doorstep. He died for a cause he believed in, sure, but now he expected you to carry on that torch for him. And maybe there was a part of you that wanted to fight for a better world than the one you were handed, for those like you. You weren’t really sure what your true feelings were at that time.

There was one thing you did know, however; you knew you weren’t safe in your mother’s care, so you ran the day after your father’s passing and never looked back. You’re not even sure if your mother is even still alive or if she even misses you. Did she start anew, start all over with someone else and have a child she could be proud of?

As the years went on, you found that you didn’t even care. You can’t remember her face anymore.

You were crafty, a trickster, because that’s what kept you alive. Somehow, your paths with Cidolfus Telamon crossed. Not just once or twice, but five times. Four times, you rejected his appraisal and invitation to join him.

On the fifth path crossed, and the day he saved you from death, you finally joined him. You didn’t really expect to stay long in Hideaway, only thinking you would spend a few weeks or even a month before you jumped ship. You never stayed in one place for long, because it was always too dangerous for you to attach yourself to people. But everyone was so kind, so nice to you, and welcomed you with open arms. 

Especially Cidolfus.

You clung to him a lot, maybe because despite only meeting him five times he was the only person you really knew, and somehow you managed to become his advisor with your skills and your ability to pull him back to the ground. Otto was against it at first, not because he didn’t like you, but you were barely an adult. Yet, Cid had smiled and patted you on the shoulder, telling Otto that there was more to you than meets the eye.

It’s much more than what your mother gave you. Worthless, unneeded, dirty, sinful - that’s all that she had called you. Your own father would try and raise your spirits, but her words were sharp as a knife and they cut wounds in your wrists. Weeks turned into months, months turned into years, and you stayed. You stayed with the people who would become your family.

One day, Cid left with Goetz and the wolf he ( or rather, charon ) cared for, because of rumors of Shiva’s Dominant finally rising in a place where he can finally catch her, to give her the freedom she needed. He came back with Goetz carrying a girl on his back, and a branded man with the wolf practically attached to his hip.

Clive Rosfield.

You didn’t realize it at the time, but the man before you would change your life completely.

Cid introduced you to him, asking you to watch over him and help him adjust to the Hideaway. It’s almost funny to think about, because despite Clive’s grumblings about ‘not staying long’ ( words that echoed in your head as familiar, because you had said the same thing ), when you finally got track of him again, he was out helping the people of Hideaway. 

You made a joke about that and he quickly looked away, some colour on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. It was a cute sight, unsightly for a rugged man like him. Despite his appearances, he was kind and soft, albeit a bit cynical from the hardships he faced in his life. Then you ended up helping him help people, because there wasn’t much to do at that time and you needed to stretch your legs, and that’s how Cid decided on his great idea to make Clive your personal assistant.

Clive then realized when Cid told him you ran him ragged, he meant it, because once Cid assigned Clive to you, it didn’t take you long to get him working because as long as someone could move, they could work. But of course, you joined Clive on his journey to help him out. Some days you had to stay at Hideaway but for the most part, you were at his side alongside Cid. 

You and Clive bonded together. Quick whips with one another, long nights together trying to figure out your next course of action with the Mothercrystals and how to save Valisthea, and slowly he became someone you… well, liked, essentially. You don’t exactly make friends with people, because you’ve never really had the chance to do so, but somehow Clive stabbed his way into your life and heart. 

He became softer with you, and you did too. You found it was easy to smile with him, to laugh with him, to love him. It scared you, because Clive was a Dominant - the second, mysterious Eikon of Fire, and yet something so much more than that. It was basically a target on your back, even more so than the relationship you had with Cid.

But you found that you couldn’t stop loving him, that you would endure the burning world for him. Maybe that scared you more.

He held you when you sobbed and broke down over Cid - the first time your mask of being strong ever cracked. You hated it, you hated being weak, because Cid didn’t need weak people helping him. Cid needed someone who could put themselves back together, but this time you couldn’t. The pieces of you were scattered all over the floor like glass and every time you picked one up, you cut your hand and let the blood drip from your wound.

Yet, Clive held you. He held you close, he didn’t judge you, because he was crying alongside you. Cid meant so much to everyone, including him. You sat in his arms, and he didn’t leave until he knew he could leave you alone without worrying over you. His gentleness contrasted his roughened up look, he looked at you so softly and filled with fondness towards you. He was not afraid to help pick up the pieces, even if it meant cutting his hands in the process. 

He put you back together, and he didn’t complain about it. Not even once.

Your relationship with him bloomed. Your friendship with him became something new, something else. It was a dangerous love, because of who Clive Rosfield is - what he is. Yet, you never swayed. You never faltered.

No matter what, he’s Clive to you.

But in public, he is Cid and you are Cid’s advisor - like you always were. You two were professional on the outside, only sneaking away to shed those titles when you had enough time to. You didn’t get those chances a lot, but when you did he made sure to treat you like you were a deity. You’ve had lovers in the past, but they never made you feel like Clive made you feel. He made you feel loved, appreciated, cared for. You took care of him, but he always took care of you in return. He never simply just took, he always gave back.

No wonder you were anxious to get back to him; you’ve missed him dearly.

“We’re approaching the Hideaway!”

The ferryman’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. You open your eyes, quickly looking towards the horizons. Even in the blackest of nights, with the moon being your only light, you could see the shape of the broken down airship that you and everyone else called home. You could feel the smile creeping on your face.

“I’m home,” you whisper.

To who exactly? Not yourself, but to the man who was waiting for you.

You thank Obolus for the ride home as you step off of the boat, quickly rushing up the stairs. Most people had turned in for the night so there were only a few souls still haunting the Hideaway, and they offered their greetings to you and a cheery ‘welcome back, advisor!’, to which you returned with a smile.

You feel a little silly rushing through the halls, like an eager child, but you were happy to be home. 

You were happy about seeing him again.

You skid to a stop when you reached your destination. The Tub and Crown was a bit of a ghost town around this time, but you knew there were still a few people aside from Maeve haunting the area.

And you weren’t wrong. There sat Gav and Jill, with Torgal laying at Jill’s side. The hound lifts his head up at the sound of your footsteps, and once he lays his eyes on you he quickly stands up and rushes over towards you with a happy sounding bark. Since becoming Clive’s partner, Torgal never really left your side either. If he wasn’t with his owner or Jill, he was shuffling at your hip and following you around.

“Torgal!” You greet happily, kneeling on the ground to pet him and spoil him with some treats you carried on hand once you got close enough to where the two sat.

The two break from their conversation to see what Torgal was barking at, both of them greeting you with a smile on their faces.

“Well, if it ain’t our favorite advisor!” Gav slams his drink down. He looks you over, peering at the basket of gifts and requests at your side - all for a certain someone. “Talk about bein’ fashionably late. You weren’t kiddin’ when you said almost everyone in Valisthea was keepin’ you away.”

Jill nods her head in agreement, cupping her own chin to look over the heavy basket. “It sounds like you’ve had quite the adventure yourself.”

“Oh, it was the same ol’ stuff I deal with everyday. Just this time everyone in Valisthea caught wind that Cid’s advisor was in town and decided to make it their problem.” You rub Torgal’s belly, to which the hound accepts with happy pants. 

Speaking of the aforementioned man… You look to the side of Gav. No handsome brooding man there. 

You look to the side of Jill. No handsome brooding man there, either.

“Where is Clive?” You stop petting Torgal for a moment. “I figured he would be hanging out with you.”

Gav rolls his eyes a little, both good naturedly but also in some slight annoyance. “Went right to his chambers to work on things when we got back. He’s been in a bloody mood all week.” The scout holds up a finger. “Scowlin’ more than usual, more antsy than usual, tappin’ his foot while he waits at the door.” Every reason is met with a finger going up. “Not like everyone is afraid of him here, but it felt like we had to walk on eggshells around him. Even Charon was tryin’ not to rib him so hard.”

You blink a little, a brow raised. “Has the missions been going poorly or something?”

“Fuck no,” Gav shakes his head in response. “Everything’s been going smoothly. He’s just been actin’ like a shite.”

“He hasn’t been that bad,” counters Jill. Though, there’s a slight pause of hesitation from her. “But Gav isn’t wrong, he has been in a bit of a mood. More than likely, he was just worried about you.”

Worried about you? It’s not like you can’t handle yourself, and you’ve definitely been on missions longer than a week without him. You can’t help but scrunch your nose in thought - as always, when you’re thinking hard. Something was up with him, clearly.

Jill reads you like a book, with a smile on her face. “He’s still up, last time I checked. He’s burying his nose in reports as to distract himself. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the visit from you.” She stands up from her seat, as Torgal also rolls over and trots back to her side. “I’ve got some work to do with Tarja, but it was nice seeing you tonight.”

You nod your head, standing up and dusting yourself off. “Tarja, huh? Try not to stay up too late with her, alright?” You laugh a little when Shiva’s dominant huffs softly at your teasing, giving you just a gentle nudge in return. The two of you have gotten quite close over the years, and she was supportive of you and Clive. You felt like you could sigh in relief at that, that you didn’t have to worry about Clive’s childhood friend coming after you.

Gav finishes his drink, standing up as well. “I’m turnin’ in for the night.” He pats your shoulder with a grin on his face. “Make sure you give our leader a nice, warm welcome!”

He only grins harder seeing your cheeks turn red like a tomato at the implication of his words, and Jill’s soft laughter only makes you turn ever redder. Ah, there was your punishment for teasing Jill. The three of them make their way out of the alehouse, your eyes following them as you think about your conversation.

He’s in a mood.

What could he be in a mood about? You’ll have to do some digging, which isn’t hard - if there’s one thing Clive is with you that not even a sour mood could change, it’s that he was honest with you. It’s one of his best traits, really, that he’s open with his feelings and doesn’t usually shy away from speaking his mind about certain things. It’s not always easy, because there are some things he keeps to his chest, but for the most part communication is always important between you two. You pick up the basket of gifts and quickly make it to the end of the hall, where Clive’s chambers were.

And well, they were technically your chambers too, you think with the heat growing at your cheeks once more.

Shifting the basket a little, you use your free hand to knock on his chamber doors - once, twice and thrice.

“The door’s unlocked.” Clive’s low voice fills your ears. He already has you sighing and letting out a quivering breath. Founder, you’ve missed him.

You open the door with a smile on your face. You take in the sights before you - his room is as you left it, with the man himself seated at the desk. He seems to be burying himself in his usual reports and paperwork, just as Jill said. He didn’t even lift his head upon you entering.

“Guess who.” You smile, as you close the door behind you.

The sound of your voice has Clive immediately lift his head from his work. Cerulean eyes widened, the quill he was using drops from between his fingers and clattering on the desk.

“You’re back.” He sounds almost breathless. His chest raises a little as he breathes in and out, those cerulean eyes of him looking a lot more puppy-dog than usual.

This was different, indeed.

You walk towards him, placing the basket on the edge of the desk not covered in scattered papers. “Just got back. Gifts for you by the way, I was hunted down by weary souls who wanted to give their thanks to the so-called Cid the Outlaw.” You peer at him with a gentle, loving smile on your face.

He laughs a little in response, a rare smile forming on his own features. “No wonder you’re late. Sorry about that. I’ll be sure to pen my thanks to them soon.”

You shake your head at him. “Oh, don’t even start with the apologies. It’s my job to aid you, it’s kind of in the title.” A pause, shifting your feet a little as you hold your hands behind your back, shyly. “And… you know I’ll do anything for you, Clive.”

The words you whisper made him smile a little more. “You have perfect timing. I’m actually finishing up and I could use your advice.” He nudges his chair back a little, gently patting his thigh. 

For a moment, you stare with a tilted head, until you realize the implications. Your cheeks turn red.

Oh, he’s inviting you to sit there.

Oh, this was different, indeed.

But you don’t hesitate or falter at all. You take a seat on his thigh, leaning against him. One of his strong arms wraps themselves around your waist, pulling your body flushed against his. The position is a little embarrassing, you have to admit to yourself, but it feels warm, comforting - loving. It doesn’t take long for you to fall back into place, flipping through the letters and offering your advice and help to him.

It also doesn’t take long for Clive to stop paying attention. He nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent. His hot breath tickles your skin, a shiver running down your spine, as his fingers draw circles in your hip. His lips ghosts around your skin, pressing the gentlest of kisses to your neck as though he was whispering forbidden words in your skin. The quill from his fingers once again falls onto the desk, the reports forgotten about as his attention shifts to you. It’s hard to focus when he’s like this, so you decide to also forget about the many papers that littered his desktop.

“Jill and Gav told me you were in a mood.” You finally shift the conversation to what was really on your mind.

Clive only offers a grunt at first. “I’m not really in a mood.”

“Are you? You’re acting a little differently tonight.” Your fingers run through his hair, out of his eyes. “What’s on your mind, Clive? You know you can tell me.”

For a moment, he hesitates, but he knows he doesn’t like keeping secrets from you. You know he doesn’t like keeping secrets from you. He pulls you close to him, finally lifting his head to look you in the eye.

“I was fine when you left, but after a day, it felt like there was a pit in my stomach.” Clive runs his fingers up and down your hip. “Hunger, I suppose, is the best way to describe it.”

“Hunger?”

“I felt like I couldn’t focus with you gone. It was worse when I was here alone. Your scent was so much stronger than it usually was…” Clive recounts, averting his gaze for a moment from slight embarrassment, but he quickly focuses back on you. “The more days you were away, the more the hunger grew.”

“And the grouchier you got?” You tease him, though your tease was cut short and replaced with a slight yelp when he pinches your thigh with a huff.

“I wasn’t grouchy.” He counters, but his tone of voice sounds like he’s not exactly fighting the accusation.

You think about what he’s said, though. A hunger he felt for you. It started happening when you first left. He found that your scent was stronger than normal, even when you weren’t there. The symptoms sounded fairly familiar to you, and you hummed a little in thought as you ran your fingers through his hair. He groaned in delight at that, leaning into your touch and burying his face in the crook of your neck once more.

“Maybe you’re going through a rut?”

Clive lifts his head up. “A rut? I’m not a dog, love.”

“I mean, you travel with a dog, you constantly have a permanent puppy-dog eyes look on you and you turn into a dog-lizard thing. You’re kind of dog-adjacent.” You shrug cheekily, with an equally cheeky smile on your face. “But I’m serious about the last thing. We don’t know a whole lot about Ifrit. Maybe it’s going through some kind of rut or something and it’s affecting you. It is springtime, you know. Maybe nature is just setting course for Ifrit, too.”

It’s a pretty plausible theory. Clive stops to think about it for a brief moment, his breath tickling your neck once more as you sigh. Still, he says nothing at first and pauses his movements, until he looks right back up at you, his gaze meeting yours.

“You do realize the implications of your theory, right?” His pupils are blown out, more than usual. His strong, calloused hands grip your hips, shifting you a little so your lower half is flushed right against his.

Oh, there’s something pressing against you. Your body warms up, a heat and ache pooling right in your core. 

You didn’t realize how much you miss his body pressing against yours in such a sinful manner, until he rolls his hips against yours in want and need.

“I meant what I said,” you begin to say, your hands gripping to his shoulders as you slowly grind against the bulge in his pants, meeting his hips’ movements. You couldn’t help but grin a little when he moaned lowly, a sound just for you. “You know I’ll do anything for you, Clive.”

That’s all you’re able to get out at that point, because once you give him permission to do what he needs to do, Clive’s lips press against yours. It was only a sweet, soft kiss for a for seconds at best, because it quickly turned into something fierce, hungry. His tongue prods against your lips, wanting access into your warm mouth, and you gladly part your lips for him, because you need him as much as he needs you. Your tongue presses and swirls against his - it’s a small battle for dominance you never win, but you know he likes a small challenge. His own tongue presses and pins yours, until you ease away to let him completely take the reins.

The kiss is hot, wet, truly sinful. His hands grope everywhere he could, mostly squeezing at your thighs and hips with his fingers digging into your soft, plump flesh until they found their way to your rear. Squeezing and grabbing, groping in such a way that would make you flustered had you not been needy with your own arousal, he lifts you up as though you’re made of nothing but feathers, and truly you’re a little limp in his grasp. Clive’s strength always managed to make you feel dizzy, in a good way, and that doesn’t change here. He pushes his chair back, leaving the desk and the many reports he still has to do in the dust and makes his way towards his bed - your shared bed.

He only breaks the kiss to place you down on the mattress, gentle pants leaving both of your lips as a string of saliva connects the two of you. It breaks as he pulls away a little more, only to dive back in and press fluttering, wet kisses to your neck. Just like the kiss from before, it turns into something a little more hot and brutal; his lips suck at your skin to give it a bruising mark, teeth sinking into your flesh to draw just a little bit of blood from you. You groan hotly, your fingers gripping at his dark locks as your hips jolt upwards. Clive licks and kisses at the bruise and bite mark he left, panting gently against your flesh.

“You still taste so, so good.” Clive whispers into your skin, as his hands tug right at your shirt. He tries his best not to rip it, but unbuttoning your shirt during these kinds of acts was never exactly a cleanful tact, because you can already see a few buttons pop off just from him ripping it open. You chuckle a little; some things really don’t change.

Your chest is bared to him, and Clive wastes no time in pressing gentle kisses on naked skin. Trailing down, he kisses, licks and sucks on any skin he could latch himself onto and sinks teeth into your sink that leaves behind a delicious sting of pain, until finally reaching your left breast. Your breath hitches a little as his tongue swirls around the nub of your nipple, the hitched breath morphing into a needy moan once his lips latch around it to give it a gentle suck. His fingers tease and play with the unattended one, his attacks on you relentless and cruel - cruel in the sense he never slowed down.

“Clive.” you whine with a high-pitched voice, trying your best to roll your hips against his. But he doesn’t let you, pinning you down with just his pelvis. He lifts his head up, a smirk on his face.

“Just lay there and let me make you feel good,” whispers Clive. The way his low voice sounded so commanding, you can’t help but obey him. He was always like this, though; he was always chasing for your pleasure and never his own. He loved you, he wanted to make you feel good. It was never really fair! But at the same time, it truly was nice. He was so different from lovers you had in the past, who only cared about their own needs.

He attends to your other breast, giving it the same treatment - a lick here, a suck there, leaving a trail of bruises and bite marks in his wake. Once he’s satisfied, his lips start to trail downwards. He worships you like this, with his lips and his tongue, making sure there’s a patch of skin with his mark on it. His hands make work of your bottoms, pulling off the offending fabric until you were just left in your undergarments. You expect to feel his fingers on your skin so he can pull them down, but instead when you look down, you see Clive is using his teeth to pull them down.

Oh, this is different. Normally he takes his time with you; press himself against you, kiss you all over. Even as someone who prefers to please his partners more than please himself, it seems like tonight he’s impatient.

“Seems like someone’s been wanting this,” chuckles Clive as he spreads your lower lips a little to inspect you. “You’re already so soaked. All I did was tease you a little. Founder, you’re as depraved as I am.” His hot breath hits your wetness as he speaks, never once pressing his lips against you. You jolt a little at the feeling, a soft huff escaping your lips.

“You started this mess,” You tell him, your fingers already gripping in his hair. “You finish it.”

Another chuckle leaves his lips. Clive is impatient, though, and he wastes no time in pressing his lips right against your dripping entrance. His tongue is relentless here just as it was on your skin; it wastes no time in slipping inside of you, as he starts to drink your essence and fuck you with his tongue alone. It’s almost unbearable to you, in a good way - he drinks like a man starved.

Clive is so good to you, but he knows how to be so cruel, because he knows you enjoy it. He knows how easily you melt on his tongue, and he enjoys every single moment of it.

His fingers slip in as well, two of them pumping in and out as he moves upwards a little, finding your clit. The tip of his tongue flicks at it and you feel the smirk against your entrance as soon as you squeak and moan from his actions. He licks, sucks, his movements becoming faster with each second that passes. You’re trying so hard to swallow back your moans, but the moment his lips wrap around your clit and give it a hard suck, you can’t control your volume anymore. It echoes off of the walls, embarrassingly so, but your mind is so fogged that you don’t seem to care like you usually would.

The knot in your lower stomach painfully tightens, you can feel yourself reaching your peak as Clive continues to tease your clit and thrust his fingers in and out of you. Just as you’re about to find your release, though, he abruptly stops. He pulls himself off of you, his fingers are coated with your essence.

“Clive–” You begin to whine, almost in pain. You stop yourself short when you watch him lick his fingers clean - slowly, like he’s putting on a show for you. Once they’re clean, he looks at you as though he’s a predator who has caught prey in his trap. The slight darkness of the room makes his cerulean eyes have a glow to them. The knot in your stomach returns.

He intends to devour you, his way. He’s going to drag this out, until you’re begging and crying for release.

Clive crawls back onto the bed, his hands moving to undo all of the leathers and fabric of his clothing, until he’s as bare as you are. His cloak and shirt go first, dropping onto the ground until his chest is revealed to you. Greagor, you could probably write several missives about Clive’s chest and muscles, but despite what your lover may say, you’re not that depraved. You keep all of those thoughts to yourself, like a good advisor should. Your eyes drift down with his hands, watching as they fumble a little with his belt, stifling a laugh from how needy and excited he is.

You stop laughing once he finally does undo his belt and pull his pants down, revealing his hard cock to you. You’ve seen it before, it’s been inside of you multiple times now, but you still hitch your breath when you see it. The gods certainly graced Clive with something to brag about, for certain. 

If you ever do meet Ultima maybe you should thank him for giving his vessel something that would make you cross your eyes and forget your own name, but something tells you a narcissistic god obsessed with the purity of his vessel may not appreciate the sonnets a mere mortal would write about said vessel’s cock.

Pre-cum dribbles at the tip, his fingers coated in a mix of his saliva and your juices as he uses it to his advantage to stroke himself a little, to really give you a show now. You hear yourself panting, your chest heaving up and down as you watch the sinful sight before you.

“Enjoying yourself?” Clive smirks, smugness in his voice.

You huff a little in response. “I’ll only enjoy myself when you actually fuck me instead of showing off, Rosfield.”

He laughs a little, leaning down to kiss your forehead sweetly. “As my faithful advisor commands.”

You have no time to respond, as he quickly flips you so you’re on your stomach, face slightly pressed against the pillow beneath you. He presses his front against your back, the tip of his cock pressing against your wet folds teasingly. Your needy whine and rear thrusting back to try and get him inside of you earns a laugh from him, but thankfully he’s not intensely cruel tonight. He presses inside of you, though it’s not as slow as he normally is. Normally he takes his time with you, but in just seconds he’s got his entire length inside of you. You feel the way his body shudders against your back, your soaked walls clenching around him. A sigh passes your lips, morphing into a moan. 

You’ve missed this. You’ve missed him.

His thrusts are slow at first, but it doesn’t take him long for him to pick up his speed. His hips meet your backside, a wonderful symphony of skin slapping against each other fills the room, loud enough to make your ears burn with embarrassment. You bury your face in the pillow to muffle your moans. A hand wraps itself around the back of your neck, though, to pull you up towards its owner. Clive’s heavy breath is in your ear now, worsening your arousal.

“Don’t hide your voice from me,” pants Clive, sharp teeth nibbling at your earlobe. “I want to hear you.”

And you find that you can’t deny him. Your moans are loud, needy, your knuckles turning white from how roughly you’re gripping the sheets to the point where they might tear. His other hand snakes down your stomach, reaching your lower half, and his fingers make work on your clit. It’s a slow rub, his thrusts contrasting the gentleness of his fingers. You can feel yourself reaching your peak, you can feel the knot in your stomach tightening and tightening until–

Until he pulls right out of you.

You whine, loudly, at the loss. Your walls clench at nothing, and you try to thrust yourself back towards him, but Clive doesn’t let you do that. Instead, he flips you both again - him on his back and you sitting on his lap. He looks up at you with a smile, his hand running up and down your stomach once more.

“I know exactly what you like.” The outlaw says, pulling you forward so his cock rests right against your stomach. You feel how hot it is, how hard it is, and how it throbs and pulsates against your skin. “Show me how much you want to cum.”

Oh, he’s definitely dragging this out as long as he can. You can’t exactly blame him, you don’t want this to end either. 

But you also really need to reach your peak, otherwise you may burn the whole Hideaway down.

Your wobbly legs manage to hold yourself up, slowly moving down on him. Your whole body shudders as his cock fills you up again, the tip pressing against the deepest parts of your inside. You move up and down on his length, moans and pants spilling from your lips as you decide to not hide your voice any longer - because he wants to hear you. And you can’t deny him, because you don’t want to deny him.

“Founder, your voice alone drives me mad.” Clive growls, his hand squeezing your thigh as he thrusts upwards to meet your own movements. “Tried to focus on my work, tried to put you out of my head for days, but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I needed you blissed out on my cock–”

He’s rambling, his voice low and rough, and you love every second of it. Clive’s not much of a talker, but when he is, he makes you feel so depraved for him. Your legs were starting to shake and feel weak already, but you push yourself - you push yourself because you want this. Because you need this from him, just as much as he needed this from you.

“Clive,” you chant his name like a prayer, over and over again. You must sound delirious.

But Clive clearly doesn’t seem to mind, the way his back arches a little just from the sound of your sweet voice. It’s a powerful feeling, you realize, having such a powerful man like him weak at you - a mere mortal, a bearer but not a Dominant. Yet, it’s a good reminder that beneath everything, Clive is a mortal man as well.

“Can you feel me, sweetheart?” He places his hand on your lower stomach, feeling the way it bulges a little from the sheer size of him. You look down, shuddering at the sight as he continues to thrust upwards, your eyes following how the bulge disappears then reappears. “You take me so fucking well. It’s like you were made for me, the way you shake your hips like a woman at the Veil.”

You can’t respond, any time you try to all that fumbles from your lips are moans and whines of pure pleasure.

“I can get so deep into you like this,” groans Clive, his other hand grasping at your hip. “All the way into you. Fuck, I could breed you right here. I could make you swell with my child.”

Oh, that’s different.

And it’s clearly a good different, the way your body responds. Your walls clench around him, as if your body had a mind of its own, as if your body was begging for the man to breed you. He notices too, and he licks his lips and smirks once he realizes you may enjoy the idea as he did.

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Another thrust upwards. His thrusts are getting sloppier and rougher, but Greagor does it feel so good. “I wouldn’t be able to control myself, seeing you like that. I’d fuck you every single day–”

You moan, so lecherously. “Clive, fuck, I’m going to cum!”

Both hands grab at your hips, fingers digging and sinking into your skin so hard you know there’s going to be some bruising there in the morning. But you don’t care. All you care about is the man underneath you, and chasing after your own release. Clive makes you move faster onto him, a growl rumbling from his throat.

“Go on, let yourself go.”

You were already so overstimulated from the foreplay from before, and the way his cock brushes against your sweet spots and bashes against the entrance to your womb, you can’t help it. Your walls tighten around him, and you let yourself go.

Another growl rumbles from his throat, this time he pulls you right down onto him, hard. It doesn’t take him long to follow you into a blissful climax, his hot seed pouring into you and flooding your insides. It’s a lot, more than usual, to the point where it floods out from your entrance and onto him.

You collapse onto him, and he instantly takes you in his arms. Slowly, he flips your positions again, just so he can press himself deeper into you. Thank the Founder, because your legs were about to give out.

A moment passes, until he finally pulls himself out from you. His blown out pupils watch as his seed overflows from you, dripping onto the sheets beneath you. He shudders at the sight, and you can’t help but shudder as well.

You’re fading in and out of existence, but when you mostly come to, Clive has wiped you and him down, cleaning you up and gently pressing kisses against any marks he’s left on you. The sheets will unfortunately have to wait until tomorrow. Frankly, you could give less of a shit about that.

The outlaw slumps himself against you, pulling you into his arms. You both lay there in a comfortable silence, as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“Thank you.” His voice trembles, a little embarrassed - that’s the Clive you know. “I’ll, uh, make sure Tarja prepares a herbal tea for you tomorrow, so that you don’t…” He trails off, hiding his face against your neck even more now.

You chuckle, feeling the hotness of his cheeks against your skin. “Feeling better?”

“Yes,” answers the male as he lifts his head up with a smile. “Much better. You always seem to know how to cure my worries and needs.”

“What can I say? I know my boss pretty well.”

He laughs, and your heart feels so warm, so in love with the man before you. Clive leans in, pressing his lips against yours to share a sweet, innocent kiss that contrasts the sinful act you both just partook in. And you kiss him back, wrapping your arms around him. You only stop when you feel something hard rub against your thigh, pulling back to see he was still pretty aroused. He’s a little sheepish at that, but he looks at you in want, in need - and love, as always.

“I don’t think one time is going to be enough for you, big guy.”

A sheepish laugh falls from his lips. “I don’t think so either. I might need a few more rounds. That is, if my faithful advisor is up to it.” 

He’s challenging you, clearly. The smirk on his face tells you all you need to know. You smirk back, bucking your hips against his to accept.

“Only if you do most of the work.” You tell him, a leg going in to wrap itself around his waist. “You made me weak in my knees, Lord Rosfield. A gentleman should take some responsibility for his actions.”

His low chuckle reaches your ears, as he leans in to press his forehead against yours. It’s a tender action, one that definitely makes you feel weak in the knees - if you hadn’t already. It doesn’t take him long to reenter you, and you can’t hide the shudder of your slightly overstimulated body. 

But you want everything he has to offer, the good and the bad of Clive Rosfield, and he’ll give it to you. 

Because he wants everything you have to offer, the good and the bad of his faithful advisor, in return.

“As you wish, my love.”

He claims your lips. The night goes on.

“Somethin’ seems to be on your mind.”

Jill looks towards the source of the voice. Gav stands next to her, arms crossed as he meets her gaze with a raised brow. The Dominant says nothing to him, only slowly returning her gaze to where she once was looking. Gav’s line of sight follows hers, landing right on the scene that was unfolding before them.

“Clive, I’m trying to do work!”

Hideaway’s poor advisor was currently trying to shake an overgrown Cid the Outlaw off of them, who has currently draped himself over you. It had been a single day since you had returned from your trip and needless to say, Clive was acting as though you had been gone for years. Arms wrapped around your waist, pulling your body flush against yours.

“Nothing is stopping you from doing your work,” is all Clive remarks with, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Except for a fucking overgrown dog!”

Gav whistles at the sight before him. “Someone seems to be in a good mood.”

“Indeed,” nods Jill, her gaze never leaving the both of you. Right now you were trying to walk away, which resulted in you basically having to drag the second Eikon of fire around because he refused to let himself off of you. “But, I can’t help but wonder if this is worse than the mood he was in before.”

The scout shrugs his shoulders. “Our advisor has dealt with worse from him. And we don’t have to deal with him slobberin’ all over us, so I’d say a good mood is better than nothin’.”

The woman says nothing. She knows it’s going to be a few days before Clive will return to his normal self, if your theory about why he’s been moody all week rings true. Such things don’t end with a simple, pleasurable night. You’ll be fine, she knows that, so she’s not too worried that you won’t be able to handle Clive Rosfield.

It’s in your job description, after all.

( she’ll still pray to metia for you, at the very least, and hope you come out unscathed. )

[dollfaced-erin]

𝔻𝕣𝕒𝕘𝕠𝕟'𝕤 ℂ𝕣𝕒𝕕𝕝𝕖 (Blade x F!Reader x Jing Yuan)

PART 9

PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8

A/n ! :

sorry i'm late ! i was waiting for the 1.3 update to see if there was anything wrong with the content i already had in the story. But it seems like everything i wrote is still ambiguous and according to the main story, so i dont have to change much !! yipee !! anyways, did you guys pull for dan heng ? tell me how it went !

Taglist ! :-

@rebeccawinters , @nayukiyukihira , @pix-stuff , @fluffy-koalala , @swivy123 , @starxao , @kaoyamamegami , @kimura-uzuri , @rsvye , @seikouryuu , @just-here-reading , @matsulovesyou, @sincerely-aaronette , @prettyliliy , @chibiduck , @hermosacolibri , @la-diablas-thingz , @farelady-fate

Once…there was a legend. Of the clan that inherited the will of an Aeon, Long the Permanence. This clan was bestowed with the gift of immortality, being able to spend hundreds of years roaming this world.

This legend…revolves around two beings that directly inherited this will. The will of the heart of the dragon. Those who have successfully inherited this will through trials and challenges will be bestowed with power that overleaps its bounds of regular limits.

Born from different eggs, yet inherit the same heart, was two siblings. Similar to each other, yet so different from the other. A fierce and stoic brother, and a kind and gentle sister. One inherited the might of the seas, and the other inherited the wisdom of the remedies.

Once this shy but sociable sister desired to find company. So her confident but reserved brother brought her and introduced her to a group outside the walls of her confines.

With the arrogant heart that she managed to pure, she followed through with eyes of a child, and a heart yearning for more. A heart that showed nothing but kindness, until the blacksmith taught the princess the meaning of love.

But siblings don't go too far from each other. Sooner rather than later, even the brother began to favor his heart towards the short-lived species. The heart that was in his sister began to resonate as greed and jealousy plagued his soul.

He would fight, even if it meant going behind his dear sister's back.

With greed…all three of them fell into ruin. Even the homeland they so desperately tried to protect…

The dragon went missing, the princess lay in rest, the blacksmith was cursed and the prince's kin was exiled.

"This is a legendary tale told amongst the Vidyadhara children," said the nurse to her charge. The young doctor sighed and pouted, a cute frown on her lips, a rosy blush on her cheeks.

"Why are there only tales of woe wove from the history of dust ?" the next high elder asked, looking up from her many books, setting down her brush that was dipped in black ink.

"Because in the end, we can only remember the memories that impacted us the most, Lady Bailu."

Bailu huffed, and crossed over her arms before looking up at the ceiling that housed her in her little 'cage'. The tail behind her whipped in annoyance, the shackle binding it making it heavy.

"I wonder what happened to them after the story ended..."

It happened all in a blink of an eye. In one moment, she had knocked down one of the Mara-struck soldiers. She was about to hand her gourd to one of the healers to apply to the fallen star when the other plagued ones had rose to their feet, about to attack her.

The trailblazers (Y/n) had recognized from Jing Yuan's hologram meeting were there too, watching from the sidelines as they stiffened, grabbing their weapons as they were about to step in to assist. The grey haired star traveler with her bat, the pink haired girl with her bow, and the man with the power of the imaginary.

But before they managed to step in, a cool icy breeze pushed past them, small thin petals of ice drifting in the wind from behind them. The wind began to pick up, all of a sudden from out of nowhere. All visions blurred for a slight moment as the icy winds shut their eyes.

A determined thump of a heal resounded in the little dragon's ears, as her eyes were blinded with the sudden hurricane.

"Freeze within the confines of beauty and purity," a cold yet warm voice whispered through the mist.

As eyes opened again, the mara struck soldiers were stuck in lotus like cages, cold air being stuck in their confines, freezing them to the core. The abominations thrashed in there, but their movements were growing slower by the second.

But that wasn't all.

In front of Bailu, stood a tall woman, her (h/c) swaying around her as the winds died down, probably due to the extreme power this woman exerted just from her form.

"Are you alright ?!" a woman asked, standing proudly and protectively in front of the healers that were startled from the sudden confrontation.

This woman...the lady with silky (h/c) hair like the finest silk, woven from the freshest flowers. Eyes of (e/c) carved from the most brilliant precious stones in the universe. Skin so clear and soft, like a child that had just hatched from their egg. Blue horns that perched on her head, confirming her identity and status.

Bailu would be crazy not to recognize the woman before her.

"L-lady Dan--" Bailu cut herself short, knowing the information she had received earlier.

"Lady (Y/n), what are you doing here ?!" the young dragon girl asked.

(Y/n) looked behind her to immediately notice the horns perched atop of the girl's head, the tail swishing so eagerly behind her. She frowned, her eyebrows creasing for a moment. Her beautiful purple tail...was shackled. For what reason...?

"Are you alright ?" (Y/n) asked, crouching down in front of the young heiress, hands on her arms as she looked into those troubled blue eyes. Once she had received a nod from the young girl, she turned to the Astral Expressers, her hands clutching her fan tightly.

"I...I'm alright ! M-my name is Bailu !" the little girl quickly introduced. (Y/n) raised an eyebrow at the hastiness. Was this little girl...scared of her...?

"Give them a moment. You can knock them out cold once the ice lotus has froze them." (Y/n) said with a nod to the oldest of them, finding her instincts telling her that he was leading the two young women.

Soon after she was sure that the forsaken ones had froze from her powers, the ice petals of the lotus that caged them moved in a wilting way, releasing the abominations of their confines and disintegrating into fine mist. And the Nameless got to work.

"Thank you for your assistance, Lady..." the brunette-haired man asked, looking at the refined young dragon woman before him. He wasn't quite sure how to address the woman before him, but he was sure she was of high standing, based on her clothes, horns, air of elegance, show of power. And most of all...the way the young dragon lady addressed her as Lady.

"(Y/n). My name is (Y/n)." (Y/n) said with a nod, standing up to acknowledge the help. Bailu had went off with the other healers to assess the wounds and conditions of the Mara-struck soldiers, being knocked out cold for a while as Bailu gave them her elixir.

"Lady (Y/n). My name is Welt Yang," the brunette man introduced before gesturing to the other two women. "And this is March, and Stelle."

March beamed out a happy and bubbly 'Hello !" at the woman, and Stelle nodded in acknowledgment, commenting shortly about 'You have pretty horns. Are they real ?'. (Y/n) nodded softly, finding Stelle's question rather...humorous.

"Thanks for helping to stabilize the patients..." Bailu sighed as she turned around from the fallen mara-struck soldiers to meet the Trailblazers that had helped them.

"Your...'assertive sedations' techniques are quite effective." Bailu acknowledged with a small nod.

"Assertive sedation techniques...? Does she mean beating people up ?" March asked with a finger to her lips.

"However..." Bailu said, looking behind her, and then looking down to the ground. "These Cloud Knights were already sick, and now they're injured too. I've gotta bandage up their wounds, realign their bones...ugh, as if I didn't have enough already on my plate !"

Then (Y/n) turned to Bailu. "I could help you if you need. If I could just remember things right, I should be able to do it." she said with a nod, and Bailu gleamed in joy.

But before Bailu could express her gratitude, March cut in with a question, after inspecting the two horned beings before her, trying to connect the dots. "Where did you come from, little one ? Is your dad around ?"

Then March turned to (Y/n). "Do you know where her parents are ?"

Before (Y/n) could answer, Bailu chirped up, "I don't have a dad."

"Uh...what about your mom ?" "I don't have a mom either."

(Y/n) was so perplexed at the exchange, she couldn't even find it in her to laugh at how clueless and vague Bailu made the Vidyadhara situation to be.

Bailu sighed, looking at March then shaking her head in disappointment. "I get it, you think because I'm small I'm must be a runaway child."

"Welcome to the Xianzhou, my short-lived outsider friends, appearances can be deceiving here !" Bailu announced, her little hands on her hips. "The Vidyadhara race is self-reincarnating. No mum or dad required !"

"What she means is, as you can see here, we're not humans. We're a more draconic race known as the Vidyadhara. Our most significant features are our pointed ears, but for special cases like for myself and Miss Bailu here, we have horns and a tail." (Y/n) explained, crouching down and placing a hand on the small back of the little lady next to her.

"We don't have parents. Whenever we are gravely injured or our bodies no longer are able to sustain us, we return back to an egg for reincarnation process." (Y/n) patiently explained, using what knowledge she had from her 'past' life. Although it wasn't too hard to dig out since it was general knowledge instead of self-history.

"Yeah ! I've been studying the art of healing ever since I cast off my old shell ! You're looking at a recognized, practicing, dedicated doctor !" Bailu proudly said in front of the Trailblazers, and in front of (Y/n).

(Y/n) let out a soft chuckle, realizing why this child was a little hesitant with her in the beginning. This child wanted to show (Y/n) she was a capable person. For what reason ? Perhaps this abundance of energy would let it slip later.

"Belobog kids are making snowmen while children here are writing prescriptions..." March said, as she looked at Stelle. A frown pulled at her pretty lips, while her companion shook her head in response.

Bailu looked up at March, worry in her pretty sea eyes. "Things haven't been very peaceful on the Luofu recently. Make sure you don't--" "Go running around, right ?" March continued, a soft smile on her lips.

"Well your general gave us an errand, so I'm afraid we have to." March said, shaking her head.

As they continued to talk, (Y/n) couldn't help but notice the constant pair of eyes that burned through her back. It seemed that there were some that are quite...dissatisfied with her presence here. She was sure that when Jing Yuan allowed her to roam the streets, he must've held an audience with the Six Charioteers, the Ten-Lords Commission and the Vidyadhara Preceptors.

So why is that maid in the back there looking all fidgety...?

(Y/n) turned around to leave the group (after learning how to exchange beacons with Bailu and the rest), and walked towards the maid that stood quite a ways behind them. She wasn't much of a person up for confrontation, but if matters called, she didn't mind putting people in their place, now so that she had regained some memories of her past identity.

"You." (Y/n) asked as she stood in front of that maid. This was the maid that looked quite dissatisfied with (Y/n) from the moment (Y/n) stepped close to Bailu.

This woman had pointed ears. Huh. So it must be Bailu's retainers, then. Such a heavy watch for a child that could barely even reach her waist. Had something happened once she had succumbed to her slumber ?

"I was hoping you'd never step close to Miss Bailu." the woman said, and it made (Y/n) raise her brow at this.

"And why is that ? Is she not the next High Elder ? Does she not have a say in what she should and should not do ?" (Y/n) asked, her hands holding onto the fan.

"Once you had woken up from your slumber, the Preceptors are threatening to remove Miss Bailu of her position. After your brother, Dan Feng threatened to ruin the High Elder Succession of the Luofu..."

"Hold on. Miss Bailu's draconic features is more than enough proof for her to be the High Elder, is it not ?" (Y/n) said, putting a thoughtful hand to her lips. Then she shook her head. "And if you're worried about the succession of the new High Elder, you mustn't worry. For as long as my brother does not return, I cannot be the High Elder, no matter how much power I behold."

"I would merely be...incomplete without him."

And suddenly, she felt as if her heart was beating loudly in her chest. Her eyes widened as she suddenly felt the loud thumping in her chest, pulling her somewhere. Somewhere...familiar.

Following her heart, she excused herself from the maid and went off. It felt as if something was pulling her heart, like a string pulling her along where she walked.

Past the citizens...through streets...and into the dark alleyway none would've dared walked into.

She was alone in the dark. She wondered not why did she follow her heart without thinking rationally. She clutched her fan tightly in one hand, though she was sure anyone in their right mind wouldn't want to venture into these silent and cold dark spaces. Not when there was the internal strife she was told about.

(Y/n) shook her head, pondering about why did her heart really bring her here. That was, until she felt strong arms wrap around her smaller form, her back colliding with a rock-hard surface, and a weight softly dropping itself onto her shoulder, breathing softly as the individual took in her scent of flowers and ice.

"Even though I didn't want to let you see me again..." a deep and cold voice resonated in her ear. Then soft lips pecked themselves on her shoulder.

"I just had to see you one last time..."

[calliesmemes]

A SANCTUARY FOR EVERY SENTIMENT

ASSORTED QUOTES PULLED FROM TUMBLR POSTS, PINTEREST POSTS, AND SONGS.

CHANGE gendered words and in-universe phrases as needed.

SPECIFY muse for multimuses.

“   Fill your mind with knowledge — it is the only kind of power that no one can take away from you. ”

“   I was born knowing you. ”

“   Even if you know what’s coming, you’re never prepared for how it feels. ”

“   Where have I seen you before? ”

“   You are half my soul. ”

“   I thought we hated each other. ”

“   All my life, I have been restless. ”

“   There's a darkness inside your mind. ”

“   I am going to be good this time. ”

“   I forced myself to know you. ”

“   The question you should be asking is not why I push you away, but why you stay. ”

“   To me, you’re sunshine in human form. ”

“   Some wounds never vanish. ”

“   I refuse to let the past find me here. ”

“   The grief is still heavy within me. ”

“   It's like you're so afraid of feeling that you're already dead. ”

“   I want to learn how to be soft again. ”

“   Pride isn’t sinful; it is confidence in yourself. ”

“   I don’t think that there is any truth. There are only points of view. ”

“   Everyone is a monster to someone. ”

“   Some days, I feel everything at once. Other days, I feel nothing at all. ”

“   Without violence, how do I understand my life as meaningful? ”

“   A friend today could be an enemy tomorrow. ”

“   It's always the wrong bits of the past that people want back. ”

“   I must kill memory once and for all. ”

“   A man with nothing left to lose is a very dangerous man. ”

“   I burn for what’s no longer mine. ”

“   Anyone who takes the time to be kind is beautiful. ”

“   It’s better to have a guarded heart than a bleeding one. ”

“   Everyone should love and be loved. ”

“   You’re the reason I know why storms are named after people. ”

“   What have we done to each other? ”

“   Perhaps you were like a candle: created to light up the darkness for an unfairly short amount of time. ”

“   I don’t know what’s wrong with me. ”

“   You were my home. I had no home but you. ”

“   How could you recognize me after all these years? ”

“   I’m always soft for you, that’s the problem. ”

“   Does my sweetness lie so deep within me you need to cut me to find it? ”

“   I want to trust my own joy like that. ”

“   When I bled, I thought I deserved it. ”

“   Do I have to forgive in order to love? ”

“   I will try to disappoint you better than anyone else ever has. ”

“   I’m hell-bent on loving you. ”

“   There are ways of dying that don’t end in funerals. ”

“   I have been fighting since I was very small. ”

“   Love doesn’t conquer everything. Whoever thinks it does is a fool. ”

“   We all have one foot in a fairytale, and the other in an abyss. ”

“   There’s nowhere to run. ”

“   Darkness, once gazed upon, can never be lost. ”

“   I like figuring you out. You are so human and puzzling. ”

“   If I am to be saved it is because your love redeems me. ”

“   Having a soft heart in a cruel world is courage, not weakness. ”

“   I have longed for people before, I have loved people before. Not like this. It was not this. ”

“   The difference between failure and love is where you draw the incision. ”

“   You never think that the last time is the last time. You think there will be more. You think that you will have forever, but you don’t. ”

“   We tend to talk too much because it’s rare that we are listened to. ”

“   I promise that I shall never give up. ”

“   They may not have loved you, but they did change you. They taught you. They grew you. ”

“   I feel like a part of my soul has loved you since the beginning of everything. ”

“   You didn't deserve what they did to you, how they treated you. It wasn't a lesson. It wasn't meant to happen, and it was never your fault. ”

“   I have always loved everything about you. Even what I don’t understand. ”

“   What’s done is done, but in the future, do better. ”

“   It's a lot easier to be angry at someone than it is to tell them that you’re hurt. ”

“   You don’t have that fire in your eyes anymore and you know it. ”

“   If you are so committed to being perfectly lawful that you cannot see the value of breaking a law to defend yourself or others, you're not good, you're obedient. ”

“   I have survived everything, but I fear that I cannot survive myself. ”

“   No one warns you about the amount of mourning in growth. ”

“   I was looked at, but I wasn’t seen. ”

“   Who's the real you? The person who did something awful, or the one who was horrified by the awful thing that you did? ”

“   I never would have expected you to become my deepest scar yet. ”

“   I fight. I resist. It doesn't even matter what I resist; there is simply something in me that tends to resist things as they are. ”

“   You are not weak just because your heart feels so heavy. ”

“   I want to be with you. It is as simple, and as complicated, as that. ”

“   Why must you push away those who care for you? ”

“   You were treated horribly. You came out on the other end. You were always you. ”

“   I know what it’s like to love what ruins you. ”

“   In three words, I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on. ”

“   I am the centre of an atrocity. ”

“   You’re my family, and I love you. But you’re terrible. You’re all terrible. ”

“   Desire can be partner to violence. ”

“   It’s been a long time since I’ve been me. ”

“   There is so much love in friendship. People forget that. ”

“   Nothing you become will disappoint me. I have no desire to foresee you, only to discover you. ”

“   What is more unfair than having to choose between being a monster or being a hero? ”

“   Stop being so afraid of everything. ”

“   We must be our own before we can be another’s. ”

“   I’ve found that growing up means being honest. About what I want. What I need. What I feel. Who I am. ”

“   If you’ve been hated, you’ve also been loved. ”

“   Even when I detach, I care. You can be separate from a thing and still care about it. ”

“   Study me as much as you like; you will never know me. ”

“   See how our wants horrify us. ”

“   I feel so lonely, like childhood again. ”

“   Never in my entire childhood did I feel like a child. I felt like a person all along — the same person that I am today. ”

“   You see loving you as such a mortifying ordeal, you feel you owe to anyone who could find the will inside themselves to do it to reciprocate. ”

“   I wish they would only take me as I am. ”

“   We’ll pretend any ending is gentle. ”

“   If I am a sunflower, would you be my sun? ”

“   Being must be felt. It can’t be thought. ”

“   I’m not much, but I’m all I have. ”

“   I think that hell is something you carry around with you, not somewhere you go. ”

“   I want to be wanted more than anything else in the world. ”

“   Don't look away. Look straight at everything. Look it all in the eye, good and bad. ”

“   There must be a point where you’re allowed to be defined by something other than what he did to you. ”

“   There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. ”

“   I would rather break the world than lose you. ”

“   What goes too long unchanged destroys itself. ”

“   We are so accustomed to disguising ourselves to others that, in the end, we become disguised to ourselves. ”

“   Beauty is terror. Whatever they call beauty, we quiver before it. ”

“   Is one part of you allowed to forgive the other? ”

“   No one could ever replace you. You were there at the start; I’ll be there at the end. ”

“   It's a most distressing affliction to have a sentimental heart and a skeptical mind. ”

“   "You're so calm and quiet. But there are things inside you. I see them sometimes, hiding in your eyes. ”

“   Is it foolish to speak of little joys that occur in the middle of tragedy? ”

“   I imagine that one of the reasons people cling to their hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once hate is gone, that they will be forced to deal with pain. ”

“   Take life as it comes. Take what you can while you still have the desire to take. ”

“   If the moon smiled, she would resemble you. You leave the same impression of something beautiful, but annihilating. ”

“   We’ve been through so much together. I’ve seen you grow into someone you thought you’d never be. I’ve seen you endure challenges most will never see. ”

“   You don't tell a story only to yourself. There's always someone else. Even when there is no one. ”

“   I know that my life is meaningful because I love my friends, and I care about them, and I think I make them happy. ”

“   There is so much stubborn hope in the human heart. ”

“   To live is to suffer; to survive is to find meaning in the suffering. ”

“   It isn’t your life that’s a prison; it’s yourself. ”

“   You are allowed to be both a masterpiece and a work in progress, simultaneously. ”

“   You knew what you were doing and you knew that it would hurt me, but somehow, that didn’t stop you. ”

“   They would’ve kept lying if you didn’t find out. ”

“   You broke my heart in every way that a heart could be broken. ”

“   Just because I let you go doesn’t mean that I wanted to. ”

“   There is no intensity of love or feeling that does not involve the risk of crippling hurt. It is a duty to take this risk, to love and feel without defense or reserve. ”

“   I’m enjoying my hatred so much more than I ever enjoyed love. ”

“   Become the voice you’ve always needed to hear. ”

[trek-tracks]

hello! I am also diabetic (type one). I’m curious if when you think of star trek or yourself in Star Trek if you imagine having diabetes still? I think either way is valid, just curious. I go back and forth trying to figure out if they would have cured it or just advanced insulin pumps to the point of being practically seamless with day to day life. For me being diabetic is so integral to my personality I kind of don’t know if I would like to think of it as being cured? It’s cool if you don’t want to answer too! Just thought I’d ask :)

This is an interesting question.

I've always thought about my type one diabetes as being solidly on the second end of the disability "spectrum," so to speak, where the first end is "this is integral to my personality and who I am, accommodate but do not 'cure' me," and the second is "this brings nothing but pain to my life, please cure me immediately."

The only accommodation that would fully make my life better, in my opinion, (which is only my opinion about my own disability), is either a functional cure (artificial pancreas) or actual cure (no machinery necessary), the latter of which I would prefer, because frankly I'm sick of wearing a pump and a cgm 24/7 and the sheer amount of waste it produces, which is not my fault because I need to live, but still weighs heavily on me (and takes up a large amount of space in my apartment). Not to mention the scheduling--this message brought to you by me being woken up at 5am by an empty insulin pump and realizing that, no, I don't seem to have any unused cartridges left, so I have to use an old one and pray that the pump accepts it while waiting for the delivery of the supplies I just now ordered, which cost $750.

When I think about a life in the Star Trek universe, I can really only think about being transferred there now, as I am, with the life I have led, and I think that's what also shapes my decision. If I had been born into the Star Trek universe, there are so many aspects of my personality that might have been different, considering I wouldn't have to worry about scarcity and affordability of, for example, housing. Instead of being a theatre critic as a second job that feeds my soul but doesn't pay the bills, I'd probably be a playwright/dramaturg/critic full time. However, I might find not having a job outside of the theatre world to be detrimental, because when people don't have lives outside of theatre, their writing tends to get smaller and more insular.

This is a digression, but what I mean is: I can only see me as I am now joining a Starfleet world, rather than trying to envision the person I would be if I'd begun my life there. I mean, I certainly wouldn't be known for making memes about Star Trek, the TV show, if Star Trek were reality instead of entertainment, so things would be different in a number of ways. I can't even think about all the ways my life could have been different in this reality without getting a headache.

In that case, I have learned a lot from being diabetic, including patience and empathy for other people, and a strong sense of social justice. I've learned a lot about food and exercise and how they affect the body. I've learned responsibility and self-management. I've made more peace with aging than many of my friends, because I've felt prematurely "old" (aches, pains, contemplation of mortality) since I was a preteen. I think I would have some form of these things without diabetes, but my worldview would likely be different. In a way, I'm grateful for these lessons, and I don't know if born-into-Star-Trek me would be insufferable.

That being said, I firmly believe that having diabetes for more than 25 years means that diabetes has taught me all about life it's going to teach me. I'm done. If I were to wake up tomorrow without it, I'd, in the words of Beyond McCoy, "throw a party." A party with plenty of cake. Or, to misquote The Voyage Home, "The doctor gave me a pill, and I grew a new pancreas!"

Now that it's part of me, its absence might leave me somewhat adrift, but I think of all the time I've lost to it where I could have been enjoying life and been allowed to be the unfettered me I desired to be, and I say, good riddance.

[zzoguri]

here’s much to do with hate, but more with love ➵ lee sangyeon & lee hyunjae

non-idol!lee sangyeon x reader, non-idol!lee hyunjae x reader

when you land the lead role for your university's upcoming play, you expect your scene partner to be your best friend, lee hyunjae. but when your eyes discover a different lee beside romeo montague's, you're certain that the universe is not on your side.

genre/warnings ➵ enemies to lovers, slight friends to lovers (kind of), afab reader (they/them pronouns), university au, theater au (?), suggestive themes, drinking, pet names (sweetheart), huh yunjin is your bestfriend, i don't remember much from physics so my bad if angular momentum is not taught in college (or probably a basic lesson), kevin moon is the director and kibum from shinee is the teacher advisor, three different scenes and one flashback, p1harmony cravity twice and ive cameo too, theater kids do know how to have fun!, sangyeon macbeth burn, the scottish play is macbeth btw, theater superstitions mentioned!!

word count ➵ 6.1k words

taglist ➵ @deoboyznet @kflixnet @blankjournal @winterchimez @miusgirl @jenoscafe @sweet-unicorn-world @vernyangel @mosviqu

a/n ➵ here's my submission for the secret santa fic exchange of the deoboyznet! i got daisy @daisyvisions <3 i hope you enjoy this, and i hope i got to fulfill your request (and did justice to sangmil) <3 thank you to @vernyangel and @winterchimez for betareading this <3 also thank you to @shegotthewoobies and @sizzlingdino for sharing your theater knowledge <3 much love <3 i'll definitely consider writing a part 2 for this fic if anyone wants it :') for everyone, please don't forget to reblog (even if it's in your tbr) and leave feedback <3

want to be part of my taglist? send me an ask! masterlist

To exist is to perform. At every waking moment—every second, every location, every play—is an audience ready to witness an act, regardless of whether they attended the first act or came in the middle of the third. To exist is to perform. No matter what role you signed up for, you’re left to act as your own backstage crew, cast, and director. To exist is to perform. There’s no such thing as intermission for the crowd remains rooted in their seats. To exist is to perform. You’re born an actor; nothing can change that.

There’s an unwritten contract that comes with being an actor; it is to understand your role and scene, and then immerse in what your character is undergoing. Let the curtains draw back and feel. And most of all, never allow the audience or your castmate to disrupt the show.

(It didn’t matter if you were performing for someone or no one. The roles you undertake are made for you, after all; it’s only right to perform, perform, perform.)

(And regardless of the nature of the role—ensemble or lead, it didn’t matter because they held their own value—you knew to perform it as if it were your last show. But you’ll never allow yourself to be a ham; you would rather have someone exclaim the official name of “The Scottish Play” in the theater—scratch that, you would rather hear “good luck” at every opening night.)

For today’s play, you’re left with a monotonous role—a university student forced to listen to the blabbering of a lecturer as they teeter on a tightrope. At any second, you swear you could almost slip and fall into slumber, but the sound of your professor clearing his throat is what has you scrambling back into focus. 

“So, angular momentum.” God, you need to get out of here.

Before you can find yourself falling back into your thoughts, the table vibrates. You look down at your phone to see a text from your best friend.

jennikirin: GIRRRLLL… jennikirin: i just heard that sir key posted the casting list

Your eyebrows shoot up. With hands quick to grab your phone and type out a reply, the voice of your professor turns into elevator music.

y/n: HUHHH isn’t that supposed to be coming out next week??? jennikirin: YEAA but zuha told me that sir key and kevin wanted it up early just so they could start preparing for the production jennikirin: jichang told her btw HUEYIQEYE y/n: IMCRYAINDG!?!@?@ y/n: fuck ME now i have to sit through the rest of this class knowing that the list is out already??? jennikirin: DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED i’m stuck with sir son in stupid econ…  jennikirin: like I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOU GREGORY MANKIW!!!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!! y/n: i’m learning about stupid angular momentum under sir won… y/n: like i’m only here because ITS A GENERAL SUBJECT!!! I’M AN ADVERTISING MAJOR?? jennikirin: nvm sir son is dismissing us early 💗 i’m bolting to that corkboard see ya y/n: FAWK YEWWWW

All you have to do is follow through with your role until the curtains draw close—a simple task that seems impossible to complete. If your knees were to hit the ground and your hands would come together in a prayer position, would the performance be life-changing that the show is cut short? Could you be free from your duty as an actor playing a student?

(And it’s funny because you spent countless hours studying and praying to get into this university; you were in no position to complain.)

“That’s it for today’s class! Please make sure to read up on—”

You were out of the classroom before you could hear your professor’s full announcement. The details of your next assignment don’t matter when your fate is stored in a paper posted on a corkboard.

(Though, you know it is a lie. You did need to pass Mr. Won’s class to get your degree, and you didn’t want to go through Physics a second time.)

The hallway is filled with rumbling students, off to go to their next class or itching to get some food during their break in between. As you made your way through, you could only spit out half-hearted excuses—Sorry! Just passing!—as you bumped shoulders with strangers. Different looks were thrown your way, apologetic and scornful ones to name a few.

Your phone vibrates in your hand, and you look down to see a text message from Yunjin. A sigh leaves you as you type out a reply while walking.

jennikirin: I JUST GOT HERE jennikirin: WRU y/n: OTW WAIR FIR ME jennikirin: BITCHHHH OKAY

Once you’ve made it out of the sea of extras, you can spot the brown corkboard surrounded by a crowd of students, and you can see your ginger-haired friend looking down at her phone. She’s pacing around, struggling to not look at the cast list.

“Huh Yunjin!” Her eyes land on you as you call out her name. You scurry your way to her. “Sorry! The hallways were packed.”

“It’s fine! Now, we need to check the casting list. I was practically dying not looking at it.” She tugs on your arm, maneuvering you both closer to the paper plastered on the corkboard. As she says excuses, you spot familiar faces leaving with different expressions—joy and disappointment to name a few.

You can spot Yoon Keeho and Hwang Intak walking away, sighs of relief leaving them. Shoulders down are what Kang Minhee and Ham Wonjin sported, a teary-eyed Song Hyeongjun trailing behind the two. Faces of those you knew during your time in countless productions, and others you’ve only met during auditions; they’ve read the paper that had their fates.

Every step is a dreadful one as you trudge your way through the crowd. (Or you could say being dragged by your best friend.) But before you can attest, you find yourself facing Yunjin, both of you only one look away from finding out your fates.

“Okay, are we ready?” Be still, your heart.

With one nod, you both look at the piece of paper that holds the names of those participating in the Romeo and Juliet production. As you spot Yunjin’s name beside Rosaline Capulet, your heart leaps at the sight.

“Oh my god, Yunjin, you GOT IT!”

“Y/N, YOU’RE JULIET!” You lock eyes with your best friend, eyebrows raised in confusion at her words. “Girl, look!” She moves your face with one hand and has the other pointing right where your name lands—Y/N as Juliet Capulet. Your hand reaches to your face, palm covering your mouth as you hold back a gasp. Mind jumbled, you didn’t know what to say.

Yunjin pulls you into an embrace, jumping in her place. “WE GOT IN!” Her cheer sounds throughout the hallway, earning stares from those surrounding you two and those passing by.

Your eyes trail down the list, trying to find someone’s name. The sight of your other best friend’s name has you smiling, but you’re pulled out of your utopia when you find it situated beside a character he didn’t audition for—Lee Jaehyun as Count Paris.

“Hyunjae didn’t get Romeo?” The whisper has Yunjin halting her actions.

Her eyes rest back on the casting list. “What? He didn’t get in?”

“No, he did, but he’s playing Paris.” With furrowed eyebrows, your eyes look to who your scene partner is; who is your Romeo Montague? And when you see the word “Lee”, you expect that Sir Key might’ve made a mistake and inputted Hyunjae’s name twice.

That is until you read the word that trails after the first—Lee Sangyeon as Romeo Montague.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Lighting erupts within you. The air current moves at a speed fast enough to form a tornado, and it just so happens that you’re in the eye of it. You’re face-to-face with a natural disaster, wondering its next course of action—to consume you whole or to leave you be.

Lee fucking Sangyeon; oh how you couldn’t even say his name without your blood boiling. Is there anything even good to say about the cocky motherfucker?

You shared the tragic fate of attending the same high school as Sangyeon. And just like you, he was in the theater club. At first, he was just someone like you—a student with a passion for acting. But the thing about Sangyeon is that he presents himself well, earning gushes from those part of the club, students and teachers alike. It seemed that he was the perfect actor, always landing the leading roles. At one point, you wanted to believe that it was because he was a good actor, but the reality unraveled itself when you saw what was behind the scenes.

Lee Jaehyun, or Hyunjae as he goes, shared the same dreams as Sangyeon. They both wanted to act, ideally landing leading roles. The passion the two shared should’ve fostered friendly rivalry, a way to propel them to reach heights never imagined. But the more Sangyeon received countless opportunities to play the lead role, the more Hyunjae’s determination started to crumble. What makes the whole thing even bleaker is that Sangyeon knew what his rival felt, and made the most out of that opportunity to tear him down.

What started off as genuine words of encouragement had turned into two-faced statements. And it hurt to see your best friend believe he was incapable of becoming an actor. If anything, you could name countless roles that he deserved to play the leading role, and many could agree with you. As your best friend started to crumble, you were driven by the desire to protect him. With every appearance Sangyeon made, your hostility towards him grew, and it didn’t help that he solidified it with only one interaction.

Scratchy; that’s what your sweater feels like against your skin. Perhaps it’s the heat of the hallway that has you wanting to strip your knit sweater off, or the material has just worn off. You tug on the collar, hoping that the discomfort will dissipate. Eyes trained on the corkboard that held the names of productions your club has done throughout the years, you wonder what role could you land for The Scottish Play.

It’s unlike you to audition for a big role, a leading role to be exact, for you found yourself growing comfortable in minor ones and ensemble. Yunjin has never been able to convince you to audition for the big roles, and your other friend, Kim Younghoon, could never find the right words to push you to sign up under a main character. But Hyunjae held some power over you—If you audition for Lady Macbeth, I’ll try out for Macbeth—and you couldn’t find it within yourself to say no, especially when Hyunjae was considering giving up auditioning for leading roles overall. 

You can feel the coolness of the concrete wall against your nape. Hamlet, Three Kingdoms, Sweeney Todd, and more are the productions you’ve hesitated to audition for the lead roles. You close your eyes in an attempt to calm your nerves. One audition wouldn’t kick you out of the club, right? If Ms. Jang learned that you were unfit to be an actor at that moment, you put the blame on Hyunjae.

(But in reality, you knew you would blame yourself. Hyunjae wouldn’t be at fault for what Ms. Jang decides to do with you. Every failure you face is caused by you, and you need to take responsibility for each one.)

Then, the door swings open, and the cold air that the air conditioners of the theater expel hits your skin, causing goosebumps to form. A shudder runs down your spine. Your eyes peel open, and you’re ready to greet the person who exited the theater, about to wish them luck. But when you catch sight of the one person who has done nothing but tear your best friend down, the taste in your mouth is like acid.

His head whips in your direction, catching sight of you seated with the sample script that Ms. Jang provided resting on your lap. His eyebrows shoot up and his eyes trail you from top to bottom. “So, which one?”

The question catches you off guard. Although you didn’t like Sangyeon, you two didn’t really talk for there was no reason to do so in the first place. So, when he does decide to talk to you—like this moment, and it’s not like you two really talked until now—you find yourself surprised at the interactions.

When you tilt your head in confusion, he chuckles with a smug look plastered on his face. “Which of the Three Witches?”

And with just one question, you feel your resolve snap. For him to assume that you were auditioning for one of those roles felt like an insult. It’s not that you didn’t see the value of these roles; you know that the production is nothing without the people to fulfill the minor roles. But to hear such a question from him with his record of humiliating Hyunjae, you cannot help but believe he’s trying to do the same to you.

“I’m auditioning for Lady Macbeth,” you answer, venom laced with your tone. It doesn’t help that shock casts on Sangyeon’s features.

“Oh, I see,” he starts. He clears his throat, an attempt to hide his bewilderment, and shoots you a smile. “Well, I’d like to have you as my scene partner.”

Cocky—that’s all Lee Sangyeon will ever be. His ego has been inflated with all the leading roles he’s landed. You’ve never met anyone filled with pride like his; how could he prance around with confidence that he would get the role he auditioned for every single time?

You roll your eyes as you stand up from your seat, the script now in your hands. “I can’t believe you’re so confident that you’ll be playing Macbeth. Have you ever considered that maybe you won’t play the main role for once?” The glare you shoot at him does nothing to his pride.

“I don’t know, I’m pretty confident about the performance I gave just a few minutes ago.”

It baffles you. Sangyeon continues to prove that he’s never been given a reality check; maybe you should snap some sense into him.

“I’d rather settle for being part of the ensemble—no, having no role than play your scene partner.” If Sangyeon is thrown off by your statement, he does a good job hiding it, just like the supposed perfect actor when it comes to handling ad-libs on stage. He would never understand what it means to be an actor—what makes a production successful—if he didn’t appreciate the minor roles. 

If he had something to say back to you, you don’t give him a window to do so for you have taken your leave. You first came with a desire for the auditions to be over, but now, you come with a desire to prove you’re an actor capable of any role. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought, especially whatever Lee Sangyeon seemed to think about you.

For the first time, you and Hyunjae played the leading roles in a production. Sangyeon was left as an understudy.

Although you were in university, it’s not that you could escape Sangyeon for you two were in theater. Thankfully, the productions you’ve had a chance to work on didn’t always have Sangyeon playing the leading role.

(Though, he did still play a handful. Perhaps he still held some charm over the university crowd.)

But due to the bigger cast and production team, it was usually easy for you to avoid him. You know when to take your leave, and you know to tune him out if you can hear him act (or speak, really). Nothing good ever comes out of interacting with Sangyeon; it’s best to limit your interactions with him for it would preserve your sanity.

But the universe seems to have other plans for you. Face-to-face with his name situated right beside the name in which your character is romantically interested, you cannot help but read his name again, and again, and again.

You wish that this is just a nightmare, that you fell asleep in the middle of Mr. Won’s class, and that you’re paying for the consequences by your consciousness presenting you with the worst outcome. God, you really did mean it when you said you would rather settle for no role than play Sangyeon’s scene partner.

Stupid Sangyeon, Sangyeon, Sangyeon. And as if it were the curse of the Bloody Mary, saying his name three times brings you to your demise.

“Huh, guess you ended up being my scene partner after all.”

You whip your head to where the devil stands, right beside you with arms crossed as his eyes remain on the casting list. His gaze lands on you, and a smug grin rests on his face. “I’m wondering if you’ll talk to Kevin or Sir Key about withdrawing from the production.”

His words make you frown. Before you can retort, he walks away, your eyes burning holes into his back. Yunjin could sense the rage within you and kept her hands on your shoulders in an attempt to calm you down. 

An exasperated sigh leaves you. “I cannot believe that guy.” You look at your best friend who only holds an apologetic look. “Can’t believe I have to deal with his shit even ‘till now.”

“I know.” She bites on the inside of her cheek. Before she could say more, her phone vibrated in her hand. As she reads out the notification, she groans. “Fuck, I need to go. I just remembered I have a project to work on.” She stores her phone away. “Where are you headed?”

“Uhm, I’m gonna wait for Hyunjae,” you say as your shoulders sag down. As you hear your best friend hum, you spot a teasing smile resting on her lips and you roll your eyes. “You’ve got to stop that.”

“Stop what? I’m not saying anything,” Yunjin attempts to defend herself but you both know she’s far from innocent.

You shake your head, a giggle leaving you. “Whatever, go! I’ll see you later.” You’re left staring at the cast list as she takes her leave. Busy hands fiddle with your phone, clicking one of the contacts marked as a favorite. You bring it close to your ear, waiting for him to pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Hyunjae-ah, where are you?”

“I’m on the way to where the cast is posted!” His hurried reply signals that he’s running to where you are. “I just heard from Joshua that it was released early.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, I heard the same from Yunjin. I’ll wait for you.”

“No need to wait too long.” You look behind you to see your best friend standing a few meters away. His hair is tousled up from all the running but still falls back perfectly in place. His hand combs through it, a grin resting on his lips at the sight of you, as he jogs towards you.

“Hey, where’d you come from?”

His arm finds its spot around your shoulders, bringing you close to his side. All while he is transfixed on the castling list, your gaze rests on your best friend. “I just had Ethics—oh my god, YOU GOT JULIET!” He spins to face you and brings you into a hug.

“Yeah,” your arms find their place around his shoulders as his limbs rest on your waist. “But, you know, you got Paris.” When you lean back, you only see a grin on his lips.

“Yeah, but who cares? I mean, my sweetheart got the part she wanted.” There he goes again, using the pet name that started as a quip but still sticks years later. You roll your eyes at his remark, but before you can say any more, he beats you to it. “Don’t think about backing out now.”

A sigh leaves you. “But,” you glance at the name of your (and Hyunjae’s) enemy, “I’ve gone through enough of him in high school. Can’t I live my uni life in peace?” You pout at your best friend, and he chuckles at your behavior, cheeks dusted with hues of red.

“Do you really want to give him the satisfaction of making you quit such a big role?” Would it be that bad to say yes? “C’mon, playing Juliet is a huge deal! You’re destined to play that role! And, I mean, you wouldn’t want to disappoint Sir Key and Kevin…”

God, it did hurt you to agree with Hyunjae. You didn’t want to waste the time and effort Sir Key and Kevin Moon, the teacher adviser and the director, must’ve put into crafting the cast list. But to go through months with Sangyeon, all for a university play? It’s not that you were pursuing a career in theater, or acting for that matter.

But would you from a few years back—a high schooler who treated every theater production as if it were a Broadway one—say the same thing? Is this the role you wanted to take on as an actor, one willing to step down over a nuisance? 

With one sigh, Hyunjae knew what your answer was. He smiles before dragging you away from the piece of paper that seems to only bring downpour. “I don’t know if this will make you feel better but I heard from Changmin that there’ll be a house party. Maybe we can drink the sour mouths away.”

“Drink the what away?” You chuckle at his choice of words. “Hyunjae, I’m so glad you aren’t a scriptwriter.”

He scoffs at your insult, “But you get what I mean.”

“I do not.”

He rolls his eyes, playfully shoving you which causes you to giggle. “Let’s just drink the bitterness away. We could be meeting our other castmates and the prod team, maybe getting to know them more.”

You cannot help but hum as you ponder over your schedule for the rest of the week. “I don’t know. I have this one homework for Mr. Won’s class that I sure as hell don’t know how to answer. I mean, I don’t even know what the instructions are!”

“Ah, just trust me! I’ll help you out with that. Just,” he stops you two in the middle of the hallway. There were barely any students for they scrambled off to their respective classrooms or looked for lunch. He pouts at you, his hands now holding yours as his fingers draw circles on the back of your dorsals. “Go with me, will you?”

It doesn’t take you a moment for you to make up your mind; you’re sure the trade-offs that come from that party won’t save your ass from Physics or Sangyeon.

But when Hyunjae leans in, his lips ghosting your ear, your breath hitches. “I’ll take good care of you, sweetheart.” You’re nothing but a puddle (and a sheep). So once he leans back, you nod. At the sight of your confirmation, he smiles. “Okay, let’s go have lunch.”

You can only hope that Hyunjae (or any of your friends, really) understood annular momentum, or whatever it’s called.

(You truly are a lost cause in Physics, and you’ll be blaming it on Sangyeon. Every inconvenience is caused by him, anyway.)

For anyone who thinks theater kids couldn’t party, they’re wrong (partially, only). Sure, there were the occasional show tunes that played from Kevin’s playlist, and a certain someone named Ju Haknyeon who belts out of the blue, but no one complained.

With only a few drinks in, you and Hyunjae are buzzed. And although you both agreed on using this party as an opportunity to get to know the other members, you still found yourselves sticking together—shoulders bumped, hands laced, or arms wrapped around each other.

Now, you two along with Yunjin and Younghoon were hanging out in the kitchen, not away from where the crowd was but quiet enough to have your own conversations.

“You know, I finally got to talk to Jihyo,” Yunjin says before taking a sip from her drink.

Younghoon tilts his head. “Park Jihyo? The one playing Lady Capulet?” A hum of confirmation leaves her as she continues to drink. “Did you see her audition for The Baker’s Wife for Into The Woods?”

Yunjin nods, letting the rim of her cup leave her lips and smacking Younghoon’s arm repeatedly. “I was able to sit in for the auditions because I signed up for prod team instead. Girl, I can’t believe she didn’t get the part.”

“Yeah, didn’t Rei get the part instead?” Hyunjae asks to which Younghoon nods.

“Didn’t she audition for Little Red Riding Hood?”

Yunjin shrugs at your question. “I’m not sure, but I do see her playing that role versus the wife.” She sets her cup on the kitchen counter behind her. “Don’t get me wrong, though. They’re both outstanding actors but I would’ve changed the casting. Some of them would’ve played different roles that suited them vocally and acting-wise.”

“Well,” you sigh. “You know that some directors are just batshit blind.” Hyunjae cannot help but elbow you, earning a whine from you as he chuckles. “I’m serious, though! Like, look at Hyunjae! He’s the perfect example.”

“Ouch. Thanks for reminding me of my tragic history.”

You roll your eyes at Hyunjae’s words, the playful tone evident in his words. “I’m just saying, some directors don’t know what they’re doing.”

In no way did you have anything against Kevin. You’re certain that he knew what he was doing; it didn’t sit right that Hyunjae lost a huge role to the same prick who couldn’t get off his high horse. But there is no point in contesting because your best friend wouldn’t allow you. All that mattered to him was that you got the role.

“Yes, but I trust Kevin. Honestly, I’m just glad I still landed a role,” Hyunjae shrugs as he sips.

Younghoon hums along. “Exactly! I heard Hyeongjun didn’t even make it to ensemble.”

A groan rips out of your throat, knowing that the two made a good point. “Yeah, I trust him, too. I just,” you shake your head at the thought of your enemy. “I’m just sick of Sangyeon.”

At the mention of the devil’s name, you feel an arm wrap around your shoulders, your shoulder hitting against something firm. And when your eyes drift to the stranger, you’re met with the bane of your existence.

“Talking about me, sweetheart?”

To hear Sangyeon use that pet name had your stomach churning. You plant your hand against his chest in an attempt to push him away, but you feel his pecs through the white, cotton material, and you quickly retract it. Instead, you shrug his arm off.

“What are you doing here?”

His gaze rests on the boy beside you, shooting him a smile. “Shouldn’t we use this time to build our chemistry?” To others, Sangyeon may have genuine enthusiasm to get to know his scene partner, but you and Hyunjae knew that his grin held nothing but arrogance.

You move closer to Hyunjae and his hand finds its spot on your waist. Sangyeon’s eyes flicker to your best friend’s hand but he still holds the same smile.

“Sangyeon, it’s just acting. I can easily fake chemistry,” you shake your head, trying to scoot even further towards Hyunjae. There’s barely any space between you two. “Unless your supposed great ass can’t fake it. Did all those years spent in theater not teach you anything?”

There’s no way to fake chemistry; everyone knows that, from actors to audiences. But when you’re face-to-face with Sangyeon, you would take any opportunity to get back at him for what he’s done—not only to Hyunjae but to you, as well.

Despite your words, Sangyeon’s expression never wavers. Stoic Sangyeon—he always knew how to get on your nerves. “Isn’t the point of this party to get to know each other?” You roll your eyes, looking away to give your eyes a break from the nuisance.

But when you feel his breath fanning against your left cheek, you’re afraid to say anything. The distance between you two right in front of your friends makes it feel like it’s forbidden, especially when Hyunjae has his arm wrapped around you.

“Especially with our kissing scenes.”

A chill runs down your spine. You know what he’s doing—embarrassing you in front of your high school friends just to rile you up, and rubbing it into Hyunjae that he got the lead role once more. Whatever place Sangyeon first held in your life didn’t matter anymore; he’s dug himself deeper into the pits of hell that you never knew of until this moment.

You want to push Sangyeon off and drag Hyunjae out of the house, alone together and far away from him, but a booming voice breaks the tension.

“Wow! It’s nice to see our Romeo and Juliet getting to know each other,” Kevin comes into the kitchen with a grin and gains everyone’s attention.

Under the gaze of your director, you don’t think twice about what you do. “Yeah!” Your arm quickly links with Sangyeon’s, and you notice Sangyeon freezes up. It’s out of character for you to do such; you can only imagine the expressions of your friends. “Just old friends catching up, right?” When you look at Sangyeon, you notice a flicker of confusion in his eyes, but your forced smile is enough for him to get the message.

“Yeah,” he smiles at Kevin. “I’m just glad that my Juliet is someone I know.” My Juliet? Oh, you’re going to be sick. 

Kevin is amused with the newfound information. “I didn’t know you two were friends! I never see you two interacting.”

Perhaps your animosity towards Sangyeon is obvious but you weren’t going to allow the feud to get in the way of the role of a lifetime—Kevin can never know about the water that has gotten stained with red.

“Oh, we all went to the same high school.”

“Same theater club, too,” Sangyeon chimes in.

Kevin looks at everyone with amazement. “Oh, that’s so cool! From the same high school to the same university. I’m sure you’re all happy to see each other in the theater scene again.” Everyone but one, really.

“I’m looking forward to seeing everyone work in the production,” his eyes rested on you and Sangyeon once more. “Especially the chemistry between you two.”

When Kevin takes his leave, you all bid him farewell. And once he was an earshot away, you shrugged Sangyeon off. “See? I can fake chemistry.” Your glare finally causes a small reaction from him—the startled expression on his face makes you reign victorious. “Clearly, you need to work on that.”

If Sangyeon wants to retort, you don’t allow him to do so as you leave the kitchen with Hyunjae’s hand in yours.

A few hours have passed since Sangyeon decided to come and dampen Hyunjae’s and your moods. Thankfully, you haven’t seen him since but it could be because you were too drunk to care, or maybe you were too distracted by the boy whose lap you sit on.

“Hey, why don’t we get out of here?” Your best friend’s lips graze your ear. His hands hold onto your hip, his thumbs drawing patterns on the exposed skin that’s starting to peek. You giggle as you shake your head, earning a chuckle from him. “Why not?”

His whines have you dizzy (or it’s probably the effects of the alcohol), but you do your best to answer. “Hyunjae, we’re supposed to be getting to know our castmates better. Isn’t that why you asked me to go with you?” As you looked at everyone in the living room, you know for sure there was no chance to talk to them anymore for they were too intoxicated to remember tonight’s events.

When he presses his lips to your jawline, you cannot help but close your eyes at the sensation. “Yeah, but we aren’t even talking to anyone. Why don’t we just go back to your place and just, I don’t know, make out?” He whispers the last words as if it were taboo.

This is what you and Hyunjae were—friends who couldn’t help but enter territories that blur the line between platonic and romantic. Since you two first entered university, you and Hyunjae couldn’t seem to keep your hands to themselves, always finding their places on each other. It started in such a blur—at a party just like this, both intoxicated—but both of you couldn’t help but keep it going. You still limited your relationship to occasional make-out sessions and snuggling, but you never went past such stages with him. The two of you didn’t mind the unclear boundaries, anyway.

“I don’t know,” you finally look at your best friend. His eyes seem to glimmer, and the heat rushes to your cheeks. “I haven’t gotten to talk to Daniel.”

His eyebrows shoot up in amusement. “Kang Daniel? The one playing Lord Capulet?” As you hum, he chuckles. “I can’t believe you’re thinking of another man while you’re on my lap, sweetheart.” There he goes again, using that pet name.

“What do you mean? I just want to get to know my castmates better.” The teasing tone is evident. You crave the attention—the possession—Hyunjae seems to have for you.

And when his nose brushes against yours, all thoughts are knocked out of you. “Sweetheart, you don’t need to know anyone else, not even their names. You already have me.”

For a moment, you almost think this is it—the two of you will enter domains never traversed and there will be no way to go back from it, but you don’t mind, not with him, anyway.

His eyes flicker to your lips, and you hold your breath. “Don’t do that,” he chuckles. “You need to catch your breath before I take it away.”

Before he can do anything, you feel the couch move as someone takes a seat beside him. You’re ready to put some distance between the two of you, but when your eyes land on the stranger, you realize that the universe is not by your side or Hyunjae’s.

Hyunjae scoffs and his hand cradles your face, an attempt to get your attention back, but your blood boils over the sight of the same guy who always ruins everything.

“I didn’t know Juliet gets so touchy with Paris.” Sangyeon’s comment has you rolling your eyes. Clearly, you’re too distracted by him, and Hyunjae can’t do anything but give up. Instead, your best friend just settles on holding you close to him while your gaze remains on the devil.

“What’s with you? We don’t have to talk to each other unless it’s for rehearsals.” A frustrated sigh leaves you. “Don’t you know that all we have to do is act?”

When all you’re met with is the same cocky smile he flashed Hyunjae back at the kitchen, you shake your head. You’re about to glance at your best friend, prepared to tell him that you two should leave and retreat to your place.

That is until you feel someone’s fingers hold onto your chin, redirecting your gaze to Sangyeon. Now, you’re face-to-face with Sangyeon, the distance between you two is even smaller in comparison to when you were in the kitchen. 

The air is knocked out of your lungs, your eyes looking right at Sangyeon’s. Whatever you looked like had him smirking—you were defenseless against him for once.

“Can’t handle it?” The question is meant to provoke you, have your blood boil so that you scream profanities at him. You’re sure he’s pertaining to all the little stunts he’s been doing; teasing you to get a reaction from you, acting like you two are friends, and making comments about your acting experience.

But for a second, you almost think he’s talking about himself—could you handle him not only on the show dates but also be surrounded by him for the upcoming two months?

And once more, your brain turns into mush. The lights become streaks of different colors, and they do their job of making Sangyeon look different—still the same cocky motherfucker, but now, you want a taste.

Your mouth goes dry and you’re scared to exhale, but Sangyeon only smiles before letting his hand leave your chin. It’s clear he’s happy by your soundless reaction. When he stands up from the couch, he glances at Hyunjae, and his smile turns almost sinister.

You would’ve said something like you always do, but you’re unable to form a coherent sentence. You’re intoxicated; the alcohol’s still in your system, but Sangyeon’s gaze shows that the drinks you’ve had are nothing compared to him.

With that, he takes his leave. Whatever moment you and Hyunjae shared is now lost—all thanks to Sangyeon, once again.

if you enjoyed reading this, please do reblog with feedback!

[vs120shound]

SMOKING SWEETIES BRAND NEW: SMOKING LADIES PARTY 🚬 (7 BSWs GETTING DRUNK) 🚬

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ | Five "Stars"

From ericcartjman (SFK) | ★☆ (S/R)

Multi-Media 23-Pack

Dancing, getting so drunk -- smoking up a storm seven-fold (with an up-and-coming starlet to boot)!

. . . could they be having a better time? Probably not. All of SSW's multiple-BSW party series videos are unique but they share some prime characteristics: A lot of drinking. A lot of singing. And heavy, heavy chain light-ups often, indulgent joyous, addicted smoking. And they rarely are overdressed, showing much with which they were endowed -- up top, down below (caboose) and around their often taught bellies. They almost all appear as though they work-out religiously but with their habits with their cigarettes, it might be happening but the maintaining of a semblance of a high-quality fitness level would be demanding. Smoking and being a regular on a treadmill or stationary bike are kinds of incongruous. Wouldn't you say? This clip highlights some outstanding talking exhales, wonderful examples of the rarely seen "residual" exhales, superb light-up, hard core dragging and some top-notch, powerful exhales. These 7 new BSWs look scrumptious; they look divine; they look delightful. They are seductive, sultry and sexy. All are good looking and some are gorgeous, or their beauty quotients put them on the cusp of that status. This all applies to this video of "Smoking Ladies Party" -- which is hot off the presses -- as it does to the others from Smoking Sweeties' related series. Web-master/web producer Fran has set standards for these kinds of videos. So they are consistent by featuring similar attributes in style and flavor, with alike action from these lovely Spanish BSWs. The titles of the 12 videos in the same SSW genre include: Dance Class Meetup with 4 Smokers, 3 Smoking Girlfriends - Part 1, 3 Beginners Playing Pool, Smoking Ladies Night, Lucy and Ainhoa: The Chimney Girls, 3 Chimneys Talk about Smoking, 5 Chimneys in the Wine Cellar, 4 Chimneys in the Wine Cellar, 3 Chimneys in the Wine Cellar, 4 Heavy Smoking Girls Playing Cards, 4 Heavy Smoking Girls and, let's not forget, 3 Chimneys Playing Cards.

From the site administrators' narrative on the Smoking Sweeties post of "Smoking Ladies Party":

"Seven beautiful girls from different generations have come together. They are all regular smokers of [cork-tip] cigarettes in their real lives. . . . " . . . During the first 25 minutes of the video, the girls share some drinks while smoking and talk about their smoking habit. Talking exhales, open mouth inhales and large cone exhales are on display here. "The topics of conversation include how they started to smoke, sneaking cigarettes from their mothers, how they hid in high school to smoke their first cigarettes, their favorite cigarette of the day. And how their boyfriends have unsuccessfully tried to make them quit."

And to an extent, Fran might have discovered an emerging SF star, Nerea, the youngest of the lot who specializes in those outrageous French inhales. "She shines among them," the video's narrative proclaims. Two of the five reviews on the website on the first day of its release made mention of Nerea -- in glowing terms. Maybe we have a star in the making here in Nerea. She is already gaining fans within the Greater SF World Community. Now an excerpt from one of the five reviews posted to SSW, within the first 17 hours of its publication:

10 hours ago, by Raul

"The girl with the septum piercing [nose ring] desperately needs a solo video, as she stands out from the rest. She has an absolutely perfect face and you can tell she was born to smoke. She has the potential to be a smoking goddess like [SSW SF models] Lorena and Victoria."

Added in late-June 2023. Thanks to ericcartjman for the original post on Smoking Fetish Kingdom. Credit is deserved by the vs120shound staff for arranging all the details to bring to posting in a few handful of hours (some had outside work obligations to navigate while pitching in for our post's production). Quite a debut for each of these seven would-be SF models. Quite a snazzy introduction to the perhaps looming Smoking Ladies Party series.

SSW's 'OFFICIAL' ACCOMPANYING PHOTOS

Now for all 22 pictures released with the post within the past 24 hours on SmokingSweeties.com (Spain) but they are re-arranged in vs120shound style:

[hanafubukki]

Had a weird dream with Malleus being grumpy because the Senate were making a fuss about him wanting to marry me. He was clearly angry but didn't wanted to blow up when I was seeing. I found it cute, him and his grumpy face, so I just laughted to calm him down.

"Yeah, we know they are old fashioned faeries. Don't take what they are saying to heart, like Lilia told us."

And he mumbled with his grumpy voice "But they insulted you" And I patted his head (how the hell did I do that, I don't know- Seems like my dream logic didn't included the height differences 😂)

"And what are going to do ? Kidnapping me and taking me to a cave full of treasure like in the old dragon tale ?"

Well. I joked. But he looked down and took his refleting expression before smirking.

Next thing I remember before waking up was helding with all my strength the back of a black and purple dragon in flight.

Hope Lilia, Sebek and Silver will still be there the wedding though 😂

- 🦋 Anon

Hello 🦋 Anonie🌷🌻🌺

This is an adorable dream and I would love to have one like it. Brain, please, give me something cute like this 🙏💚

I love human x fae stories, and with the addition of pissing off the senate? I love them even more.

Malleus bent down so you could pat him, or even better, he was on your lap. ☺️💞💞

But Ah ah ah 🦋 Anonie, this is Malleus Draconia you are talking about.

Born from Meleanor Draconia, who didn’t let anyone choose her fiancé and rebelled against it. Who literally chose Levan and drove other suitors aways.

Hatched and raised by Lilia Vanrouge, the one who loves and taught Malleus valuable lessons. The one who knows all kinds of tricks and strategies and surprises.

This Malleus Draconia will go high above and beyond to get his way, after all, he put a whole island to sleep didn’t he?

Do you think he wouldn’t do just this? Do his version of a Vegas wedding I believe it’s called?

What was that saying? The villain would let the world burn for his loved ones, and this is exactly that.

(Book 7, literally, Book 7)

[tezzbot]

Okay.. so... fairly long post under the cut with the sort of background to my Sonic Underground AU!! If anyone's interested fjdgv I have thought about it a Lot lol

So basically, The background is that Eggman has definitely been up to shit since before Sonic was born lol and one of his sort of things when he I guess started out in villainy ? was he started trying to claim land and take over so that he could build his cities and theme parks and factories and what have you and rule over everything. So, after claiming some untouched land he started attacking “Mobian'' settlements, (not sure whether to stick with Mobian or what but the word gets my point across so I’m using it now sfgdh) and I guess started working his way up until he found Christmas Island, which is the small Kingdom Aleena ruled over at the time. This caused the Kingdom to fight back and started a war with Robotnik. However. Obviously the warzone was no place to be raising the Very recently born heirs to the throne (the three who would grow up to be Sonia Sonic and Manic, they might’ve had different names back then lol) and so Aleena with a Very heavy heart sent the three Far away, they had them sent to a dinky little orphanage in a fairly distant zone, intending to pick them back up when the war was over.

Unfortunately, Very early on in the triplet’s stay at the orphanage, when they were still practically babies, an unfortunate cot placement led to Manic being kidnapped sometime in the dead of night (don’t ask why they did it I just think it’s funny love and light). He was taken to a nearby city, and somehow managed to endear himself to Ferral, the leader of one of the larger sort of crime rings active there. This is where he learned to get by and live and thrive, little crime family they love each other and rag on each other so much smile smile smile.

Sonic stayed in the orphanage a lot longer than Manic, but doesn’t really remember his time there all that much. As soon as Sonic figured out how to, he ran. Ran as fast and as far as he was able. Ran until he had no idea how to get back. But he'd not a guilt on his conscience. He was free, for the first time felt truly free. He learned how to survive on his own and met a little two tailed fox cub and his life played out pretty much exactly the same as it does in the main line continuity :)

Sonia is the only one of the three who has any memory of staying in the orphanage and was the only one to leave there by regular means dgfhfg. At about five years old, she was one of a few girls from across the continent to be chosen to attend and live at an all girls school where they would grow into proper ladies™, being taught etiquette and manners and so on. She managed a fairly cushy lifestyle here but was never truly happy there. She obviously has her besties like Mindy, but it always felt far too restrictive and (figuratively) cold. So while she does do well there, she is slightly prone to getting in trouble and feels kind of belittled and invisible among her peers at times

So in the triplet’s maybe 3rd year? The war on Christmas Island ended and the Mobians were unfortunately forced to go into hiding. Aleena made it out and went into her own hiding in the form of laying low in a residential area in a nearby city, and attempted to blend in there for a few years before making the trip to finally reunite with her children. Unfortunately by the time she gets there, all three are gone :( Even though the orphanage may know where Sonia is, she feels as though she has failed all three as their mother and wouldn't be able to face any of them (despite the fact they're like. 6 year olds lol), and so retreats back to her city home.

Until, over a decade later, Aleena sees the world renowned hero Sonic the Hedgehog that she hears so much about, (maybe he’s just saved that part of the city from a badnik attack or something like that) and there is just… something about him that is so uncannily like her Bernie… His heroism and humility right down to his mannerisms, the being blue also adds to the effect. And… Aleena is not one to get her hopes up, but the chance of this being one of her missing children after all these years…

Then I’m thinking maybe, she is wearing the equivalent of the three medallions and, maybe as she gets closer to Sonic one of them has some sort of magical reaction ? or something I’m not actually sure. But something DOES confirm to Aleena that This is one of her kids oh my god!! And he’s just like his (other) mother… Aleena gets overwhelmed and ends up not talking to him. Sonic maybe notices someone in a long flowy jacket running away from the crowd, but gets distracted by the many other thankful citizens around him to really take note of it lol

This is when Aleena writes her letter to Sonic. She looks him up, tries very hard to find out where he lives. Ultimately coming up with nothing she’s like IS MY BOY HOMELESS?? But then what comes up eventually is a plethora of small garages and laboratories under the name Dr. Miles Prower and is like Oh! An apprentice maybe :) lol and so she rolls the dice and chooses one of those locations at random and hopes her message gets to him soon.

This is just the leadup to what would be the "main plot" of the AU and I do have more for it!! So if this like. Text based way of explaining my ideas is alright I can share more from the google doc if ppl are interested!! And maybe I'll doodle some stuff for it here n there who know (seems likely tho lol)

[claymoresword]

I Choose Her | Chp 1

Hermione Granger x Slytherin Fem!Reader

Summary: You are the daughter of two known death eaters from one of the oldest and richest families in the wizarding world. Are you truly prepared to give up everything you know for Hermione Granger?

Pairing: Hermione x Reader

Wordcount: 1.6k

Warnings: smut (?) , mention of death, draco malfoy sympathiser, ron weasley hater

Note: i wrote this for completely selfish reasons just like i do most things so i'm not sure if anyone's gonna enjoy this but me.. but if u do let me know! I do plan on expanding on this just not totally sure if i want to continue this as a full fic or just drabbles... again if u have a preference let me know lol

Also this is set during 6th year (half blood prince) if that's not clear.. anyway hope u enjoy!

You are the daughter of one of the richest and oldest wizarding families. Both your mother and father are known Death Eaters. They've raised you to follow in their footsteps, upholding the family's honor has always been taught to be your only priority.

You never had the desire to defile your parents, no goals beyond the ones laid out for you by them.

This all changed when you met Hermione Granger.

The Gryffindor girl turned your world upside down. Your affection for her forced you to question your principles, your morals, everything important to you. Everything you thought you knew.

The two of you were assigned to sit next to each other in potions in year 5. She saw you struggling and offered to help you a few times and naturally the two of you started speaking to each other more.

The chances of you meeting, let alone forming a friendship was slim to none, and yet somehow it happened.

Your relationship blossomed rather quickly, you had just met but it felt like you've known each other your entire lives. Within just a few months she even convinced you to join Dumbledore's Army and you truly believed in the cause, even after Umbridge shut it down.

Although you were a little hesistant to let Hermione in at first. You weren't sure if you wanted her to really know you.

For her, it was different. Meeting you felt like a breath of fresh air. Eventhough you were a Slytherin, she thought you to be the most profound person she'd ever met. She felt that she could truly open up to you without judgement.

She shared everything with you. Her passions, her dreams, her most piercing sorrows.

In turn, you opened up to her as well. Both of you deeply appreciated the solace you provide each other.

Hermione fell in love with you for many reasons, but what really stood out to her was your heart. Your perpetuity for kindness. You don't extend it to just anyone ofcourse. You don't believe everybody deserves kindness, most people use it as a weapon, a way to take advantage of you.

However, the compassion you showed her had always been constant and unconditional.

You were the most selfless person she knew.

Eventhough she couldn't fully understand why you treated certain people harsher than others, she still respected you. She trusted your judgement completely. Hermione was incredibly intelligent and you seemed to be the only other person that was her equal in that respect.

---

You were alone with Hermione in the Room Of Requirement. The two of you spent most of your free periods there because it was the only place you could be together free of judgement from others.

The other Slytherins still made comments about you hanging around Hermione, a Gryffindor, a muggle born. Your own parents have sternly warned you multiple times to keep different company but you will not give them the satisfaction. They just don't understand what Hermione meant to you.

You were willing to give up everything to be with her, this you were certain.

Hermione was sitting on the floor and you were laying down, your head was in her lap. She's stroking your hair as you listened to her tell you the things that have been happening with Ron lately.

She has been aware of Ron's crush on her for a few years now but it had only gotten more intense since year 4. She cares a lot for Ron but she feels no romantic feelings for him.

Hermione can't bring herself to tell him because Ron can be very emotional and might take it too personally, she doesn't want to risk ruining their friendship. She can't exactly tell Harry about any of it so she results to venting about it to you.

You've made a few snide remarks towards the ginger haired boy from time to time because honestly, you found him a bit pathetic but a part of you still empathizes with him.

Hermione is remarkable. Mature beyond her years, exceptionally bright and truly breathtakingly beautiful. You loved and adored her with all your heart and you understood why he would think the same.

Your heart swells everytime you look at her and every moment spent with her you felt the urge to pinch yourself, just to make sure you weren't dreaming.

Hermione finishes telling you about Ron and you're met with a few seconds of silence, your mind started to wander.

You let out a sigh.

"What is it?" Hermione asks, worried she had said something wrong to upset you.

"Nothing it's just-" You started, not quite sure if it was worth sharing with your girlfriend.

You decided to tell her anyway.

"Draco's been really distant lately and I don't understand why." You admitted.

"The more I try to get him to talk to me the more he pushes me away. The only time he ever really speaks to me is to try and convince me to join the Death Eaters." You paused, unsure if this was a topic suitable to discuss with her.

Hermione just hums in response, indicating that she's listening and wants you to continue.

"I don't know, I cant put my finger on it but my gut tells me that something really bad is about to happen." You finish.

"Well from what I've seen your gut is rarely ever wrong. Do you think maybe becoming a death eater changed him? Maybe he's distant because you refuse to become one of them." The brown haired girl suggests.

"Maybe, I just feel like there's more to it. I can't shake the feeling that there's something big he's not telling me." You answer as your eyebrows furrow.

You do love Draco, you understood he acts the way he does because of his father's harsh treatment and expectations of him. Something you can deeply relate to.

You felt for him. He was like a brother to you and it troubled you that he wasn't being honest.

Hermione moves her hand to your forehead, she rubs small circles with her thumb near the crease of your eyebrows. You close your eyes at the sensation, taking in a deep breath.

You feel yourself relax almost immediately.

"I'm sorry he's not speaking to you, I know how much you care for him." Hermione says honestly.

"But maybe its for the best." Your girlfriend voices out and your eyes shoot open.

Hermione notices your confused look so she continues.

"I just mean that since he's with the death eaters now maybe it's better that he's avoiding you. It makes it easier for you to stay away from them." Hermione clarifies.

You close your eyes again and she resumes the pattern of rubbing her thumb across your forehead.

"Maybe you're right." You pause. "I still miss who he was before all of this."

"I suspect you feel the same." You add.

You sit up now looking at her in the eyes.

"Meaning?" Hermione asks her eyebrows now furrowed.

"I meant with Harry. On top of everything that's already going on I heard he lost Sirius. I can't imagine how he's handling it all." You explain.

"He has been a lot angrier lately, I try my best to give him the space he needs. But I think he knows he needs Ron and I now more than ever." She replies.

"Well how are you dealing with all this?" You ask Hermione, earnestly.

She doesn't say anything for a few seconds. A full smile suddenly forming across her face, your girlfriend leans in and plants a kiss on your lips.

Your initial shock dissipates quickly as you kiss her back with just as much need.

"Okay, what was that for?" You breathe out against her lips as soon as she pulled away.

"You are the only person to ever ask me how I am." The brown haired girl states.

You let out a laugh. A smile now spread across your face.

"Well I am your girlfriend I think it would be a bit shitty if I didn't care about your well being." You quipped.

She leans forward and places her lips against yours again, this time she moves her entire body and straddles you, legs on either side of your hips.

"I don't think you understand how amazing you are." Hermione says looking into your eyes as she grabs your face in both her hands.

You lean in to kiss her again, deeply. All your love for the smaller girl pouring out into a single kiss.

Hermione shifts in your lap and your hands reflexively move to rest on her waist. She runs her tongue across your bottom lip signaling that she wanted to deepen the kiss, you allow her.

Her tongue meets yours and she lets out a small moan at the sensation. Your hands glide to her back and eventually settling on her ass.

Your breathing both getting heavier as the kiss becomes more heated. Your hands roam Hermione's body and she squirms in your lap, wanting to feel more of you.

You disconnect your lips to plant a kiss on Hermione's neck, you run your tongue along the base of her jaw and this earned another moan from your girlfriend. Her hand finds the back of your neck and she pulls you in closer.

You move your hands up to find Hermione's tie, you loosen it and she lets you pull it over her head. Just as you were about to unbutton her shirt you are interrupted by footsteps.

You hear someone clear their throat.

"Y/n." Draco says, his tone indifferent to the sight before him.

Hermione scrambles off your lap and you both quickly stand up, gathering yourselves.

"Draco." You respond, matching his attitude.

You step forward, deliberately placing yourself in between Hermione and Draco. You understood that she could handle herself but there is still no telling what he might try and do to her in his current state.

It was then you took notice of the green apple he had in his hand, becoming increasingly perplexed. You didn't understand what his business was.

"Now what brings you here?" You ask, meeting his stern gaze.

[jujitto]

🩰﹒𝖳𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗈𝗋 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 ♩ ⁺ 𝖯𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝖲𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇

⭒ ۪ ׂ ۪ 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾 ۪ ׂ 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍, 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 ⭒ ۪ ׂ ۪ cw ۪ ׂ 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝖾 ⭒ ۪ ׂ ۪ wc ۪ ׂ 𝟧.𝟦𝗄

⭒ ۪ ׂ ۪ 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 ۪ ׂ 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗈𝗋 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾, 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉. 𝗌𝗈 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖾𝖽? 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗒.

⭒ ۪ ׂ ۪𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗒 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝖽𝖺𝗒! 🎉

You always wondered if you failed at making your mother's dream come true. Ballet was what she dreamt of doing as a young girl and that's what she did. She danced her way into people's hearts and minds.

Awards after awards lined the walls of her bedroom and even the living room of the family house. At a young age, your mother knew that when she had a daughter of her own that she would want her to follow in her footsteps and become a great ballerina just like she had been. 

Maybe that's where she messed up. When you were born she knew right then and there that you were going to be a star but as you grew she could tell you had different dreams than her. Though she did sign you up for ballet lessons by the end of the first lesson she knew that you weren't interested in it. But that didn't stop her from pursuing a career in the field of ballet. Though her only daughter didn't want anything to do with what she loved she knew other people would. That's where she had the idea to start her own company and that's what she did.

From the ground up she built a company teaching thousands of young students who had hopes and dreams of becoming the top ballerinas. Though it didn't stop there because around the age of 16 you and her were relocating to South Korea for her to teach at the upcoming new ballet school.

For you, you never could understand how you just up and moved. Leaving your whole life that you had known in America. Korea was a whole new step for you. Being transferred to a new school and being nothing like the other students was completely different.

In America everyone was different and everything was different. Not only school but other things as well like the language barrier, food, the culture, and for you dating. In America dating for you was easy as people were open and easily asked you out.

But in Korea, it felt like people were scared to almost ask you out or even talk to you. To you, it felt like you were alone so to say and you couldn't understand it. Dating was always hard in Korea especially for you except when you met him. Things started to look up. He was always nice and kind to you. He would go out of his way just to talk to you and see you smile which honestly made you flustered because no other guy here was like this towards you.

You enjoyed him and his company. Park Sunghoon, 19, a college sophomore, and a dance major, is also one of your mom's students. Yes, you heard right your mom's student. If there was anything that you hated it would be that. Because there was one rule your mom had and that was to not date any of her students. And as luck would have it your crush was one of those unlucky people.

Out of all the people in the world it had to be one out of lord knows how many students your mom taught. As much as you would like to say this was something that put a hold on you pursuing the boy it sadly wasn't. Oh, how you knew your mother would have a fit if she found out that you, her precious sweet little girl were planning to or what I meant was dating one of her fellow students. Somewhere down the line, you two had managed to start dating but what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her, right?

Today you didn't have a busy schedule as being a college student was always sort of busy you had decided to visit your mom at work. Though in your mind you knew what you were going there for, she didn't. You shushed the people who were mumbling and pointing toward you so they wouldn't spoil the surprise of you being there.

You hadn't visited your mom at work in quite some time so who knows if she was expecting you or not. You chuckle smiling brightly at the older woman who narrowed her eyes at you in the mirror. Your arms wrapped around her neck as you hugged her back tightly. She patted the back of your head as a smile made its way upon her lips. 'It's nice to see you daughter. How long has it been?' She teased raising an eyebrow at you.

You huffed rolling your eyes at the older woman. 'You know I could never not come and visit you. I'll always make time for you Momma.' You spoke pressing a kiss on her cheek as she smiled shaking her head at you. She stood at the front of the room with you by her side as you smiled brightly at the curious little ones before you.

'I would like to introduce you to someone you guys have yet to meet. My lovely daughter.' Your mother introduced you to the young ones who stared in awe at you. Probably because the only foreigner they had seen was your mother and you being here was something new. You smiled and waved at curious children.

'If you're busy I can come back later. I know how busy you are being a top teacher here and all so this can wait until your lunch break.' You teased pulling the strap of your bag closer to your chest as she gave you a look that only a mother could give their daughter.

You kissed her cheek as she waved you off turning her attention back to the class. You waved goodbye to the little ones as you passed. Your hands clutched the strings of the hoodie you wore as you made your way through the company.

Your feet carry you where you want to be. Your heart pounded against your chest as you felt butterflies. For some reason, you didn't quite understand it but you loved the feeling deep down.

Your knocks were soft against the door. The door opened quietly as you didn't want to disturb him. Though the music was soft and it was still quite loud so he wouldn't be able to hear the door open as you entered the room. Your eyes gazed lovingly as you watched him dance. It didn't matter how many times you watched him perform the same routine over and over again it always amazed you to watch him dance.

Though it wasn't for you, you could tell that wasn't the case for him. You knew how much he loved ballet just from how he gracefully moved across the room as if he was the only person in it. He danced as if nothing else in the world mattered and that's why you liked watching because of how passionate he did so.

The song came to an end as you stood applauding the boy who turned to face you as blush danced across his cheeks. 'Encore.' You cheered as he smiled at you before going to get a drink of water. As he did so you couldn't help but take in his appearance.

The platinum blonde strands of his hair in a half up half down, the black leotard tank and tights fitted his body well, and the silver necklace he wore shined under the light. At times like this, you were blessed to have such a handsome boyfriend. You tore your eyes from him as he turned back towards you. 'I didn't know you were coming.' He spoke as you shrugged. You guess that you had forgotten to tell him that. Maybe you had wanted to surprise him as well? That was the only logical reason you could think of.

'Surprise.' You sang doing jazz hands and all as he laughed along with you. His long slender arms came to wrap you in his embrace as his head was buried into your neck. You sighed feeling the warmth and comfort of his hug.

You've missed him. Sure there were messages and calls but it wasn't the same thing as seeing him in person. The smile on your face was big as you cupped his cheeks. 'You've been taking care of yourself?' You question as he nodded.

'Good because I would hate-" you gasped feeling his lips pressed against yours. You were left breathless as he pulled away. Eyes fluttering open softly as he stared at you with so much love. 'I missed you.' He expressed with a smile on his lips.

What could you say without turning into a complete idiot?! 'I missed you too Sunghoon.' He sighed happily to hear the words he has been wanting to hear since he saw you. Though those weren't the only words he has been wanting you to say. Your relationship was still quite new. Crushing on each other for a year and dating for 5 months.

Though it has been five months since you two officially got together you had yet to say the words most people would've said four or three months into a relationship. Though he knew I love you was something not everyone could say. Sometimes he wondered if that was the case with you.

The smile you wore made his heart beat faster as you stared at him in awe. Your fingers twirl the left-out strands of his hair. Lips against his as he pulled your body into his; soft and yet wanting. Hands laced in his hair while his rested on your waist.

The beating of your heart and your surroundings went from your mind. He was your only focus. He always would be. With a huff, you pulled away as your phone began to buzz. 'Hello?' You spoke a bit annoyed at the fact that someone has ruined your time with your boyfriend.

Sunghoon softly chuckled at you as you glared at him. 'Y/N. I shouldn't have to wait for you. Wasn't lunch your idea?' Your mother complained as you did your best to not roll your eyes.

But you knew it was best not to keep her waiting. 'I'll be there in a minute. Just wait for me, please.' You spoke ending the call before she had a chance to respond. You rushed to grab your bag from where you had placed it only to be stopped by Sunghoon's hand on your wrist. 'Let me walk you there.' He spoke as you stopped and thought for a moment. You knew your mom would either question why he was with you or blatantly accuse you two of dating.

The second option wasn't something you needed right now. 'Hoon...I'm not so sure about that. You know how my mom is.' You admitted as he nodded but didn't let go. You tried to pull away from him only to get pulled back into his arms.

'Hoon come on. I don't need to be any later than I already am.' You cautioned still trying to get out of his arms. He smiled letting go of you only to grab your hand in his. You sighed and let him pull you along with him. You didn't have to even look at him to know he had that stupid smirk of his on his face. You could feel your cheeks grow warm at the fact that everyone you two passed knew something was going on between you two. Oh, how you wanted to disappear from it all.

He came to stop making you bump into his back. The lobby was filled with students signing in and others who were either chatting or going on their ways. In the middle of it stood your mother who was looking at her watch probably wondering where the hell you were. You sighed finally being able to unclasp Sunghoon's hand from yours.

'Mom. I'm sorry. I got distracted by something. But we can go now. I'll even pay.' You rambled as your mother were a suspicious look on her face but slowly began to smile. You turned around confused only to face your boyfriend's chest. 'My favorite student. How are you Sunghoon dear?' Your mother asked as you still stood there mouth agape.

Sunghoon lightly chuckled before answering your mother. 'I'm doing quite well Ms.Y/L/N. Just had to help y/n out as she had gotten lost.' He spoke before letting out a warm-hearted chuckle as he patted your head. You wanted to slap him. Your mother glanced between you and the boy suspiciously before smiling.

'Thank you. I wouldn't want her to get lost. We'll be seeing you, dear. Thank you again.' Your mother thanked him before turning and walking away telling you to come on. You followed after her before glancing back towards the male only to see him blowing kisses at you making you chuckle and shake your head. You and your mother walked arm and arm down the sidewalk to the restaurant your mother wanted to try.

'I didn't know you two were friends.' Your mother finally spoke up as you shrugged. That's one way to put it. 'Yeah, but we aren't that close. We just talk about college and our schedules. That's about it.' You lied as your mother hummed as a sign she was listening. The smile on your face slowly became a frown.

You hated lying to your mother. But nothing good would come from her knowing that you were dating one of her students. She'll probably say something like she needed him to be focused and not be so worried about anything else that could ruin his reputation or career. You hated that she probably wouldn't care if you made him happy or he made you happy because it would just ruin what he had going for him.

You sighed poking the food on your plate as you tried your best to listen to what your mother was saying. You knew from the silence that she had stopped talking and was looking at you. 'What's the matter with you?' Your mother asked as you looked up from your chair. You huffed sitting up straight before looking at her.

'I've met someone. I mean I've been with him for 5 months. But there's a problem. He wants me to meet his mother but I'm afraid she'll have a problem with it. What should I do?' You asked as your mother stopped what she was doing to stare at you. You could tell from the look she wore on her face that she was contemplating what you had said.

'You shouldn't care what she thinks. It's your relationship. Did I tell you that I and your father had this problem too? Well-' You stopped listening to her after she started talking about her and your father. If only she knew that you were talking about her. For the longest time, you thought about what she had said. Even as you sat in the car next to Sunghoon. His hand squeezed yours getting your attention.

'You're quiet. What's wrong?' He questioned all you could do was just shake your head. You didn't want to ruin your night out with him just over something as little as your conversation with your mom. But you couldn't help but wonder deep down if he was wondering the question that had been on your mind. If he has been wanting to meet your parents. You know deep down that was what he truly wanted but yet you hadn't given him the chance to him.

It wasn't like he was the one who was nervous because that was all you. Nervous to hear what your mother had to say or if she would be angry at you for doing what she told you not to do. You wondered. You wondered too much for your brain to comprehend. It was tiring. And stressful. You sighed at both your thoughts and the tickling feeling of Sunghoon's kisses.

A smile made this way upon your face as your eyes connected with his. His eyes stare so lovingly at you just like they always did. He kissed your lips softly no other meaning behind it besides love.

Maybe just maybe you would risk it all. You would risk it all if it meant that he would be by your side. Only him. At this moment and time, you didn't care for your mother's opinion but from the way she was staring so intensely at you and Sunghoon's clasped hands, you wanted to disappear.

For the entirety of dinner, she hadn't said a word but luckily your father was there to keep the conversation rolling. You wished your mother was like your father and would just not make this any more awkward than you already felt it was. But nope.

You rubbed your temple as you paced the porch. Sunghoon sat watching as you did so. You didn't know why you thought this was a good idea. You just thought it was. But here you were questioning why you had done what you did. If it wasn't for your mother you think the afternoon would've gone well. But maybe you were wrong.

'I just knew this was a bad idea.' You spoke taking a seat next to Sunghoon. 'I shouldn't have brought you here. I should've known this was going to happen.' You licked your lips turning to face the male who hadn't said a word. His arms were crossed over his chest as he wore an uncertain look on his face. You wrapped your jacket tighter to your body as you sighed. 'I guess it's time to go back in.' You spoke with a forced smile.

As you went to grab the door handle you turned to face Sunghoon who stood in the same spot. 'I was never going to meet your parents, was I?' He claimed with an unreadable expression on his face. You didn't say anything. What could you say? That he was wrong because he wasn't. 'No, I'll admit to you right now you were never going to meet my parents. I was never going to introduce you to them.' You admitted and you felt bad about doing so.

From the look on his face, you could tell that he was upset and most likely angry as well. Because here he was standing with his girlfriend of 5 months who just told him the hard truth of her not wanting or was never going to introduce him to her parents. He wondered if you were so hesitant about introducing him to your parents would it be the same as why you didn't say I love you yet?

He sighed turning his back towards you. You didn't move as you knew he needed space to breathe. 'Hoonie my mother.- He couldn't help but scoff. You were quick to turn on your heels to face him. 'Why should you care about what your mom thinks, huh yn? Who's relationship is this? Yours or hers? I think it's best if I just got home obviously because I was never meant to be here in the first place. Let's just leave it at that.'

He spoke giving you one last glance before taking his leave. You just let him. It wasn't even the case that your feet were stuck to the ground or that you wanted to let him be.

You just let him go. Away from you. Go away from the troubles you've caused him. After all, it was all your fault. You couldn't blame him if he wanted nothing to do with you anymore. You didn't even want him to meet your parents for god sake which was like one of the biggest steps in a relationship but here you were standing alone on the porch of your parent's house watching as the love of your life left. Left you for God knows how long or maybe even forever. Now that you think about it wasn't your fault. It was all her fault. Your mother was the one to blame.

If you weren't so worried about her budding into your life and trying to get rid of the one thing that made you happy none of this would've happened. He wouldn't have left and you wouldn't be standing alone questioning your whole relationship with him.

She was the reason you were doubting if your relationship with him was worth it. All of it was her fault. The pat of your feet against the ground got your parent's attention as they turned to face where you stood. Arms crossed over your chest with a sad look on your face. No tears had fallen, at least not yet. Your father stood pulling you into his arms. As if he could tell something happened between you and Sunghoon. One by one the tears started to fall.

But the tears shouldn't be for you. You shouldn't be the one that's crying right now. You didn't want to be the one that's crying right now. You shouldn't be getting the sympathy that you were getting. Because it wasn't for you. It shouldn't be for you. Oh, how you wanted to throw all this sympathy you were getting in the trash. Throw it all away because you didn't deserve it.

You were quick to point the finger at your mother, who sat at the table, sipping her wine just like she had done earlier. 'It's all your fault. You made me doubt my relationship with him and why because I wanted to please you and make you happy. When I should've been focusing on my happiness, not our happiness. It's all your fault.' You blamed the older woman who was quick to scowl at you.

'Why did you care what I think, huh?  Why did you care about me knowing about your relationship? It's your relationship. So instead of blaming me blame it on yourself, it's like I told you it's your relationship, so why care about what others have to say.'  Your mother spoke finishing her wine and leaving the room altogether. You stood there as tears rolled down your cheeks questioning it all. Questioning how you were so stupid. Questioning yourself about your mother knowing about your relationship with the love of your life when after all, she didn't even care. Questioning how you could ruin such a perfect thing that was going for you.

Questioning, if you would even be able to get him back. That night you tossed and turned. Your nerves were through the roof and it wasn't helping that he wasn't answering any of your calls or messages. You wanted to say that you were sorry that you had done all of this to him and made him feel less important in your relationship.

You just wanted to hug and kiss him and tell him that you're sorry for the way you acted. But he just wasn't having it. Sunghoon rejected every call and text message from you. But it was hard for him to do so. Even when he tried to get rid of your number, he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Why was letting go of you so hard?

You had hurt him. More than he had ever been hurt before, and it hurt him, even more, when he had to go weeks without talking to you, calling you, or even texting you. It was hard for him just like he knew it was hard for you. But he had to do it. And it wasn't any help that you were constantly on his mind even though you guys weren't talking.

He wondered what you were doing, he wondered if you were smiling, he wondered if you were thinking about him. He wondered about you each step he took. Each step and pirouette he took his mind was on you. Until he thought back to the last time he had seen you.

He misstepped, tripping over his own feet. The floor was cold as he lay on the ground breathing heavily as the music continued to play in the background. There had to be a way to get you out of his mind. If he didn't he would be screwed, and so would the chance of him getting scouted. He just had to shake you from his mind and that's what he did.

But maybe not for too much longer. His hands were sweaty. As much as he didn't want them to be, they were. He had never felt this way before he got on the stage for a performance. Somehow this one was different. Maybe it was because you weren't there to watch him and clap for him after he was done. As much as he wanted to see you in the crowd, he just couldn't.

He needed to distance himself from you. He had to get rid of you and your constant staying on his mind. He had to get rid of you for the sake of his well-being, especially since you had felt like your relationship was nothing. As much as he wanted to be sad over all of it, he couldn't because he had something to do. He wiped the sweat from his hands as his teacher announced there were five minutes left before he went on stage.

Out there behind those closed curtains could be his future. His future to somewhere greater. But all of it felt useless the moment he heard your voice call out to him. It was the last thing he needed. He didn't want to see you. As much as he knew that would hurt your feelings it was true. He didn't need you to be on his mind right now.

You were costing him everything just by being here. You were causing him stress, angriness, and especially uneasiness because one look at you he would get upset, which meant he would not do good during his performance.

And not doing good during his performance would mean he would not get scouted. And that was what he was wishing for. And he didn't need you to ruin that for him. 'YN you need to leave.' He didn't even spare you a glance. It hurt your heart for him not to look at you.

But you couldn't blame him because your words hurt him deeply and you knew if it was the opposite way you would be acting the same way. 'Hoon I just wanted to apo-" " What you want to apologize? You want to say you're sorry? You do know you can't take back the words that you said. The words that you had no regret saying to me. Saying to my face. You do know that, right?"

He shook his head, tying his pointe shoes. 'But I do! I regret the words that were said to you. I-it didn't need to come out like that. I was never supposed to say those words to you. And it broke my heart when I did. That's not what I wanted you to feel. I didn't want you to hate me. And I shouldn't have made you feel the way I made you feel.' You rambled, yet he still didn't pay you any attention. You knew this was going to be hard but you hoped some part of him would forgive you. You wanted him to forgive you because you didn't mean to say those things to him but they just came out.

'YN you may say that now and you regret the things you said to me. But that doesn't change the fact that you said them. You said you were in your feelings, but what did I do to make you so angry with me for you to say those words? I hadn't done anything but be by your side that entire night even when your mom was causing you some discomfort. I was there and I'm the one that you get angry with. I'm the one that cares for you and showed you nothing but love, but at the end of the day, I'm the one who gets yelled at and told that I was never going to meet your parents. Is that what you want to apologize for? To tell me you're sorry for telling me that I was never going to meet the people who gave birth to you and that I would think endlessly for putting in my life. To tell them that I was in love with you. Is that what you're going to say? Because it's all a lie this is our relationship YN not just yours and yours only because that's how it felt. Because that's not what love is. Even if you didn't feel like it for me.'

You weren't going to deny what he had said. Even though it hurt because he was telling the truth. You had hurt him and you could see that now. Though he didn't look angry or sound angry, he was and he was burying it deep inside him. And you hated being the cause of it. How could he think that? Why did he think that you didn't love him? You loved him with all your heart.

You had always felt love for him. 'I know I'm not the best girlfriend or partner but I'm trying. I'm trying because it's hard and I want everything to work out between us. Because I do love you Park Sunghoon! I love you with all my heart and I have for the longest. I know I have never said it before but I love you with all my heart and I have for the longest. I love you, and I would never take those words back, because what is coming out of my mouth is true. Those other words that I had said weren't. For me, saying, I love you with all my heart is.'

He froze at the mention of those words. The three words he had waited for you to say, and here they were. He wished that you would take it back. Take back those words he desperately wanted you to say but now that he got them he didn't want them anymore. He didn't want them because it hurt. They hurt.

Hurt him hearing those words at this moment. Hearing you say those words in a moment like this. His body shook as he let it all go. Let all those feelings and tears leave his body. After holding so much of it back and trying to bury it as deep as he could. He was finally crying. Crying because you had said the words but not only that but because the way you spoke them was so genuine that he knew they were true.

'Hoon...Don't cr-.' Your words had got caught in your throat as he kissed you. Kissed you like never before. His lips flushed against yours as he cradled your face in his hands. 'I love you too YN.' It brought a smile to your face. And never once did your smile falter as you watched him perform upon that stage. Smiling endlessly, and breathless as everyone applauded him, but his eyes were on you as you applauded and blew him kisses.

He had performed beautifully and anyone with eyes could see what he did. Even the scouts thought so as they talked with him backstage. He ran to you picking you up and spinning you around. You only knew he had great news to tell you from the excited look upon his face. 'What did he say?'

His eyes shined so bright which meant that it was nothing but good news. 'They'll give me a call.' Your smiled widened at the words. You were so proud of him. To be standing here with him as he received cheers and applause for performing as well as he did was something you never thought you would do again. Especially after weeks of not talking to him and for being the one to cause his heartbreak.

But to be here now watching as he achieved his dream to make it big. To be in a relationship with him was something that you never wished to take for granted again. Because your relationship wasn't something that you could decide if it was meant to be or not meant to be. But if anything was meant to be then it would have to be your relationship. Though you two may argue and fight, that's what happens in relationships. You would just have to be willingly and ready for it. But for him you were.