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vminity21 · 4 years ago

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Beyond the Facade | knj

Pairing: handyman!namjoon X preacherskid!reader, bestfriend!taehyung X pregnant!reader, f2l!au

Word Count: 10,958

Genre: mysterious/angst/fluff/smut

Warning(s): strong language use, semi-detailed childbirth, mention of infidelity, alluding of a love triangle, evidence of a sheltered background, angst involving family matters, smut, losing virginity, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), nipple play, hand groping, lots of flashbacks but that is the point of the story i sorry; Rated: 18+

Summary: A sheltered life leads to harbored secrets that are buried in order to protect someone you are falling in love with. As the time is nearing for the life growing inside you to be welcomed into the world, the reminiscences of all the moments unfold to reveal a beautiful story that needed to be told.

Credits to: @suhdays for making such a phenomenal header! The talent she has never ceases to amaze me!

The graying of the clouds is all you can see beyond your window other than the panging rain droplets now trickling upon the glass. Arm resting against your forehead, your lips press into a straight line in response to the series of thoughts circling your mind. Carefully, you slide your palms upon the mattress in an attempt to sit up, wanting to see more of the view besides the crying sky. Knuckles curling to rub your tired eyes, you furrow your brows, the comforting warmth of the bed covers remain tangled between your shins. Leafless trees border the side of the building save for a small swing set; a paved section decorated with a basketball hoop where a large shed stands many feet across from it. If one is to step outside the front of the structure, there sits a church surrounded by a gravel parking lot where the neighboring land hosts a barbed wire fence with an abandoned house and field.

It's been four months since you deemed the fellowship hall your home, and appreciatively, the area has been vacant since the falling of the church which saves even more stress than what you've been in since moving here. Achingly, your legs stretch to move off the bed before your feet land onto the grainy carpet. Your right-hand slips to steady your back, maneuvering your body to scoot to the bed frame, which has become a daily routine, weak fingers gripping the wood until your digits become pale white. Letting out a steady sigh, with all your strength you lift yourself to where you can stand, "Oomf," a small whimper escapes past your lips, tensing at the cringe plaguing your shoulders.

Being seven months pregnant sometimes has its perks, but this isn't one of them. Bending your body forward slightly, you step sluggishly toward your dresser, pulling out maternity clothes lent to you before the move.

"So, when are you going to tell us?" The soft murmur belonging to your mother echoes from the driver's side. Her expression submits an evident mixture of exhaustion and exasperation; though it's been a month since the announcement of your pregnancy, your mother is currently driving you to a doctor's appointment for a checkup on the baby to make sure everything is okay, "we have a right to know."

Arms crossed over your chest in mild annoyance, you bite the corner of your mouth until the side of your head meets the window, getting lost in the line of trees zipping by.

Waddling into the bathroom, the vague memory fades, your hand reaching to turn the knob of the shower. The squeaky sound along with rushing water splatters against the shower curtain sending a soothing jolt of excitement. Chilly air springs goosebumps over your limbs once you're freed of your clothes, waiting patiently for the water to warm before inching into the tub. When steaming liquid soon dribbles among your frame, a grin of satisfaction sparks brief happiness you needed an escape to. The heat of the downpour eases your aching bones, fingers clasping behind your neck to lean your head back, "Oh!" You gasp in surprise when the instant feel of a kick happens within your tummy. Eyes flutter down in the direction of your swollen belly, palms moving to caress it, "Look at you, what are you trying to do? Escape?" Cooing with a light giggle, when the baby kicks again, you can't help the giddy smile tugging at the corner of your lips. Now, this- this is what you love about being pregnant. Finishing up, you dry your hair before swiftly dressing along with brushing your teeth.

Thoughts still pertaining to the small life growing inside you, you've decided since your first doctor's visit that you do not want to know your baby's gender until the day that you give birth. When you presented the idea to your mother, she was all on board, proclaiming how she had done that with your younger sibling. Running a brush through your hair, you skim one final look into the mirror formerly then head to exit the bathroom.

Gradually sauntering through the mini hallway, you're more zoned on the way your hand pats upon the wall in some form of maintaining stableness to the point you hardly notice almost slamming into a tall figure.

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry!" A deep voice panics, raising his arms in a way to catch you though your arms mirror the same. Heart ramming, a breath of relief winds past your parted lips- your eyes scanning the slim legs that follow to the handsome face of Kim Namjoon. His eyes enlarged apologetically.

"Oh Namjoon, you scared me," a tender chuckle sets the feel of calm for he sees the amnesty etched in your eyes.

"I'm so sorry, [Y/N], I was about to head out to mow the lawn, but just wanted to check and make sure you're okay," he timidly scopes the view of your huge abdomen, gulping once his hands rest loosely at his sides, returning his eyes to search yours before a sweet grin spreads upon your face.

"It's no biggie. Thank you for checking on me,"

His dimples show from the way his lips press in a tight smile, nodding in reply, timorously turning to waltz to the outdoors in preparation of the day ahead. You watch until he disappears from your line of vision; the creep of a blush burning from your chest to your cheeks. Raking your hands through your hair, you force yourself once again to deny the attraction seeping through your soul thankful your blush attacked after he left.

Kim Namjoon works for your father, making sure the church grounds continuously stay clean and cut creating a pretty environment to the eye. Protecting the land is another part of the job description- protecting it from any loiterers, wild animals, protesters, etcetera- maintaining flower bushes encircling the area as well as mini projects your father will want Namjoon to build. The swing set, including the shed, happen to be plans that Namjoon successfully constructed due to your father's wishes. In return, Namjoon is provided a place to live- the room that once held your father's office, is now changed into a bedroom.

It's strange for you to think about it now- how so much has changed in just seven months, when a year ago the church was thriving, unaware of the secrets that clouded within the audience. Squeezing your eyes shut, a reminiscent from the beginning of your pregnancy rears its head causing a tiny brink of nausea to form.

Taehyung's arms drape around you tightly, embracing you in all entirety that your eyes shut against the crook of his neck. Your fingers squeeze his shoulder, legs bent across his thighs while tepid tears spill onto your cheeks.

"Shhh," he tries to comfort, his breath tickling your exposed ear- your face still buried beneath his chin, "It's going to be okay," he whispers just as soft as the flicking fire burning amongst numerous candle wicks. Scents of vanilla blends with birch fitting the dimly lit bedroom that you're thankful exists other than the man refusing to let you go until you feel better.

"How?" You choke back another sob, "How am I going to tell my parents? How am I supposed to confront the church if that's what it comes down to? Shit... My dad is going to fucking kill me," Taehyung's shirt is soaked, but he could care less, tangling his long fingers into your hair to stroke the back of your head.

"Okay, now, you're being dramatic,"

"So, maybe I am? But you know very well that my parents aren't going to take this lightly,"

"Yeah, but I think it's safe to say that telling your parents you're pregnant is far better than if you were to tell them how you truly feel about religion,"

"Okay? Perhaps, you're right," a snippet of a frustrated huff leaves your trembling lips, "especially not with what's been going on with the church, I don't know how much more they can take,"

"Well, your dad should have thought of that before he had an affair with my mom," Taehyung's icy tone brings chills to your frame before he loudly swallows, lips firm from the anger boiling behind his almond eyes. Tendrils of his bright, red hair glow regardless of how dark the atmosphere is, and you hardly hold back the sheer pain stabbing your heart from the guilt you can't help but endure.

"Tae, I'm so so sorry,"

"Hey," he peers down at you, realizing he may have taken his comment too far, even though you're just as angry towards your father as your best friend is, "you didn't know," sniffling back the remaining mucus clogging your nostrils, you desire to face Taehyung no matter how foolish you think you may look, scooting your body to where your palm indents in his mattress next to his legs, his arm now rests around your waist, and for a split second, you're close enough to where the tempting appearance of his striking face beckons the strange glimmer of longing. A longing of curing whatever loneliness you're going through, but you're not the only one experiencing this moment for Taehyung's lips part just enough to plead your attention.

You can't stop yourself, and you don't, because before either of you comprehend, you close the gap letting the delicate wave of his kiss caress yours. "Tae," you breathe against his lips, reuniting with his kiss almost immediately while a dizzy spell of want travels through your chest. You know this isn't right. He knows this isn't right, but too many pent-up emotions between your hearts have gotten out of hand, and for now, all the two of you have is each other. His fingertips move to tenderly trail your jaw, gasping into his mouth when the tip of his tongue circles yours before you move to trap him in a perfect straddle. You need something, anything to feel whole again- something to forget about the people you lost and the people you will lose. And, if there's anyone in this world you do not want to lose it's him.

There's no refraining, there's no hesitation, just the growing pace of the kisses, and the way you're so enthralled with how beautiful he feels squeezing you tighter to him. "[Y/N]," he moans, hating himself for how far he wants to go with you, yet he craves your touch, nearly supplicates for it. You want to feel his skin, and the aching throb below you seems to deafen any other screams of stopping, and yet, your fingers move to the end of his shirt, peeling it just enough to expose the solid wall of his abdomen. "[Y/N]," he stops you, breaking the final kiss, his hand covering your wrist, while your eyes frantically search the side of his face, "We- we can't,"

You haven't seen him since, because of the boundaries that were crossed and would have been farther crossed if Taehyung had not had the strength to stop. The pair of you have been best friends since childhood, and neither of you wants to take anything beyond for the sake of feeling empty, but he assured you that night, even after your panic of apologies pouring from your mouth, after the humiliation that shackled your system, even after the daunting assumption that your friendship was over- he cupped your cheek, promising that he was still here and that he would never end your attachment over something, you both will never regret.

It's a secret you've suppressed for some time. Taehyung calls every so often when he can; dealing with his broken-hearted father on top of two jobs consumes every bit of his time. Yet, you can't help but miss him, the one person who loyally stayed by your side even when you came forward to your friends about your pregnancy. And, the one friend who still loves you all the same, even after discovering his mother's affair with your father.

Rage isn't enough to describe the resentment against your father, and ever since you told your parents that you were expecting, and ever since your move, you haven't spoken to him. You'll never forget how torn your mother was- depression weighing heavy on her, and that's something that's hard to forgive.

Your mother looks frail as she twiddles the crumpled tissue in her hands. Tears brim her eyes through the silence in the car, sparse sniffles breaking your heart into a million pieces. The two of you had just come back from the grocery store to restock the kitchen in your recently new home and are now parked at the church's back door to drop you off. You hesitated upon leaving because the thought of your mother having to return home to a place of remorse is the last thing you want for her. The promise of a car was granted to you, but you turned it down, refusing to accept anything from the man who caused so much pain to your family. To Taehyung's family.

Running the tissue underneath her eyes, she speaks, "[Y/N]?"

"Yeah?" Your voice is barely a whisper, but the guilt from how stressed your mother has been is something you wish you could carry instead of her. After the betrayal of your father as well as him resigning from the church to send people away from the place they once sought refuge in- on top of her oldest daughter being pregnant with her first child is already a lot to handle. The other frustration you bite your tongue from expressing is the fact of your parents refusing to let you get a job until the time after you give birth. You want to make the money to provide for yourself and your son or daughter without the dependence upon your parents- your mother especially, yet you're grateful for her adamancy on keeping you from any risks outside of the walls of your home.

It takes a moment before your mother gathers her words, "Do you- do you think you could ask Namjoon to help take you to the hospital? Whenever it's time... for you to have the baby?"

It was easier for your mother to ask that of you because he lived in the same building, and if any emergency of your water breaking happened earlier than expected, at least you would have someone available to take you to the hospital. Your gaze clears from the zone out you've had the whole time standing in the entrance of the hallway before Namjoon left. Turning on a heel, you decide to return to your bed, slipping under the covers- you're too wide awake to sleep as of now, yet the foam of the mattress eases the soreness of your back once you lean against the pillows.

-Four months earlier-

Queasiness envelops your abdomen to where you recognize the cue, rushing to the porcelain throne to heave whatever yellow liquid is left- spurting it into the toilet while you grimace through the pain. The door swings open behind you mixed with heavy footsteps quickening to you. When large hands swoop to hold your hair back, you don't have the strength to look at the intruder due to the continuous retching that deems you defenseless.

"It's okay, it's okay," the deep voice is soft, and relief brings tears to your eyes when you recognize it to be Kim Namjoon. You're embarrassed once your stomach gives you a break, your palms pressing to your forehead while you slump against the wall.

"I'm so sorry," you whisper, swiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Namjoon scatters to find a tissue, patting the corners of your lips.

"You don't have to be sorry,"

"That... wasn't what I was apologizing for,"

A knowing glance is all he must give for you to share whatever thoughts you can't bring yourself to voice. He was your friend before all of this, yet you failed to mention to him about the pregnancy, and with him being the worker of the Church- he didn't discover your budding stomach until the day you moved in. His eyes flicker away from your stare toward the slight protrusion of your baby bump due to your ruffled t-shirt. He settles on the floor across from you, silence being the only conversation held. He isn't one to hold anger, and though you kept him unaware until your third month of pregnancy, he refuses to leave your side, making a pact to himself he will do whatever it takes to provide the care that you will need. As well as the little one.

Despite the emotional roller coaster, you remain amazed with how he keeps his patience with you. A day of depression to a random bout of laughter- memories turning of the betrayals of close friends who judged you immediately the day you put your trust in them- the freedom you craved away from the sheltered life your father forced upon you- even days where you can't seem to put your tears on pause, yet Namjoon holds you through every grieve.

"What if... what if I'm not good enough?" Your voice shakes between sobs- you had been dreaming restlessly yet another night, tossing within your bed to the point Namjoon came to check on you- rushing to pull you into his arms the moment your eyes fluttered to reveal pained tears. Your words nearly shatter him- pulling away just enough to where his eyes lock with yours.

"How can you say that, [Y/N]?" The faint light of your lampshade causes his face to glisten- angelically, you decide, yet the shadowing doubt of motherhood plagues you still, because what if you genuinely can't care for the child that you're six months away from holding? Fears encompass you like an ocean, smashing along your mind in harsh waves. "Look at me," are the words that snap you from whatever sea you were suffocating in to realize you had unintentionally switched your gaze from him. It's the calming effect the warmth of Namjoon's eyes bring when he exposes whatever faith he has in the woman you are and will become. "You're going to do just fine, believe me, I know it,"

Sniffling, you run the back of your hand along your chin where an escapee of a tear dangled, "How can you be so sure?"

"Because when have you ever given up on anyone that you care about," it's not a question, he's stating what he knows to be a fact. Something he learned of you when he first was hired to tend to the property. "You're stubborn when it comes to winning someone over. I was determined not to befriend anyone here. But you changed that for me, remember?"

A knowing tug of a smile trembles into a stretch upon your lips, "I do,"

"Same with the baby. I know you will love that little one more than life itself. It doesn't have a choice, and you'll let him or her know the second they're born,"

When a hearty snicker leaves your mouth, you notice the sticky feel of your drying face- you are no longer crying.

"You don't have to do this alone, [Y/N]. You showed me that even when I didn't know what else to do. Now, get some rest, okay? You have a doctor's appointment bright and early," the bed creaks from the gradual movement of Namjoon standing,

"Wait!" You speak before you can stop yourself, Namjoon immediately pausing- the heat of his arms is felt beneath your palms from your pounce of panic, and with evident chagrin, you shyly stare at his chest, "Can you uh, ... Can you stay in here with me tonight?" You've refrained from asking sooner due to the shame of not telling him the news that's become apparent, and even now, you haven't been able to comprehend how he's not the slightest bit angry with you. When his arms encircle you closer to his frame, no words need to be said because he's already answered by just this gesture. Nuzzling into his embrace, the side of his chin pressed to your forehead, "Whoever it is, I hope they grow up to be half the person that you are," you whisper, squeezing him tighter, infinite smiles now ending the night that cures any ounce of uncertainty.

By the fifth month of pregnancy, you finally come to the realization of how selfish you have been- it's no longer about you and your needs; it is now about the needs of your son or daughter growing within you. Namjoon catered to every grocery store trip, stocking the kitchen and in return, you choose to cook for him every meal, hoping to show as much appreciation to him that you can.

"Have you thought about any names?" Taehyung's voice muses on the other line of the phone, the sound of him bringing a small smirk upon your face. You've missed him terribly so, yet the acceptance of surprise phone calls is all you can settle with for now. At his question though, you pause with the tilt of your head, taking a quick sip of the broth that you're currently heating on the stove.

"No?" It's a brief question of guilt, something you haven't been ready to ponder, "Honestly... haven't thought that far ahead yet," you add in the vegetables to boil within the broth.

The familiar, deep chuckle is all you hear to gain an idea of what your best friend is about to say next, "I should have known,"

"Alright, Birkenstocks. What do you mean by that?"

"Breezing past that mistake. You named your Parakeet, Bird,"

"Well, in my defense, I was seven years of age,"

"And in my defense, playing basketball in Birkenstocks was supposed to start a trend,"

"Since how? I-"

"Ask Hoseok,"

"You lost a bet didn't you-"

"And, I will pay for it for the rest of my life, now won't I?"

"With me around, you will,"

Hoseok is the deacon's son who's dream of fashion has been shunned by his family, yet he designs in a sketchbook Taehyung hides for whenever Hoseok and he share the same work shifts. He's not one you have had the opportunity to communicate much with, but you're thankful Taehyung has someone to maintain a friendship with while you two have been apart. A short response of silence settles while your cheek and shoulder squeeze the phone for a moment as you stir the steaming vegetables.

"You could have named the bird, Tweety at least-"

"Oh!" You playfully growl, "Back with that again, huh?"

"Do I need to send you a link of baby names-"

"I promise you, Tae, I do not plan on naming my child, Kid, okay?"

"You'd be surprised-"

Taehyung's excitement for his future Godchild brings a simmering joy to the surface of your pattering heart. Almost as equal to the eagerness, your mother has shown with this being her first grandchild. Graciously, your mother has never been as strict as your father, hence why the past five months have gone much smoother then they would have if your father had never had an affair with Mrs. Kim.

The phone call ends whenever dinner is finished, and by that time, Namjoon scuffles through the door- the outdoorsy scent drifts to your nose while you place the sweltering bowls of soup on the table. Namjoon shimmers his feet from his work boots before hanging his coat, timidly glimpsing in your direction to confirm you're okay.

Small talk ensues with the typical questions of how each of your days has gone once the pair of you take your seats. One secret, yet another you and Taehyung have harbored, is the awareness of Namjoon's atheism- something your father must never learn of his worker. Namjoon, who will not admit it, works on the church grounds in order to provide for his family who lives a few miles up the road. Ultimately, there are many secrets not worth sharing to your parents, not only for the sake of sanity but for the protection of the ones who you've kept close, especially Namjoon. With your father being the tyrant of a priest, he used to be, there is still the potential distress of him firing Namjoon over the mere difference of beliefs. Something you refuse to let happen while you're around.

Clinking spoons replace conversation, for how long, you're uncertain; the fog of your thoughts seem to consume upon one in particular- something that has remained festering long enough, yet you have never said it aloud- figuring this moment may be the time that you do. Namjoon confided in you and Taehyung once he found comfort in trusting the pair of you- even subjects that one would have never expected him to open about. Guilt presents itself to the point your eyes squeeze shut, opening them to move your spoon to play at a piece of broccoli swimming in the potage.

"They don't know," your words are careful- slow even- continuing your vision on the dinner before you. You can feel Namjoon's soft eyes on you, his expression confused. "They don't know who the father is," that's when your gaze trails to meet his eyes just for more guilt to manifest behind them. By they, you're referring to your parents, as well as every other soul excluding Taehyung, "I won't tell them." Namjoon slowly nods with the sense of understanding, knowing the cost that will be taken if your father were to know who you're trying to bury beneath this web of fear. "Besides," you sigh heavily, "I'm surprised my father was lenient enough to let me live here," you confess, "if he wasn't so guilty over the affair, I would be homeless-"

"I wouldn't let that happen," Namjoon says suddenly, destroying whatever anger you were dwelling upon. Your mouth falls open in shock at his words and the frilly flutter of your heartbeat is hard to ignore. After living here for two months, he's proven time and time again that he means what he says; what he just said. Speechless, the rest of dinner continues in fond silence, your heart refusing to steady for the man slowly captivating your heart.

The sixth month of pregnancy gifts swollen feet and aching bones on top of your belly growing heavier by the week. Namjoon has stayed loyal- tending to your pregnancy cravings in the dead of night, aiding to your discomfort whether it involves a heating pack or a cup of ice, slipping under the covers on nights you want him to hold you, driving you to every doctor's appointment without any hesitation; with all that he's been doing for you, it's like your feelings have blossomed deeper which you know shouldn't be happening with the peril of your father finding out. The unexpected visits from your father are few, yet you usher the reminder to yourself of protecting Namjoon, though he carries the weight of facing your father instead of you who avoids the confrontation.

Night comes quickly after a day spent cleaning up the nursery that seems to be coming together, other than the crib Namjoon's been building- something you accidentally discovered when strolling close to the shed one sunny day. He's so dedicated to the unborn infant, it nearly brings you to tears, glancing around the elegant hues of multiple pastel colors painted across the room with stuffed animals, blankets, and furniture he continues to gift you amongst different items your mother has added to the collection. You always enjoy the sporadic visits from your mother, because she's free to celebrate the life that she refuses to consider as a sin.

"Are you thinking boy or girl?" Your mother elbowed your side earlier today after moving around the furniture.

"Hm," you hummed happily, thankful for the relationship that's being redeemed with her, "you know? I'm not very sure,"

"I can tell from all the colors you've chosen," she teased, "it looks beautiful," she cooed, pulling you into an accomplished side hug. You didn't want to stick to just pink or blue, so you chose every other shade in between, colliding the space with colors that could go for either or. "You're going to be a wonderful mother,"

The sound of the front door opens distracting you from the former memory, staring down at the table that now rests heaping plates of chicken and rice. The fellowship hall used to be filled with numerous rows of horizontal tables mingled with circular ones where the crowd would come to camaraderie to joyful hymnals, delicious food, reflected testimonies without any warning of the secrecies soon floating to the surface. Now a solo table, the one planted before you, pairs with a few sparse chairs just enough to seat at least four people.

"Hiya," you greet, trying to ignore the subtle increase of your heartbeat. Namjoon flashes a kid-like smile once he shutters out of his jacket, "How was your day?"

"It was good, thank you," he replies, taking long strides until he makes it to you, "How was yours with your mom?" His right-hand steadies the small of your back while his left one clutches yours to help settle you into your seat. It's hard to focus on the question he just asked when the scent from outside seems to heighten the attraction you already feel towards him, "It was good," you manage to say, reaching for the silverware to begin digging into your food, "Thank you... For helping me," the distance between your stomach and the table now is something you've been trying to get used to as well as the turmoil of trying to stand and sit.

"Anytime."

A blush floods your cheeks when he holds your timorous stare, so you avert your eyes to your dinner, letting the obvious feeling of Namjoon watching deepen the red shade on your skin. A few minutes disappear into time before you feel a shove against your abdomen from the inside. Your hand instinctively flies to press upon the baby bump, Namjoon jumping at the motion, stopping mid-chew, while his eyes enlarge in surprise.

"It's okay," you chortle at his reaction, "it's just the baby kicking," his response reminds you of the moment you felt the baby kick for the very first time- similar to a weird flutter that's hard to describe, and it had taken you a second to realize what it was exactly- just your baby making its presence known to you. Namjoon swallows the bite of food in a nervous gulp, the pang of his silverware mutes from where he lays it on the napkin.

"Here," you murmur affectionately preparing to stand to your feet. Namjoon immediately jolts from his chair, rounding the table to gather your hand in his. Instead of relying on his strength to help you position yourself, you plop back onto the seat, sliding his hand to the area where the baby kicked a few minutes prior. Namjoon kneels to level with you, his plump lips ajar mirroring the widen stance of his eyes while he patiently waits, his nervous heart pounding in his temples. It's the exuberant joy in his smile that meets his eyes in a dazzling glow the pure second the baby kicks again, and the bliss of delight smothers your heart in so many ways imaginable at this moment the pair of you are capturing together. Your hand remains resting upon his while your eyes lock repudiating from breaking contact.

"I told you that you don't have to do this alone," he whispers, and it's then you come to the awareness of how near his face is from yours, his dimples visible from his smile to the point you press your lips to each one, shocked at your act of boldness, but you can't refrain. He's too handsome and too wonderful to stay away from any longer. That's all the invitation needed, for Namjoon's lips brush yours igniting the sparks of what you've been trying to suppress for way too long. Your fingers find his hair when he leans to deepen the kiss, moving his hands to rest on the chair, fingers pressing into the wood until pale white.

At this moment, you don't care what anyone thinks.

You are in love with Kim Namjoon, and there is nothing in this world that's going to scare you away from that.

-Present day-

The pitch black outside the window brings frustration when you awaken to scold yourself for how long you've slept. Gathering yourself once the fatigue rolls off, you cautiously sit up, scooting to the bedpost until you're on your feet. Taking a trip to the restroom, you notice upon exiting the clock on the wall reads seven pm, and you wonder if Namjoon has made it inside for the evening. It's eerily quiet save for the air conditioning, but you pause when you see the lights are on in the main area of the building. Shrugging, you waddle around the corner until the sudden shouts of, "SURPRISE!", nearly knocks you to the ground.

Gasping, your eyes widen while your hand flies to your chest. A prolonged second interferes before your brain deciphers the two individuals cheering before you. Numerous pink and blue balloons hover to the top of the ceiling matching the colors of a cloth decorating the one table now adorned with a cake and wrapped gifts. "What?" You can barely speak from the light headiness taking over, but the tears that well in your eyes when you see the boxy smile of your best friend sends you in an attempt to run just to crash into his arms. He meets you halfway, surrounding you within his embrace as he rocks you back and forth muffling your wails of joy into his checkered sweater. Your soaked cheeks are wiped away from the material as been done countless times before, and his tepid palms squish your cheeks when he steps back to gesture toward your belly.

"Wow look at you! Your belly is huge!"

"I'm still in denial of how fast this pregnancy is going!" You say breathlessly, you're so happy to see Taehyung, you can hardly contain your composure. Namjoon steps forward with his hand reaching to squeeze your best friend's shoulder. Taehyung's fiery strands are curled upon his forehead, lustrous beneath the lights as it always has before, "Your father let you come?" There's a seriousness behind your voice at the question because you are cognizant of the fury Tae's father has against the church from the events that occurred what, in some ways feels like a lifetime ago.

"Well, no," Taehyung winces mischievously, "I told him that Namjoon and I were going to a basketball game,"

"Of course, you did, you sly fox,"

"You know you love me," Tae pecks your forehead before leading you to the table where the sweet whiff of cake flatters your nostrils.

"You guys didn't have to do this," you're still wiping tears off your face, though it's evident that your crying is from untainted gratitude, "What did I do to deserve the two of you?"

Namjoon kneels, intertwining his long fingers with yours, using the tip of his thumb to tickle circles upon your skin, "Taehyung mentioned how when you were kids that you loved surprises, especially if it involved a small party of some sort so," he tilts his head toward Taehyung, "And I knew how much you missed him, too. I just wanted to do something to celebrate you. And, the baby,"

It doesn't take much to smother this man in kisses nowadays, and once you express your thankfulness to the men before you, Namjoon reads your mind, snatching a small kiss in return.

"You two are on kissing terms, again?" Taehyung teases while you poke your tongue at him in mild embarrassment. Namjoon does not know of the moment you and Tae shared, and that's something you're not ready to talk about, and with the cutesy scrunch of Namjoon's face, the memory escapes to the back of your mind for now.

By the end of the night, the frosting had met all three of your faces- some smushed into Taehyung's hair while some swiped across Namjoon's neck, and your eyebrows are smeared along with the possible suspicion of some getting up your nose. Cleaning the mess takes a while, but nobody in the room would trade it for anything, and it's good stalling to prevent the night from completely ending.

Walking Taehyung to his car is the only dread overwhelming your system because you're not sure of when you will get to see him next. Tears flood your eyes, breaking Taehyung's heart as an awe of shame gusts past his lips, "I'm sorry, [Y/N]. My dad's expecting me home soon,"

"I don't want you to go," you choke, on the brink of bursting at the seams- Tae fumbles to tighten his arms behind your back- him trying to be mindful of your abdomen being pressed too firmly against his frame.

"Please don't cry," he whispers near your ear, "Please, please don't cry," His lips curl from the tears burning within his own eyes wishing with all his strength he could rid of the aching hurt that has kept your friendship separated. Tae swiftly pulls away when he remembers another present, he meant to give you earlier, whirling around to unlock his car, bending into the vehicle while his hands shuffle around the floorboard in a desperate search for whatever he wants to show you. When he turns to face you, a sharp inhale of glee echoes into the night- the lopsided plush of a heart is attached to a blue body ornamented with yellow polka dots that match its mouth. "Oh my gosh!" You squeal, "Tae, it's adorable! Where did you find this?"

Wiggling his eyebrows in pride, he hands it to you, "I made it myself. And," he pauses for effect, "since you have trouble naming things, I did the honors and named it for you. I introduce, Ta Ta."

"Ta Ta?"

"Yeah, like 'Ta Ta... for now,'"

"Just when I thought I couldn't love your dork of a self even more," you exhale, slamming your eyes shut just to bury your face further into his chest, not able to breathe in his scent from the clog of mucus stuffing your nose.

"I love you, too." His voice thickens with emotion, "Now, quit saying it like you're never going to see me again, because you know I'm not going anywhere."

"You promise?" Your cold nose moves to press into the corner of his jaw where steady breaths move between your parting mouth. It's a serene moment where he turns just enough to glimpse at you, engaging in the beauty he's always found within your heart. Taehyung's agape lips now rest centimeters from yours when his large hands raise to rest his fingertips along your flushed cheeks- the curls of his frizzy hair pressing to your forehead, prickling your closing eyes. You discover your free hand enfolding around his wrist from the daunting desire looming from what's been left unspoken, and the shiver in his breathing brushes your chin once the light touch of his nose cuddles to yours. You both stand there for a seeming reel of eternity, battling the inward mayhem of choice that's displayed itself on the invisible line tempting to be traversed.

"I promise."

He hadn't kissed you, but there was no denial that he wanted to, especially with the way your face has haunted his dreams since the night your lips met in emotional patterns of sorrow. But, deep down, he knows it's too obvious of a choice if the one for him is to be you, but the love that has been kept for you will never go away. The same as a tether of your heart will forever be his no matter how deep your love goes for someone else. Kim Taehyung will always be your poise- your muse- the soulmate of a friendship that you will always need.

Toddling to the nursery upon Tae's departure still presents the boiling tears from your tired eyes dripping off your cheeks as you set Ta Ta beside the koala plushie Namjoon gifted you; the humor involving the struggle of both Taehyung and Namjoon carrying the crib Namjoon built for the baby taunts a smirk at the corner of your lips. It's dark besides the faint light of the hallway behind you, giving you just enough to admire the scenery around you- sniffling back what you can before reaching to cover your quivering chin with your hand. You've missed Taehyung. You miss him. And, how beautiful of Namjoon to surprise you with your best friend's presence? Reuniting the three musketeers from once upon a time?

Little do they know, from the unearthing of your pregnancy to now, the two men have mended your broken heart and stitched it back together again piece by piece. You're highly uncertain of where you would be without them, and just the thought alone is one you refuse to dwell on. While memories turn like a spindle of loosened thread, a revelation halts you in your tracks. The thought rings loud and clear gracing a wide smile on your face while one more set of tears dampen the corner of your eyes.

After scolding yourself for so long for not thinking hard enough on the subject,

right here, hands grasping the handlebar of your future child's cradle,

you finally have a name picked out for your little one.

2 months later....

"Namjoon, I'll be fine," the pointed look you flash him prompts a nervous chuckle once his hands rest to rub gently along your sides. He's concerned as he's been almost the entire pregnancy, but of course, now his worries are heightened to an extreme, "I'm not due until next week. Don't worry,"

"I know," he groans, tugging you closer just enough to plant a warm to kiss to your neck, "But, I can't help it."

"I'll be fine," you drag the word with a teasing sound of a whine. Namjoon shaking his head at you with a smile you're now feeling upon your lips. "Mm," you hum into his kiss, your hands sliding to squeeze his shoulders in reaction to how impeccable it feels. You end the moment simply to gaze at him, "You'll be back before you know it," you assure him- his trip to the grocery store being the plan for the afternoon.

"Okay," he says tenderly, eyes flickering to your lips once more before leaning to brush them to his own, "I love you,"

There's a small pause, one that entails warmth smothering your chest in giddy sensations when his eyes steal yours after pulling away, "I love you, too, Joon," watching him head out the door until the truck disappears along the road.

Of course, the day doesn't go accordingly the way you expect, because on carefully prodding to the kitchen in preparation to cook breakfast, a slight ache ensues within your abdomen. "Oh," you groan, stroking the area with your fingertips before deciding to lay down for a bit instead. When reaching your room, the sharp pain of a cramp returns causing a harsh cringe as you lean against your bedpost, hardly able to concentrate on the attempt of climbing onto the mattress. You remain hunched over for five minutes, forcing slow breaths to prevent from panicking, and when you find the coast to be clear, you straighten yourself out.

Suddenly, before you can comprehend what's happening, a gush of water splatters onto the carpet soaking your feet in the process.

"No," you whisper, eyes frantically scanning your room for your cell phone. Namjoon shouldn't be far with the grocery store only being a few miles away, but in order to get a hold of him, you must find your only way of contacting him. Hands pat your bed, thrusting off the bed covers and shaking them roughly, yet no 'thump' is heard before you cast the covers in a pile onto the ground. The next destination leads to the restroom, with no luck of your phone being in your bedroom- when another wave of pain shoots within your stomach, you gasp, trying to endure through the discomfort with all your might.

Leaving a water trail behind with every step you take, you desperately search the countertops before stepping into the area that holds the kitchen, wondering if there is any possibility it may have been left behind there. Your feet meet the cool surface of the tile floor, your gape scanning the entirety of the space before a pant of relief escapes past your dry lips the second your shaking hands gather the device. "Agh!" A contraction surges, hands squeezing your phone unintentionally, yet you grimace just enough to maintain your focus on the task at hand. Managing to get the phone ringing, it doesn't take long until you hear the man of your dreams at the other end of the line.

"Hello?"

"Joon, it's time," you choke, voice thick with pain.

"Oh, shit! Hold on tight, I'm on my way, just hold tight, I'm coming-"

You just happen to be running by the church in favor of dropping off the work truck keys to your father when he unintentionally introduces you to the new employee you assume he plans to hire, "[Y/N], this is Kim Namjoon. He's going to be taking care of the church grounds for us, isn't that wonderful?"

"Hello, it's nice to meet you," you greet, underlyingly suffering from the attraction swarming to your reddening cheeks. When your father mentioned of hiring, you never anticipated the person to be this overwhelmingly breathtaking.

"It's nice to meet you too, Ma'am," Namjoon's polite nod mirrors the dimples evident from a soft grin, his hand reaching for yours to shake before your father continues the tour of the place you've grown up memorizing. But something initiates you to stay, eyes lingering on the back of the tall figure decked in a turtleneck covered by a green jacket complementing a pair of jeans along with brown shoes. There's a spark of intuition that day, one that ignited the prominent determination that you want to get to know this person even if your father ends up finding out.

Namjoon busts through the door with pure alarm etched in his voice, "[Y/N], I'm here! Baby, I'm right here," he immediately jumps to where you are, keeled over on the floor, throwing his arm around you until he lifts you out of the fellowship hall and into the work truck. Words you attempt to form are muted by whimpers, tears brimming your eyes from the pain that doesn't end, "I'm going to grab the suitcase, I'll be right back," time must be faster than you can measure for Namjoon arrives, slinging the suitcase into the backseat before slamming into the driver's side.

It takes a while for the newly found employee to warm up to every opportunity you take in order to get to know him. One thing he's slowly but surely learning is that you're not one to give up so easily- something you've noticed him picking up on, especially on days, you annoy him when he's on call to build a project. You make it clear to talk to him nonstop until he acknowledges your existence, and the times he doesn't breathe a word results in a call to Taehyung.

"Come help me," you plea hearing Taehyung's exasperated sigh on the other line.

"You are so annoying,"

"You know you love me, fool," you gloat because with defeat, your best friend reluctantly joins you, even accompanying a basketball just in case if Namjoon happens to fancy sports. Your girlfriends, Luna and Jo, were informed of your undying crush on the mysterious worker, crossing their arms in jealousy that you half-heartedly ignored.

"He doesn't even come to the services," Jo droned, "Don't you think it'd be best to get to know someone that's more... active in the church? Like the pianist's son, Min Yoongi. You two had such a cute relationship when you were three-"

You can't get past why no one seems to understand that you must win Namjoon over, and though Luna and Jo have seen the world along with you since childhood, you roll your eyes, turning on a heel, "I'll catch you later,"

Tires screech along the road while Namjoon swerves past cars on the highway, hands ghost white from the tight grasp he has upon the steering wheel. Meanwhile, your hand grips the bar above you while your other rests upon your belly- the keenness of getting to hold your baby in your arms is all you're thinking about other than Namjoon who's keeping you sane.

"Just a few more miles and we will be there. Just breathe," his voice is unsteady from the fright of this situation, but he upholds his enlarged gaze upon the road. He fumbles for his phone- trying to contact anyone from your family in order to tell them the news.

"GAH!" Leaning forward, a wail echoes within the vehicle as another contraction attacks.

"You guys aren't going to stop until I'm your friend, am I right?" Namjoon's elbows are folded from the hold he has on the basketball meeting his chest. Tae jumps sporadically in front of him with outspread arms preparing to prevent the ball from flying into the hoop.

"Damn straight," you shrug your shoulders in observation of Namjoon's tilting head.

"I thought church girls didn't cuss,"

"And I thought you'd have more game than the basketball," You retort.Tae halts, straightening his frame, eyes flickering between you and a quiet Namjoon, "Now hurry up. If you win, I will leave you alone for good. If Tae wins then we treat you to dinner and a movie. How does that sound?"

With an incredulous shake of his head, Namjoon smirks, "Okay," the scuffle of his converse is heard on the pavement when he briefly turns to toss the ball toward the hoop. The basketball pangs the ring, twirling ferociously to the point, your heart begins to sink, but to your pleasure, the ball tips off the rim, landing in a rejoicing Taehyung's arms.

"HAH!" You sprint, colliding into Taehyung's embrace while Namjoon tries to stifle the smile overtaking his lips, "Looks like it's going to be a burger and fries' kind of night," you wink, unaware of the hope that Namjoon has of wanting to gain your friendship just as much.

The hospital entrance appears after the rush of Namjoon turning into the parking lot soon helping you out of the truck. The suitcase will have to wait being he can retrieve it later, his ultimate goal is getting you within the building to where you're safe. "It's okay, it's okay," he tries to appear relaxed, but everything becomes a blur until a nurse with fluffy, black hair approaches with a wheelchair to help settle you in. His nametag reads 'JIMIN' – him rolling you quickly down the hall when the presence of a female nurse whose nametag reads 'MONNIE' helps you change into the nightgown upon arrival of the hospital room. Voices are mingling together from the pounding in your temples, but Monnie keeps her hands gentle on your back to lead you to the bed where she hooks you up to what seems like a million machines whilst providing as much comfort to you as possible.

Namjoon's calloused hand covers yours when one other nurse, Jungkook, floods the room, bringing a chair for him to sit in. You're not sure of all the commotion that's overwhelming the room, but you steady your breathing as Namjoon directs, squeezing his hand through each contraction. You recognize the doctor, Kim Seokjin, a tall man already dawned in a scrub hat, mouth mask and gloves, scurrying to where you are, "Alright, I am going to check your dilation Ms. [Y/N], just breathe in and out." Slamming your eyes shut, you whimper from the discomfort, "Alright, she is dilated three centimeters. Once you are at ten centimeters [Y/N], you will begin pushing. No worries, I will alert you as soon as I need you to begin. Keep breathing. Everything will be okay,"

"Taehyung... My mom... Dad-" you murmur deliriously between breaths, the foggy sense of your conscious outweighing how to speak properly.

"No worries baby, they're on their way. They're on their way right now," he sweetly kisses your perspired forehead, running his free hand through your tangled hair.

The three musketeers were official after the day at the basketball hoop, eventually learning of Namjoon's atheism as well as him providing for his family.

"My dad couldn't find a job that pays enough, so I promised him that I will do whatever it takes," it had been six months since Namjoon had been hired, and currently is finishing his final paint to the shed while you and Taehyung sit Indian style in the grass. "Thanks to the job here, I can afford the rent for my parents as well as give them my car since here, I just use the work truck..." Namjoon sharing more in-depth with his life story- you finally get what you've been determined to gain since meeting him.

It's weeks later that you'll never forget, leaning against a mini, red monkey bar after sharing your feelings toward the man you've grown so fond of. There's no denying the feelings he's had for you, and once he inches closer, the crave to hold his hand has never been stronger. Boldly, your fingers trail to intertwine with his, your nerves close to getting the best of you despite the persistent smile that hasn't left him. When you find the bravery to look up at him, he swallows calmly before leaning in, you stand on your tiptoes to meet halfway until your lips touch. The slide of his arms encompassing your frame feels so inviting when he presses his body to yours. The world is put on pause to you and nothing else matters other than the way his lips move so elegantly- your arms wrapping around his shoulders while he sways you from side to side.

Time doesn't seem to speed up through all this pain, but the adrenaline swimming in your veins peaks when Dr. Seokjin prepares to check your dilation again. "Ten centimeters-" He confirms, "Alright, [Y/N], the baby's coming. When I say push, you push. Okay," he positions himself though you can't see anything past your gown and raised knees, "One, two, three! Push!"

"AGH!" You grunt, a small scream vibrating at the back of your throat once you push with every fiber of strength, you can muster.

"Breathe, breathe," Namjoon's hand hasn't once left yours- sweat pouring from your scalp while the burning agony overpowers your body.

"Is she here!?" The click of darting heels enters the room and are loud enough for it to catch your attention. "Oh, honey, I'm here!" It's your mother- scampering to your side with the undeniable blur of Taehyung's red hair following suit. You want to ask where your father is, but before a chance is given, the doctor shouts, "Push!"

"AAAAAAAGH!" You manage, body straining in all its entireness. Taehyung jolts to let you squeeze his hand along with Namjoon's. His features show nothing but fear at the sight of you being in so much strife, yet he holds it together enough to cheer you on.

"I'm- I'm so glad you both are here," you cry- another sixty seconds drifting before the shout of, "Push!" erupts.

"I'm scared," you murmur in the dimness of the room. On your knees, Namjoon's soothing hands glide along the tops of your thighs motivating you to run your hands along his forearms. You don't know where your parents are, and you're too angry to care. You're bushed of the fighting so, you sought comfort in being here, with Namjoon. Taehyung dropped you off at the fellowship hall with the promise of not breathing a word- because if your parents were to find out remotely of your whereabouts, you'd hate to discover what the consequences will be.

"Me too," his nervous eyes investigate every inch of your face. You've never been with anyone this way before- secretly hidden away from the world outside trying to suppress the revealing crave of what you're curious about. Scooting forward, you drape either leg around him, propping yourself enough to where your arms lace around his neck.

His breath hitches from the gesture- your lips erotically aligning with his in slow movements, heat rising below you when you feel the hardening of his being beneath your sense, "I want you," you whisper. He knows that you're a virgin, and with care, he lays you on the bed, hovering above your frame where your bodies align perfectly. "Are you sure this is what you want," concern consumes his countenance, but you desperately bring your hands to cup his cheeks.

"I don't think I've wanted anyone so much in my life,"

You gasp into his kiss where he slips his tongue along yours- the sensation one you've grown used to from the slovenly kisses leading up to this very night. You give Namjoon permission to sneak his large hands underneath your shirt, trailing up your ribcage before swallowing your breasts whole in his heated palms. Nipples so sensitive, your heat drenches the moment he realizes the effect it has on you just by merely brushing the rising buds, lipping at your neck while he basks in the beauty of your moans. "More," you beg, "Please, Joon, more." When clothes start to be thrown off, you're determined to pleasure him, but have not an idea on how to do so. "Show me," you breathlessly demand, Namjoon's palm leading yours to encircle his twitching being. You stroke his erection as shown, biting your lower lip from the throbbing feeling of your core- him instantly finding your entrance to fill it with his fingers as carefully as he can- both of you pleasuring each other, yet still getting lost in kissing so deeply, the two of you forget to gasp for air. The sensation of heated pressed bare skin can be the most beautiful thing, especially with the way your legs entangle with his. You're surprised the feel of his prodding fingers didn't bring as much discomfort as you would have originally anticipated, but when he brings a hand to his penis, he rubs his tip along your slit letting the sloppy sound of you leak onto it. "Holy shit," he moans from how soaked you are for him- his fingertips finding your clit while yours dig into the backs of his shoulders.

Smoldering kisses move from your lips to your breasts, down your abdomen to your inner thighs where you tense underneath his touch that slides to hold your bottom half where he can scan your heat. The tip of his tongue swipes upon your slit excruciatingly slow to the point your fingers tangle with the material of the bedsheets. The smacking sound of his lips savor your taste while his tongue circles your core- you're hyperventilating from how deliciously he flicks his tongue upon your slit, screaming his name relentlessly- the speed of his skilled mouth driving you wild from the growing climax beckoning your stiffening thighs, "Oh, Namjoon, oh- Joon- I- Oh!"

He's not ready for you to finish because there's more he wants to show you. Hovering above you once again to see you coming down from your high, your heaving chest longs for his touch, and he nearly comes undone from the smile embellishing your face. His tracing fingertips parade along the outline of your body in featherlike tickles while the sounds of panting breaths mingle with shifting sheets bring subtle music to your ears for the rest of the night. The gentle parting of his lips grasps your own in smooth movements persuading arousal streaming from your core. Your fingers now link with frilly tufts of his hair, gripping the strands in reaction to the pressing of his bare chest to yours, dreaming of nothing more than to be entwined with him for what you hope will be forever. Hips grinding into yours prompts the light moan teasing his ears for more before his mouth trails to pause above your pounding heart. His hair brushing your chin, your arms glide to wrap around him holding the hope that he will never let you go. Not even for a second.

"Alright, one more! Almost done! Push!"

Sucking in one long breath, with a compulsory scream, you push with all you have left in you. Exhaustion weakens your limbs, yet a rush of relief floods your body when the cries of an infant reverberate within the room. With heavy eyes, you turn to see your mother with tears cascading down her face and onto the back of her hand covering her agape mouth- eyes remaining locked in front of her. Taehyung's gaze doesn't drop though his fingers loosen from yours at the small bundle immediately apprehending the eyes of every individual. Right then, you move your head to your other side where Namjoon gradually rises in awe- his hand still has yours. Gathering any ounce of strength, you're ready to see the child you've been waiting to hold for nine months, so cautiously you sit up until your stare meets Dr. Seokjin's. You can see the smile in his eyes despite the mouth mask, and what he says next brings you to tears, "It's a girl,"

"Oh!" You thrill, anxious to meet her while the nurses scurry to clean her up.

"Sir, would you like to do the honors?" The doctor gestures a pair of scissors towards a stiffened Namjoon whose eyes are welled with hushed tears. He can't even speak, yet he nods from the happiness exploding beneath his chest.

"Wait," Your mom says, "Is- is?"

It's a moment that seems to fit the setting for your father walks in, as if on cue, shoulders slumped from the anticipating tension now darkening the room. Taehyung's shoulders tensed at the sight of the man he despises, but for the sake of you, Namjoon and his Godchild, he keeps his composure enough to ignore the elephant now standing in the room. The fear that used to consume you upon your dad unraveling the truth about your secret vacates you when you know that you and the two men present can conquer anything.

"Yes," the answer is to your mother, but your stern glower of warning is only connected with your dad's although your mother's stare remains on you, "Namjoon is the father."

Namjoon stands with pride while he accepts the pair of scissors from Dr. Seokjin- your father, with a shocked expression, watches as the man he hired happens to be the same man who stole his daughter's heart without his knowledge. Yet, he refrains from anger, because who is he to ruin such a precious moment about to unfold here?

Pictures are taken of Namjoon cutting the umbilical cord, his fingers gently rubbing his daughter's cheek while he wipes at the tears dripping from his eyes. Jungkook takes her into his arms to weigh her before wrapping her in a plush pink blanket, "She is seven pounds and five ounces,"

Endless joy envelops your heart from the scene playing out before you; especially, when the vision of your father's quivering chin, admiring his granddaughter leaves you speechless along with the hope of redemption entering your beating heart.

"Are you ready to hold her?" Monnie's kind eyes match her smile when she touches your arm.

"Yes," you stifle a sob, "I want to hold her,"

Monnie poses her arms to where Jungkook places your daughter, Monnie guardedly turns to rest your baby into your arms. Her small face chortles, her eyes closing while she puckers her tiny lips. "She's so perfect," you cry, love in all its beauty falling from your eyes while you watch your daughter's fingers fold individually upon her chest.

"Just like you," Namjoon whispers, locking eyes with you before inching forward to give you a loving kiss.

"I love you, Joon," you whisper, pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth.

"I love you, too."

"Uh," the deep serenade of your best friend interrupts, all attention abruptly turning to see him raise an index finger in the air, "So, as the Godfather, I must ask a very serious question," the room chuckles along with him as they patiently wait for his request, "What's her name?"

"Ah," you nod, realizing that hasn't been made known to anyone other than to yourself. Your mother steps forward to place her hand upon your shoulder while your father keeps his distance enough to not cause any trouble- though the two of you share a small smile to let him know all is well. Namjoon watches you in admiration- the woman of his dreams holding his child in her arms while facing her deepest fear yet holds her head with pride about the man she will spend the rest of her life with along with her daughter swaddled to her chest. You are everything he's ever longed for and more, and he's ready to defeat any storm in life if it's with you and his daughter.

To answer Tae's question though, you return to face him, tears gathering in exhilarating bliss.

"Taejun." Her eyes slightly open at the hearing of her name as a tiny smile adorns her lips,

"Her name is Kim Taejun."

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watermelonlipstick · 4 years ago

Text

Dreams, Chapter 11

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 11

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2616

Summary: Another dream makes things more clear for the reader and less clear for Sam.

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, s l o w b u r n

The booths are those plastic-coated pressboard swoops that are so easy to clean, one row down either side of the long room once you walk past the counter to order. Like other pizza places, there are red pepper flakes and grated parmesan on the table, but they also keep ranch dressing in a minifridge behind the counter as a concession to Midwestern sensibilities. You know you’re just outside Dayton just like you know the pizza shop is run by a family, father and two older teenage daughters deftly throwing dough and scattering cheese evenly over it in a way that shows their years of practice. Dean sits across the table with his elbows on it, one forefinger and thumb picking through a plate of nachos between you. His black t-shirt, amulet, and lack of flannel make you notice the hum of the air conditioner in the background, straining over the 90’s alternative radio and reminding you that you’d been here in a heat stroke the summer after you and Dean had gotten together, his golden freckles and lightened tips of his slightly messy hair underlining the memory.

“They don’t serve nachos here.” It’s half statement and half question.

“Babe, it’s your dream. They’ll serve whatever you want. Does the pizza suck in Wisconsin or something?”

The two sisters are whispering to each other as they look over at your table, an almost-argument that ends with who you suspect is the older sister poofing a pinch of flour into the other’s face. They’re both cute girls but she’s adorable, soft cherubic cheeks and messy bun piling impossibly glossy hair on her head as she walks over to the table with a gigantic pizza. “Can I get you anything else?” she asks in a perfect welcoming cheerleader pitch.

“I think we’re good for now, sweetheart,” Dean purrs with a wink. That you remember; you’d playfully chastised Dean for dazzling the teens, laughing in his face when he’d said it wasn’t on purpose, that he couldn’t help it if chicks dug him. The wink had proved your point then and now it makes the girl’s cheeks flush red.

She catches herself remarkably well, the stammer almost slipping under the radar as she assures you that you can “holler if you need anything!”

Dean brushes his fingers free of nacho debris and loosens a piece of pizza from the melting cheese of the ones next to it. “Last time you had all kinds of sweet nothings and questions for me and now you’re Silent Cal?”

“I don’t think this is real, but I’m pretty sure if I push it you’ll either die in this dream or I’ll wake up, so my plan is to stay here as long as we can.”

He drops the pizza back into the box and wipes off his fingers on a napkin before slouching into the booth, arm stretched across its length. “So test me then. Gimme a question only I would know or something.”

“Well if I ask you something that I know the answer to, my brain will just project you knowing it. See the problem?”

Dean squints and pouts in consideration, touch of a smile dancing across his face and if it isn’t the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen may you be struck dead right now. “Then ask me something you don’t know the answer to.”

You think about explaining how that too could just be some part of your subconscious recreation of Dean but you don’t want to keep pulling at loose strings in the event that it wakes you up. It’s too hard to keep from smiling, seeing Dean charming and relaxed like this, and when you grin it makes Dean bite his lip. “What’s something I don’t know the answer to?”

“Ah, ah—I thought I’m just a hologram, how would I know?”

“Projection, but okay,” you stall. “Wait, here’s one. Sam said when I first started going on jobs with you guys that you had to have a conversation about staying focused. What was that all about?”

He runs his tongue along the inside of his lower lip. “Man, why would he tell you that?” he says under his breath, smirking mostly to himself before leaning forward to meet your eyes. “Fine. I’m not even sure that you’re going to remember this. There was a vengeful spirit in Indiana, some like homesteader guy, ring a bell?”

You have only the vaguest sense of recollection and sort of waggle your head to show it.

“It was way at the beginning of when you started coming on jobs with us. You and Bobby got into it because he wanted you to bring your own car so you could ditch us if we were ‘acting like cretins’ or some shit like that?”

That fits the last puzzle piece in for you and makes you chuckle. “He ended up giving me like $250 of mad money in case I needed a new room or a bus ticket, yeah. I remember.”

“I didn’t know that part but that’s gotta be the same trip. The whole thing was really stupid. Basically we were supposed to have your six but both me and Sammy wanted to carry a shotgun instead of doing that protection spell because it looked cooler. We were arguing about it when the spirit whipped a chunk of the barn’s scaffolding at you and we didn’t catch it in time. You heard it coming and ducked so nothing ended up happening, but it fucking demolished the wall behind you. It was a huge fuckup—thing could’ve taken your head clean off, you know? Sam was so broken up about it he was wasted for like a week solid after we dropped you back off at Bobby’s.”

“Really? That doesn’t sound like him at all.”

“I know, usually he does some kind of pouty baby bullshit. But I mean both of us felt really guilty that bitching at each other could’ve taken you out.”

Dean’s eyes rake over your face, seeming to linger over every inch like he’s going to draw a topographical map of it later by memory. You can tell he’s waiting for you to say something but you can’t think of anything other than tracing each of his freckles where they dust across his nose.

A hand reaches over the table to run his fingertips along the back of yours, and that certainly feels real enough to send an ache into your gut. “What if you ask Sam? If he says that’s not what happened then you can keep saying I’m not real and you don’t have to listen to me.”

“But he already basically told me that. The only thing I probably wouldn’t have guessed about that is Sam getting drunk about it—these could’ve been just well-informed guesses about when it probably was or the kinds of things it seemed like he was implying.”

His lips press into a firm line and the barest touch of pink rises in his cheeks. “We, um, we pinky swore on it.”

The adorableness of his embarrassment makes you grin teasingly as much as the divulgence does. “A pinky promise? You guys must’ve been pretty serious to take such a sacred oath.”

He rolls his eyes at your ribbing and throws his hands back in his lap with a defeated smirk. “Laugh it up. Would that be good enough proof for you?”

It seems like Dean has figured out a loophole in the system, but you’re sure the light of day and Sam’s scrutiny will figure out why it isn’t actual evidence of communication with Dean beyond death, and you tell him that.

A curtain of suspicious confusion falls over Dean’s face. “Sam being weird about it is what’s keeping you from trusting this? Kid, I’ve been talking to Sa—”

And you woke up.

The bed was empty next to you but you could smell something sweet in the air and hear the light clinking of pots or pans Sam was trying his best to keep quiet. You blinked back a few tears of frustration—who even cared if it was real or not? Reliving a great memory with Dean was more than enough and instead of enjoying it you’d wasted a chance at some small respite from your constant ache of grief. And even then, you hadn’t used any of your time to figure out how the whole thing worked, how you could see him again.

But the most pressing issue was what you thought Dean had been trying to say before disappearing; that he had gotten through to Sam. Sam, of course, deserved to have secrets, but if he had been sitting on the resolution to all the angst you’d been struggling through in the last weeks (months?), you couldn’t imagine a reason why that wouldn’t hurt. Nothing would be solved by laying in your bed to sulk about it, though, so you threw on some clothes and went to brush your teeth.

When you came out, Sam was hunched slightly, the standard stove highlighting his decidedly non-standard height as he shuffled a pan’s handle. He had a dishtowel over his t-shirt clad shoulder, a habit from the bar that sometimes held over when he was in the kitchen at home, and bare feet under old jeans. They were wearing through at the knees, and you knew they were absolutely pajama-soft from having periodically thrown them in with your own laundry. Through the kitchen window, enough snow-brightened sunlight came into the room to cast him in a halo glow that gleamed off of his hair. As long as it had gotten, chunks still swept into his face as he looked down at the stove, and he tucked one behind his ear as he looked up, half-singing a Buddy Guy song that was playing softly. It was stunning—he was stunning, statuesque and strong and right there in front of you. Cooking you breakfast while you slept in, of all things, chocolate chip pancakes he had to have remembered were your favorite from ages ago. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d had them and right now, nothing in the world sounded better. He beamed and tilted the pan toward you. “Morning! I made pancakes, you want some?”

And you should’ve just let the moment rest, sat in the rare bright winter morning and eaten chocolate chip pancakes and relished how well the boiler was working, maybe later in the day read a predictable murder mystery or taped off the living room to be painted and listened to REM until your shoulders were sore from running rollers up the walls all afternoon. Instead, about as stupid and weird a flop as if a toad had come out of your mouth, you said, “Have you been talking to Dean too?”

Sam’s face fell but not in the right way. There was too much angle in his brow and that confirmed it. “What?” he asked, but it didn’t land.

“How long have you been talking to Dean?”

He kept that curious smile for a second, like maybe he could push through by playing dumb and you would forget, but finally his lips flattened and his jaw clenched as he stacked a finished pancake on top of its predecessors. “Just because I’m having dreams about him doesn’t mean it’s really him,” he finally answered, softly and as though he was telling the bubbling pancake batter in front of him, unable to meet your eyes.

You felt the lump forming in your throat and tried to get the words out ahead of its solidifying. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“For what?” He let go of the pan and turned toward you, supporting his weight on the countertop. “So we can both—”

“Both what? Be delusional? Is that what you were going to say?”

Sam didn’t answer, but the set of his jaw was firm and he kept his eyes locked on yours.

“He told me you were drunk for a week after the hunt you were talking about.” You watched as Sam’s pupils widened a touch. “And that you didn’t just promise each other to buckle down, you pinky swore.” Sam’s Adam’s apple jumped in his throat. “It’s true, isn’t it? I can see in your face that it is. Did you already know it’s really him?”

He looked down at the floor and clenched his jaw. “I was pretty sure. Or at least I really hoped I was pretty sure.”

You felt more than consciously allowed your mouth’s falling open. “How? How long?”

“It just—I don’t know, it just felt different. I—uh, the first time was after we made those cupcakes; he asked about the cupcakes.”

You slumped against the countertop opposite him, speechless. He shoved the pan off the hot burner a little too hard, put a palm on either side of the stove to brace himself. The two of you stood like that for a long minute, the smell of chocolate not matching the stiff heaviness in the air at all.

“I don’t—what if it’s not real?” His throat sounded bound even though you couldn’t see his face, hulking mass of him spread across the tiny kitchen.

He seemed so defeated, so young, and then you couldn’t believe how selfish you’d been, not putting two and two together that something challenging Sam’s grip on or understanding of reality must shove him back to the brain melting torture he’d endured in the cage and the months—years, maybe, he was always so tight-lipped about it—afterward. What the fuck were you thinking, not seeing it before, how this could seem like a perfectly laid trap for Sam, the most poetic way to whip his mind into stiff peaks of meringue. It made so much sense why he would need time to really suss it out, see the situation from all angles and investigate, check and re-check. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes but you blinked them away. This was not about you or your complicated need for him, it was about Sam, what he’d been through, what he was likely putting himself through even now.

“The, um, the pancakes smell really good.”

“Yeah?” There was half a laugh behind his words, humorless as it was. “I hope they’re okay, I know they’re your, uh, your favorite.”

“I’m surprised you remembered.”

Sam leaned on one arm to rub his face with his other hand. “Yeah, well.”

“Can I help?”

After a beat, he stood up and offered some space next to him on the stove. You worked hip to hip, sprinkling the chocolate chips while Sam flipped. He was scraping the last of the batter into a last little runt pancake with a spatula when you couldn’t help yourself and wrapped your arms around his waist. He seemed surprised, if sad, before setting down the bowl and covering as much of you as he could, folding over you like a protective shell. It reminded you of that dirty motel room, months and months ago, when Sam held you together as you cracked in his arms. All he could do then was be steadfast in reminding you he was still there, if nothing else was, and you hoped you were able to give him the same now.

You silently laid two place settings on the kitchen counter while Sam set the food out. He sat next to you and had picked up his fork when you touched his wrist to still him. “If it’s not real for you then I’m losing it too.”

Sam thought for a second, then raised his forearm and kissed the back of your hand where you held onto him before cutting into his pancakes.

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 12

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awstenknyght · 4 years ago

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Big Hero Six AU Part Two!!!!!!

A/N: i finished the next part!! please give me validation i love this au so much- also disclaimer!! this is not exact to the movie because A. obviously some details have to be rearranged and B. disney should’ve let hiro say fuck and i will stand by that

Warnings: death, language, spoilers for the big hero 6 movie!!

Tags: @love-pyramus @mrlcverman @joshkatz @thatsmycigarbutyoucanborrowit @weaselweaselweasel @the-cowbi @mister-sunny-raccoon-boy @panicky-pancakes

Wheels followed Kath to another room, this one more isolated than the rest. “I want to show you what I’ve been working on.”

Katherine pulled out a roll of duct tape. She put a piece on Wheels’ arm and pulled it off quickly.

“Ow! What the fuck Kath?” Wheels said, pulling her arm back.

A small box across the room lit up and a boy rose up from it. He was tall with blonde hair. One of his eyes was a stormy blue, it almost looked like it was made of metal.

“Hello! I am Switch Eye, your personal health care companion! I was alerted to your need for medical attention when you said ‘ow.’”

“A robot?” Wheels asked, amazed. She moved closer and examined it. “Kat, this is amazing-“

“I will scan you now,” Switch continued. “Scan complete. You have a slight thermal abrasion on your forearm. I suggest an anti bacterial spray.”

Wheels watched in awe as Switch Eye sprayed something on her arm. “You must’ve done some serious coding on this thing.”

“Mouse worked on it too,” Kath replied with a shrug. “He’s gonna help a lot of people.”

Wheels grinned. This whole school was nothing like she expected. For the first time in years, she felt like she had something new to learn. And SFIT was where she needed to be.

There was a knock at the door. A man came in and smiled. “Katherine! Working the midnight oil?”

“Just picking something up, Professor,” Kath replied with a grin.

Then man spotted Wheels’ bot and picked it up. “Wow. This is an excellent piece of machinery. What’s your name?”

“Wheels, sir,” she said, tapping her fingers excitedly, ready to ramble on and on about her work. “I used magnetic-bearing servos. Wanna see how I put them together?”

“Hey genius, he invented them,” Kath called over her shoulder.

Wheels’ eyes widened. “You’re Snyder? As in Snyder’s law of robotics?”

“The one and only!” he chuckled. “You know, you have some real skill. Have you ever thought of attending here?”

“I- uh-”

“She’s pretty serious about her bot fighting career,” Katherine said with a smirk. “Ready to go?”

Wheels bit her tongue and nodded. Maybe she could go here.

As they got out to the car, Wheels stopped. “I have to go here. If I don’t, I’m gonna explode.”

“So dramatic,” Katherine said sarcastically. “You could always do the showcase?”

“Showcase?”

“Invent something that blows the judges away, and you’re in. It’s gonna be hard. You’re gonna have to give up bot fighting.”

Wheels looked down at her fighter. She had to do this. Whatever it takes, she’d get into SFIT.

***

“I have. No ideas. Brain empty.”

Wheels was surrounded by crumbled up papers and broken pencils. She had been sitting for hours. None of her ideas were good enough.

“Wow. Washed up at fourteen. So sad,” Katherine said sarcastically, not looking up from her book.

“I’m never gonna get into SFIT. I’m never gonna amount to anything.” She felt Katherine pick her up and spin her around before throwing her lightly onto the bed. “Hey! What the fuck?”

“You just need a to look at it from a new angle,” Katherine said with a shrug.

Wheels threw a pillow at her sister before something caught her eye. Her bot. What if-

Wheels grabbed the notebook off her desk and began scribbling all over it. Katherine smiled with satisfaction and went back to her half of the room.

Over the next month, Wheels worked on her project relentlessly. Finally, almost a month later, it was ready.

“Are you scared?” Katherine asked as she pushed a large recycling bin to Wheels’ assigned stage.

“What? No. You’re talking to an ex bot fighter, nothing scares me.”

“Yep, she’s scared,” Josie chimed in from behind. She’d been spending a lot more time with Katherine’s friends from school, and they were more then happy to help her out.

“Kat! Your girlfriend is bullying me!” Wheels whined.

Katherine laughed. As everyone else continued to joke around behind them, she pulled her little sister to the side. “You ready shithead?”

“Of course, asshole.” Wheels nodded her head in determination. “I have to get into this school.”

“You will,” Katherine replied. She looked through the curtains to see a small crowd gathered. “You’re on!”

Wheels took a deep breath and rolled up to the stage. This was her time to shine.

“This is a microbot,” she said, holding up a small black piece of metal. Her microphone screeched. The crowd began to look uninterested and she panicked.

Then, she caught Katherine’s eye. Her sister nodded her head and mouthed ‘Breathe.’

Wheels took a deep breathe and continued. “It might not look like much, but when it comes together with its friends,” she put on a headpiece. “Things get a little more interesting.”

The bins next to the stage tipped over and thousands of tiny bots spilled out, forming a geometric structure next to her.

“The possibilities are limitless. Building, transportation,” the bots lifted her up and moved her across the stage. “Even accessibility! You think it, microbots can do it!”

The crowd, which had grown significantly since the demonstration started, cheered. Wheels left the stage and was met with a huge hug from Katherine, as well as congratulations from Davey, Cora, and everyone else.

Wheels noticed one more person coming out from the crowd. “Dad?”

Pulitzer nodded tersely. “Excellent bots you’ve got there, Octavia. You know, we could make a lot of money mass-producing these.”

Wheels didn’t know how to respond. Her father had never said anything about her work before, barely even looked at it. And now he was willing to work with her to mass-produce them?

“Not so fast,” Snyder said, running up. “You could also wait and develop your bots, or you could sell them to someone who only cares about his own self interest.”

Snyder was giving her father an icy glare. Wheels knew the two didn’t get along, but she never questioned why. Pulitzer had a lot of enemies.

The two bickered awkwardly for a bit before she cut in. “Sorry father, but I’m not for sale.”

Snyder smiled as Pulitzer walked away, assistant in tow. “You made the right choice kid. I hope to see you at school.”

He handed her a white envelope with the school’s seal on it. Her eyes widened. No way.

The next few minutes went by in a blur. There was lots of congratulations, Cora invited everyone over for dinner, but Katherine pulled her away.

“I know what you’re gonna say,” Wheels said as she gazed at the school she’d soon be attending. In a high-pitched mocking impression of her sister’s voice, “I should be proud of myself that I’m finally doing something important with my life!”

“No, I was just gonna say that your shirts on inside out.”

“What?” she looked down at her t-shirt. Kath was right. “Fuck you.”

Katherine laughed. “Welcome to need school, nerd.”

Wheels smiled. “Thanks for being for me. I wouldn’t be here without-“

Before she could finish her thought, people stated flooding out of the building. Katherine pulled someone aside. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“There’s was a fire,” she coughed. “Everyone else is out, but Snyder’s still in there!”

Katherine let her go and moved towards the door. Wheels grabbed her hand. “Katherine, no. You’re gonna get hurt!”

“Snyder’s in there. Someone has to save him.” With that, Katherine ran inside.

Stupid Kath and her stupid hero complex. Wheels moved to follow her, refusing to let her do it alone.

She was blown back by an explosion of heat. Everything went black, then red. Jet head was pounding. Every sound around her was dull, as if it was happening far away. Her hearing aid must’ve fallen out.

Katherine.

There was no way she could’ve survived that. Kath was gone.

#fuck you im pinning this #PLEASE read it and talk to be about it-

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longitud-de-onda · 5 years ago

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{un veneno} january: captivate

pairing; javier peña x female reader summary; the year is 1980. javier peña has been at the embassy in bogotá for a year when he meets you, fresh out of college and brand new to the country. rating; nc-17 warnings; smoking, masturbation word count; 2.4k a/n; so this is a passion project of mine, it will be 12 chapters, full of fluff, smut, warm tropical nights, and later on, a lot of angst. bonus; there’s a playlist for the series! check it out here on spotify or message me for apple music

un veneno masterlist

“Quero um–no, fuck–un paquete de cigarros?” you said to the shop attendant. Spanish was no easy task. It was a dumb decision to come here without any knowledge of the language, but you had assumed some university-level Portuguese would help. Apparently not, because the man behind the counter shot you a confused look as he pulled a pack from the shelves behind them. He understood, that was clear, but you didn’t know the words.

“Ella quiere unas Pielrojas porfa, con filtro,” said a voice behind you, “No esos malditos y caros Marlboros. Bueno, que sean dos y yo pago.”

“Señor Peña, ¿cómo vas?” the shopkeeper said, and you turned to look at this ‘Señor Peña.’

He was a bit taller than you, and more than a bit older. Tanned skin, tight pants, a pink shirt. A large pair of orange-tinted sunglasses masked his eyes.

“Muy bién, Roberto, ¿y cómo va tu esposa?” He said, and the shopkeeper laughed. You only caught a few words of the exchange and were unsure if you were getting your cigarettes.

You flew into Bogotá the day before and had just gotten settled at the hostel you’d be staying in for the next couple of weeks. It had been a solid three days since you’d had a smoke and you wanted to go to the park nearby and relax.

The man turned to you and began to speak with a rough but refreshingly familiar American accent, tinged with the light musicality of the Southern states, “I’m sorry ma’am for the interruption, but Roberto here was going to try to sell you the Marlboros, which are much to overpriced, and I couldn’t let a pretty little thing like you get ripped off like that.”

“Thank you? But I can handle myself,” you said.

“Obviously not, you sound like you’re confusing Portuguese for Spanish, which just won’t cut it here,” he said, turning to pay for the two boxes that Roberto placed on the counter.

He tossed you one pack, which you fumbled with, clutching it against your stomach to ensure it didn’t fall. He laughed.

“That right there’s a pack of Pielroja, it’s loosely packed, so I hope you don’t mind, but it’s cheaper, local, and ten times better,” he said.

“Thanks,” you said. As interesting as the guy was, you really wanted to leave for the park. Colombia wasn’t your first rodeo, but somehow every new country was exhausting between the 24th and 32nd hour marks.

“You’re welcome,” he said as you brushed by him and walked out the door.

Outside the shop, you paused to fish your lighter out of your bag.

“So what’s an American girl doing in Bogotá all alone?” The man was back, standing in front of you.

“You just don’t stop, do you?”

“Not really, no,” he grinned, leaning back against the building.

You opened the pack of cigarettes he bought you, lit one, and drew it to your lips.

“So, do you like it?” he was messing around with his own box and pulled out one. He held it out to you, silently asking for you to light it. You complied.

You weren’t sure if he was talking about cigarettes or Bogotá. “It’s nice. So far,” you said, exhaling smoke.

He laughed again, this time bringing a smile to your face. He had a nice laugh.

“You never answered me, what are you doing here?”

“Teaching English at an elementary school nearby, I start next week,” you said.

His eyebrows shot up, “How old are you? 20?”

“22.”

“What kind of 22-year-old wants to be a schoolteacher?” he said.

“Me, apparently,” you said, “But it’s not my career or anything. Graduated last May, I’ve been traveling and teaching English, got a gig here, whole school year, pays pretty well, I’m excited.”

“You’re crazy,” he said, “22, fresh out of college, your only experience out of the states was probably in Europe, and you’re gonna teach kids? In Colombia?”

“What’s wrong with a bit of crazy?” you said.

“What’s your name?” he asked, ignoring your question.

“Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he said. You liked how he said your name. “I’m Javier.”

“Nice to meet you,” you said, staring at him propped up against the building.

The top two buttons of his shirt were open, and a thin sheen of sweat lay over his chest and face. Something about the look with the broad mustache made him appear like he was stuck in ‘73. His smile was one of those that reached the eyes and spilled into those around him.

You exhaled carefully.

“So, what are you doing in Colombia?” you asked.

“I work for the American embassy,” he said. There was a pause as he waited for the impressed look on your face that never came.

“What is this then, a welcome package?” you asked, chuckling to yourself.

“It could be,” he pushed himself off the wall and took another drag, “But then again, you’re only 22.”

“What does that have to—oh.” You found yourself laughing again. Javier was the sort of guy that you’d probably slap in the face back in the USA. But here, with the cloud cover doing nothing to mask the heat and humidity, the smell of papaya and passion fruit wafting through the air, you were only amused.

“See you around, Y/N,” Javier said, and he walked down the sidewalk before turning a corner and disappearing.

Five days of getting to know hundreds of students in different classes during the first week of school, all while trying to develop lesson plans, left you lying in your hostel bed on a Friday night. You were alone in the room, the rest of the residents out partying, as per usual for a hostel in the middle of a city.

You would have loved to be out too, Colombian Rock and rum thrumming through your body, dancing with someone, going home with someone.

But you had spent too much energy this week and partying would have to wait. You had a year left in Bogotá, at least another 50 Friday nights. Lesson planning would let up once you got into a rhythm. And figured out a living situation.

One of the other teachers had offered her spare bedroom during February and a bit of March, but her daughter would be back in town after that, and you’d lose the space. The wait until you got your own space in February felt far away. March even further. But planning for that needed to happen sooner rather than later. The hostel bed was killing you, and you hated the drunk guys coming and going.

At least you knew you’d be alone for another hour. No one dared come back before midnight; if you were caught calling it an early night it was certain fodder for shame the next morning. At least, that was the way your roommates worked.

Still, to be safe, you closed the curtain, encapsulating yourself on your bed in the darkness. You closed your eyes and slipped one hand down your stomach, dipping under the waistband of your pants and into your underwear.

As your fingers brushed over your clit, you let out a small gasp, your free hand fisting into the sheets. The last time you had been touched was over a month ago, back during the cold December winter weather in Brussels. You worked your hand across your slit, telling yourself this had to be a one-time thing. You would go out, find a good hookup this week.

Your brain was overworking, shuddering in pleasure, and the man from last week flickered across your vision: Javier.

You imagined his chest, the open shirt leaving a trail right down his chest, glowing in the sun. You slipped a finger inside, gasping at the sensation.

He would probably take you to bed if you played your cards right. If you found him again. He seemed to have that kind of character. You remembered his last words to you, suggestive and sensual.

He was older, probably by a lot. You shouldn’t be thinking about him, but you wanted him to hold you in his arms, kiss your neck. You imagined how he’d taste, probably like cigarettes and whiskey.

The thought of his hands snaking down your waist, pulling you closer almost sent you over and you moved your fingers faster. His smile, snarky and self-obsessed as it was, had worked its way into your brain, and you wondered where he was now.

Did he remember you? Had he laid in bed like you were now, getting himself off to your name? And that image, flooding into your brain, as unrealistic as it was, caused you to almost scream out loud, your whole body spasming.

Finally relaxed, your body almost limp on the bed, you became aware of the layer of sweat that now covered your body, and made up your mind to take a shower. As soon as you recover. That was the best orgasm you had had in months. But where had those thoughts come from?

You had only seen Javier that one time, right outside the corner store, then tried and failed to shove him out of your mind. In the few minutes you had known him, you had decided he was an asshole who didn’t deserve your time, but the sort of asshole you could see yourself becoming good friends with.

If he was years younger, you could have imagined traveling with him, continuing your round-the-world travels with Javier would have been amazing. You had seen so many things during your six months in Europe and met so many people. Many of the backpackers at the youth hostels you stayed at traveled with others. Mostly, they were single, their companions just good fun and friendship for the journey.

You had long since imagined meeting someone on the road like they did, someone that would sweep you off your feet and set aside a year of their life to spend with you, hopping from country to country, odd job to odd job.

Javier’s shit-eating grin and verbal wit would stick in your mind long after you left Colombia. And here you were, getting off to him.

If he lived in Bogotá? Worked at the embassy, probably lived nearby? You’d probably see him again. And you’d have to look at him in the eye, the only thing running through your mind the memory of tonight.

You wanted to see him again. Wanted to have lunch and smoke with him. Wanted him to show you around. But after what you just did, you didn’t know if that was possible.

Sex was no stranger to you, the one night stands being a common figure in your life throughout college, but even you wouldn’t go for someone as old as him. You had standards. A guy his age was reserved for friendship. At least, that’s what you told yourself. Until now.

“God, I’m fucked,” you breathed out, sitting up and gathering your shower stuff before heading to the bathroom.

Javier had returned to the corner store every day for the past two weeks, hoping to catch a glimpse of you again. He was back today, 15:30, hopefully after school got out, he imagined, eyes scanning the store as he lingered by the refrigerators full of six-packs.

The bell rang as someone walked in and he looked up. You stood there, exhausted from a day of child-wrangling and his eyes lit up.

All you wanted was a bottle of something and a shitty candy bar. You were roaming the aisles, trying to settle between the foreign brands of chocolate when Javier approached.

“Y/N,” he said, causing you to startle as you looked up. A deep red blush began to blossom across your cheeks as you took him in. He was even better in person.

“Javier, what a coincidence, running into you here again,” that was a lie. You walked past four other stores just to come here, hoping he would be nearby.

“Yeah... a coincidence,” he said, reaching down to grab a candy bar. “This one’s the best, that is, if you like milk chocolate.”

“So two weeks later and all you’re still giving me local product recommendations? You should write for the newspaper,” you laughed, signaling you didn’t want the chocolate when he tried to hand it to you, “But you’d be wrong, because the only good chocolate is dark chocolate.”

“You like that bitter shit?” he said, still holding the bar in his hands.

You reached down for something that said 85% and figured that would be dark enough for you.

“Gross,” he said.

“You can leave,” you said.

You didn’t want him to leave.

“Do you want to go for a coffee?” he said. “You look exhausted.”

“Real good way to charm a woman,” it should have stung, but when Javier said it, you smiled.

“That, um, sounded bad, didn’t it?” his brow was furrowed and his smile was gone.

“Yeah, it did,” you kept smiling, hoping he would light up again. You wanted his excited face burnt into your memory. “So, what’s the best café around here?”

“Are you some kind of heathen who takes their coffee with no sugar or milk to go with your raw chocolate beans? If so, I have no suggestions because that’s disgusting.”

You laughed, loudly, with your whole body, “Unfortunately for you, I do. But if you give me a good café con leche I’ll drink it.”

“Good, because you’re not going to get away with that bar of chocolate and coffee with no add-ins.”

“I worry you have a sweet tooth and can’t appreciate good flavors,” you said. It was so easy to talk with him. He knew exactly what to say to keep you smiling as he leaned against the display like he owned the place.

“I don’t have a sweet tooth, you just like your food to hurt you,” he said, “Let’s go, there’s a good café down the block.”

He reached out to grab your hand and you almost lost it. His palm was soft and his grip firm.

Javier led you to the register where he flung his arm around your shoulders, “Roberto, te acuerdas de Y/N, ¿verdad?”

Roberto chuckled, ringing up your two chocolate bars, “Por supuesto.”

He leaned towards you and said, in broken English, “Careful. Señor Peña is crazy man, yes? He is flirt but he doesn’t mean it.”

Javier laughed, “No somos una pareja, Roberto, somos amigos. Solo amigos.”

You understood that part. You were friends. You grinned. After just ten minutes of talking over two weeks, Javier thought of you as a friend.

next: february: blossom

taglist; @pascalisthepunkest @turquiosenights (tumblr isn’t letting me tag so idk if these show up in your notifs)

#javier peña #javier pena #javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #un veneno fic #camila writes #rated e #under 5 #reader #fluff #pedro fics #narcos fics #javi x reader

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thebibliomancer · 4 years ago

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Essential Avengers: Avengers #229: FINAL CURTAIN!

March, 1983

"THIS IS IT! Henry Pym’s Last Stand Against... THE EVIL OF EGGHEAD!”

Why does this have Egg Fu energy? Obviously very much less racist but giant egg shaped head looming over things...

Please don’t grow a mustache, Egghead.

Wow, this arc has been going on for a while. With a lot of interruptions, mind.

But we had Hank rejoin the Avengers, do a bad job, build a robot to murder his friends to try to make them forget the first bad job he did, get kicked out of the Avengers, and got tricked by Egghead into committing treason and arrested. Egghead decided to take over the world via inventing eternal youth, put together a new Masters of Evil who immediately got their asses kicked, and then the Masters kidnapped Hank from his trial.

All to bring us to the Final Curtain, which is similar but legally distinct from the Final Countdown.

I’ve seen some sad Hanks but I think “framed into being a fugitive and forced to do science for his worst enemy” Hank is the saddest looking Hank.

He has a thousand yard stare WHILE carefully considering a chemical compound.

This is possibly because while he sciences, Egghead is hanging right over his shoulder being excessively chipper and calling Hank “partner.”

Hank: “I’d love to shove those words down his throat! It’s galling enough to be working for my oldest enemy, without having him call me ‘partner.’”

Guy also puts his hand on Hank’s shoulder chum-style and offers to get him some breakfast while Hank probably fantasizes about making scrambled eggs.

Later that morning, over in New Orleans, Monica Rambeau!

I’m still very hype about Monica Rambeau finally being in this book.

She’s sitting around in her nice home watching the news about the trial and the “dramatic escape” of Hank Pym and also Iron Man has disappeared. That’s on the news too.

Monica: “Uh-oh! I don’t like the sound of that! A disappearance, now of all times, by any of the regular Avengers could mean heavy trouble! Someone’s bound to accuse them of helping in Dr. Pym’s escape! It might not be a bad idea to look in on my new friends -- as Captain Marvel!”

She nyooms light speed from New Orleans to the Avengers Mansion.

Inside, Cap and Thor are discussing how neither Iron Man or Tony Stark have been seen in nearly a week. And Cap is worried because its not like Tony.

But he has to stop talking when Monica comes in because she’s not in on the secret.

Captain Marvel: “Hi, hope I’m not interrupting anything. I thought I’d drop by and... well... see how everyone was doing.”

Thor: “In truth, woman, the Avengers have known happier times.”

Captain America: “I’m afraid Thor’s right, Captain. A former Avenger’s disgrace is national news. Iron Man’s vanished. And the She-Hulk may be no more. Things... aren’t good.”

Monica is kind of taken aback by this because “These are two of the most capable men I’ve ever met! If they’re feeling down and out, what hope is there for the rest of us?”

Meanwhile, in specifically the second-floor study, Hawkeye is sitting with Jennifer Walters Not-Hulk and the Wasp.

And Hawkeye is surprised that She-Hulk’s other self is “so small and... fragile.”

Wasp is trying to reassure Jen that they want to help her but Jen is feeling helpless.

Jen: “I-I know that, Janet. .. B-b-but I still feel so helpless. Things seemed different when I was the She-Hulk! She could handle everything -- or so I thought! She didn’t do much against the Radioactive Man, did she? One blast of charged gamma rays from him, and my life as the She-Hulk was a thing of the past!”

I mean, I wouldn’t say not much. She-Hulk tossed Radioactive Man around pretty easily before the gamma blast.

Wasp tells her that the gamma-charge must have worn off by this point but Jen is too afraid to try again because she can’t face the thought of another failure and what that might mean.

She kiiiiinda blew up her life back in California to go be She-Hulk full-time. The comic doesn’t point this out but I am. She kinda blew off her supporting cast and law career to go on a cross-country trip and then moved to New York for brunch and Avengers.

Wasp is called away by Jarvis, who says there’s an urgent caller for her, leaving Jen alone with Hawkeye.

... Which, may have been a bad idea or at least a very hilarious one.

Hawkeye: “I can’t believe what’s happening to the Avengers! We’ve had bad breaks before, but this -- ! Even ol’ Cap’s been looking like one of the walkin’ wounded! I need to do something to get us back on our feet! Maybe I can start with the little lady.”

Y’know, Captain Marvel and Hawkeye both noting how dire things are feeling around the Mansion is doing a really good job at selling this as one of their darkest moments.

Nobody ever talks about this as one of those moments but the comic is making a good case for it.

At the front door the urgent matter is! SCOTT LANG!

Sight for sore eyes!

He’s here on an errand for Mr. Stark. But unfortunately he also has no idea where Tony has gotten.

Scott Lang: “All of Stark International’s in an uproar! First, Mr. Stark asks me to finish up one of his rush projects for the Avengers -- something he never does! Then he and that iron-clad bodyguard of his pull a disappearing act! And now, the tube is full of news about Hank Pym running off with something called the Masters of Evil! Wasp... what’s going on?”

Wasp: “I honestly don’t know, Scott! Sometimes I’d swear that the whole world is falling apart on us!”

Hey! More dialogue really selling how dire things are!

Scott gives her the project Tony had him complete and tells Wasp that Tony told him that Cap would know about it.

Which indicates that Scott finished this project and doesn’t know what it is or does. Wow.

He also offers to change into Ant-Man and lend a hand but Wasp hurries him out the door and slams it behind him.

Which is a rude way to treat a Scott Lang but in Wasp’s defense she couldn’t bear seeing someone dressed as Ant-Man when she has all these Hank feelings.

Captains America and Marvel and also Thor wander in. Cap(tain America) is telling Monica that there’s nothing they can do until they get a lead on Hank’s whereabouts.

Wasp, who was just handed a thing and told that Cap would know about it, hands it to Cap and asks him if it would be any help.

Cap(tain America) recognizes it as the miniaturized version of the cerebral scanner helmet that Tony was working on.

Captain America: “It was Iron Man’s theory that Hank’s recent problems were due to preset commands Moondragon had telepathically planted in his mind. This helmet was supposed to check that out. Now... I guess we’ll never get a chance to use it.”

This defeatism is finally a defeatism too far for Monica who blows up at the Avengers.

Captain Marvel: “Hey, just a darned minute! Is this the Avengers that I’m supposed to be joining, or an encounter group? I can’t believe what I’m seeing! Look, I know you’ve been through an emotional wringer for the past couple of months, but you can’t let it get to you like this! You folks don’t get much press west of the Hudson River, but what little word that does filter out is filled with awe! You’re the Avengers! You’re legends -- every one of you! You’ve probably saved this poor world more times than anyone can even guess! And you can pull through this crisis, too! But not if you keep acting the way you’ve been!”

Huh, more of a ‘dare to be badass’ than a real dressing down.

Also, its so weird that the Avengers are simultaneously a weird New York thing and also known for saving the world multiple times.

Thor, as Thor do when anyone dares to criticize him, gets indignant but Wasp interrupts that whole impending shouting match and asks what Captain Marvel has in mind.

(This is why Wasp is a good leader, by the by)

Captain Marvel says they should try to look at things from another angle. What if, and hear her out, what if Hank really was set up by Egghead like he claimed to be before the trial?

Egghead is dead? THE AVENGERS FIGHT PEOPLE THAT HAVE BEEN ASSUMED DEAD A LOT, YOU GUYS.

Geez, where has Monica been? She’s a breath of fresh thought on this team.

Monica also has another galaxy brain idea. Slash probably turn of phrase that inspires a galaxy brain idea. Like in a mystery where an innocuous statement cracks the whole thing WIDE OPEN.

Captain Marvel: “And this man you caught -- the Shocker -- the one who claims that Pym reorganized the Masters of Evil to free him -- maybe he’s the one who’s crazy, instead of Dr. Pym! Maybe it’s the Shocker who should have his head examined!”

And Cap(tain America) is like hey I just got this head examining helmet from Tony!

Meanwhile, in the second floor study, Hawkeye has decided to Help.

Be afraid.

Nah, just funning.

Look, this is all perfectly in character for Hawkeye and for Hulks in general. He’s just going to be extremely rude (he has trained his whole life for this) and make fun of Jen until something happens.

And he is pretty rude.

So rude that she smeks him across the face. But because she hasn’t had her Jen training arc yet, Hawkeye just laughs at her.

So she hits him again.

Hawkeye: “My, my! Both cheeks slapped and I’m still on my feet! Is that the best you can do, She-Wimp?”

Then he laughs and laughs and gets punched out of the room by a furious She-Hulk.

He quickly begs for peace, claiming he didn’t mean what he said.

So in the end, all she needed to break the mental block preventing her from turning into She-Hulk was Hawkeye being even more obnoxious than usual.

He does have his uses. Shoots arrow, pisses people off, apparently fun to be around??

Its hard to imagine future burned out trash-fire Clint Barton doing this. He’s much more mellow in how he’s obnoxious now. Although, he roasted Tony Stark good in the Freefall mini.

Y’know, She-Hulk and Hawkeye are friends later. And I don’t know if that’s because She-Hulk becomes everyone’s friend when she moves into more fun party She-Hulk territory. But I can also imagine that despite not liking each other much to begin with, She-Hulk and Hawkeye just grow on each other.

When Wasp praises Jen for being able to transform again, She-Hulk admits that Hawkeye helped.

Then Cap tells them to stop goofing, they’ve got business.

And the business is at the federal lock-up.

The Avengers want to use Tony Stark’s special cerebral scanner helmet on Shocker. His lawyer is like hell no. Shocker himself is like I’m down for whatevs.

Shocker: “Hey, if they want to plunk that pressure cooker on my noggin, it’s okay by me! I’m facing a pretty stiff federal rap, after all. I’m willing to cooperate. It doesn’t bother me. If I passed the polygraph test, I can pass this!”

The lawyer still protests so She-Hulk whips out some of her ol’ legal expertise. Which she is not licensed to practice in a professional capacity in the state of New York.

She-Hulk: “Your boy was caught participating -- in either a kidnapping or an escape -- in full view of witnesses. He’s in big trouble. The scanner helmet will tell us if he’s been manipulated by outside forces. And cancel any mental blocks or false memories. Now, wouldn’t you like to go into court with something that could prove your client was used against his will?”

... I’m baffled that this new technology whose inventor has gone missing could just easily be used as evidence in court.

Like, on who’s word are they saying that this device works? Has it been vouched by anyone? How do they even know that it works at all? It was finished by Scott Lang who is a good electrical engineer but didn’t know what he was working on!

But if I can believe a man can fly, I’ll buy this.

And its funny, Shocker goes from ‘yeah I doubt this will mean anything’ to immediately remembering and spilling the beans that he was set up by Egghead.

Which means that he’s alive and Hank’s defense has merit. God damn!

I like that the cerebral helmet does factor into the plot, even if in an unexpected way. Poor, disappeared Tony Stark’s feverish throwing himself into this project out of a guilty drive to help Hank will help Hank, in some way!

Meanwhile, in the secret and sinister suburban lair of Egghead’s Masters of Evil, Hank Pym brushes off his hands and goes ‘yup I’ve finished inventing your eternal life machine, can I go now?’

Egghead and the Masters call BS because its been three days. No way did Hank already finish the machine. Egghead was thinking it would be months of research before Hank could even begin working on a design.

Hank: “Admittedly, I was lucky in stumbling upon a breakthrough in micro-cellular reconstruction. But then, you did bring me here to produce results. That’s what I’ve done.”

Moonstone asks how close an eye Egghead kept on Hank, since Egghead is the only one truly familiar with the project.

The answer is: not very!

So now they’re worried that if they plug someone into the device, it’ll just kill them.

Tiger Shark goes ‘hey lets just test it on Hank’ and Hank goes ‘yeah whatever.’

Hank: “I stand behind my work 100%. I’ll be your guinea pig, if you’re all so afraid of gaining a long and vital life!”

Egghead: “Don’t use that tone with me, Henry Pym! I think I might enjoy using you as a guinea pig! Strap him in, boys -- good and tight!”

Tiger Shark, whose idea this was in the first place, suddenly considers ‘what if this is a long and weird way for Hank to commit suicide?’ but Hank says he would have ended it three days ago if he was that tired of living.

Egghead: (He’s right. As dispirited as Pym has been, he never became suicidal. Despite all the travails I put him through, I was never able to break him that completely. Pity. Perhaps I’ll try again... after the test.)

GOOD GRIEF EGGHEAD

I know that you’re evil and petty but geez that’s a new low.

Then again, this is the guy who blew up his niece’s arm out of spite.

So, yeah, driving to suicide the guy that made your eternal youth technology possible is about what I’d expect of you, Egghead.

The worst.

When they have Hank strapped into the longevity machine and switch it on, Hank starts to glow.

Which is probably not what is supposed to happen.

Also what is not supposed to happen, the machine creates a force field around Hank.

And also overrides the guidance systems in Beetle’s armor, making him fly all over the place bonking into stuff.

I have a sneaking suspicion that this isn’t actually a longevity machine!

No, in fact, Hank Pym played them all by going ‘yeah sure throw me into the briar patch, I don’t give a shit.’

Tiger Shark tries to rip Hank out of the machine but gets thrown away with a ZZAKK.

Moonstone tries her luck too.

Moonstone: “Your electrified field is very effective against brute force, doctor -- but can it resist a high-intensity laser blast?”

-it does-

Hank: “You tell me!”

The sass!

The lasers deflect off the field joining the bouncing Beetle in destroying the lab.

Egghead has duck and covered beneath a table and demands one of the Masters stop Hank.

A call to action that Radioactive Man takes up, charging the machine.

Radioactive Man: “You are even more capable than I thought, Dr. Pym. But your miraculous fields will not long withstand the power of my nuclear heat!”

Hank: “Probably not! But it doesn’t have to! I’ve had days to prepare defenses against all of you!”

Cadmium-plated tentacles come out of the machine and grab Radioactive Man.

Geez, really nobody was making sure Hank wasn’t up to anything so he got away with everything!

The cadmium dampens Radioactive Man’s radioactive so Hank uses him to knock out Tiger Shark.

Ah, yes. I do love a good grievous harm with a body instance.

Moonstone: “Incredible! Together, we possess nearly as much raw power as the Avengers themselves -- and yet one man has nearly overcome us in a matter of minutes!”

And since she’s Moonstone and practically the only supervillain who knows when to fold ‘em, she tries to skedaddle.

But Hank also built disruption stunners into the not-longevity machine’s manacles, like the ones he used as Yellowjacket, and he blasts Moonstone as she tries to flee.

Leaving Egghead to gape that Hank has singlehandedly defeated his Masters of Evil!

MEANWHILE, up in suburbia, the Avengers!

Remember them? They’re the title of the book.

Shocker spilled the beans to the Avengers because, honestly, fuck Egghead for using him as a patsy. So the Avengers and some copspolice have assembled outside Egghead’s secret house.

The cops are to evacuate the neighborhood in case the Avengers need to do a big punch-up.

Caring about bystanders, a thing that the Avengers do some of the times.

The Avengers also got the house plans from the county records office because they’re doing this raid right.

Problem is, they’re unlikely to be accurate because they don’t have an evil lair listed on them.

So Cap and Wasp are strategizing, planning to surround the house and work their way in slowly and quietly so the Masters don’t use Hank as a hostage.

Then everything explodes. And by everything, I mean the yard of the house.

Beetle burst out from underground, completely ruining the lawn and flies around out of control.

He warns the Avengers that he can’t control his flight and tells them to look out.

The Avengers mostly jump out of the way.

Mostly.

Thor just stands still with his hammer held out for Beetle to run into so hard that Mjolnir seems to disappear.

Beetle falls to the ground, all momentum instantly converted into horrific agony.

Like seriously. He’s going to be feeling that forever. No wonder he later jumps at the chance to flip good, rather than ever experience that again.

Wasp and Cap(tain America), strategy geniuses, decide that at this point, stealth is pointless but Hawkeye is way ahead of them.

I don’t see him in the panel where the Avengers scatter or in the panel where Beetle is falling off Thor’s fist so I think that the instant the ground exploded Hawkeye was like ‘this hole was made for me’ and immediately jumped down it to leeroy jenkins the rescue Hank plan.

Its a very him thing to do.

Plus, as he muses to himself, he has his own score to settle with Egghead.

I.e., that time that Egghead killed his brother Barney Barton. The crime brother? From the time we learned that Hawkeye actually had a name?

That time.

At the bottom of the exit wound Beetle left in the house, Hawkeye peeps in and is astounded to find the Masters of Evil lying defeated in various heaps with Hank Pym standing victorious over them, casually unhooking himself from the not-longevity machine.

As Hawkeye watches, Hank tells Egghead that he can come out of hiding because its all over.

And then delivers a massive ‘the reason you suck’ speech to Egghead, which coming from Hank Pym is doubly biting because Hank Pym knows what a trashfire he’s made of his own life and still says Egghead is worse.

Hank Pym: “I did a pretty good job of screwing up my life recently. You just about finished the job for me! You used me, Egghead... and you tried to make me criminal! But you couldn’t. You see, I’ve come to terms with myself in the past month. I know who I am, and who I’m not! I’m not Ant-Man anymore. I’m not Giant-Man... or Goliath... or Yellowjacket! I’m Henry Pym!

“And it was Henry Pym who beat the Masters of Evil! You, Egghead... you turned to crime because you thought your scientific knowledge made you better than everyone else... put you above the law! But you were wrong. You weren’t above the law, and you weren’t better! I’m the better scientist... I just proved that!”

“I assembled the pieces of your downfall -- right under your nose!”

Egghead takes exception to being told how much he sucks, and leaps at Hank to, I guess, try to beat him up, saying he hasn’t beaten Egghead yet.

So Hank beats Egghead yet.

Hank: “Oh... I was hoping you’d try that!”

After all that Hank’s been through in this vague arc and at the hands of Egghead, it is very satisfying to effortlessly turn the tables on the villains, deck Egghead, and prove that while he has spotty success as a superhero, he’s no villain.

This vague arc has broken Hank down to nothing. He ruined his marriage, his superhero career, abandoned his science career as fruitless. He was broke, so desperate as to take a loan from his arch-nemesis. Framed for treason and left to pay for Egghead’s adamantium scheme. Sent to jail and derided as worse than the supervillains there. Worse for having fallen from grace. Gave up winning back his wife after seeing her date one of his friends. Abandoned hope for anything but to win back his dignity and good name in a court of law. Had that taken from him as well.

And stripped of absolutely everything, Hank Pym proved that he is one of the finest scientists in Marvel, a crafty SOB, and owner of a dynamite right hook.

Then with Egghead sprawled on the floor, Hank turns to leave.

But Egghead is a petty, petty, evil, evil man. That hasn’t stopped being a thing so he pulls out a science gun to shoot Hank in the back.

Hawkeye jumps out of the beetle hole and shoots an arrow in the barrel of the science gun, making the science gun backfire kirby krackle.

Hawkeye: “Brother, that was close -- but everything’s gonna be okay now, Hank! We have all the evidence we need to clear you and put that creep behind bars!”

Hank: “Egghead won’t be serving any time, Hawkeye. He’s dead.”

DUN DUN DUN

Hawkeye, you’ve become a killer! And it didn’t even take a Bendis to drive you to it!

Well, maybe a man-slaughterer...

Follow @essential-avengers because I bring you the good Hank Pym content. The Hank Pym punching Egghead content. The best content. Also like and reblog, possibly. For the Hawkeye man-slaughtering Egghead content.

#Avengers #Egghead #Masters of Evil #Hank Pym #essential avengers #essential marvel liveblogging #Captain America #Captain Marvel #monica rambeau #Thor #she hulk #the Wasp #Hawkeye #somehow a very effective and helpful person in this issue #Thor is the world's most effective speedbump #Iron Man helps from off panel #don't mess with Hank Pym

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alarawriting · 5 years ago

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52 Project #1: The Chicken Story

Every part of this story is true. Even the lies. In fact, especially the lies.

***

Yes, I live in the city and I have chickens, no thanks to city legislature. You’d think that cities would be more supportive of having chickens; they kill rats and they produce eggs, what’s not to like? Well, okay, chicken poop isn’t all that pleasant and they destroy all the plants in their run, but unlike, say, cat or dog poop, chicken poop is useful as fertilizer. The city’s somewhat tolerant of hens, but they’re appallingly sexist toward roosters; I mean, yes, the poor guys are loud, but so are dogs and I don’t see anyone banning dog ownership within city limits. Roosters protect their flock from predators and they can serve as watch animals. They don’t actually crow to tell you it’s dawn, though, that’s a myth. Mostly they crow to tell you “Goddamn, yo, check me out, I’m a rooster.” Or something like that. If roosters could talk they would absolutely perform hip-hop.

Anyway, I have a funny story about those chickens, and roosters, and my son, who’s a ninja. No, I’m not making this up, it’s his superpower. He could be standing right there and I could be looking for him and I wouldn’t see him. He’s not invisible, he’s just… very good at going unnoticed. That was really helpful when we were trying to get our second house.

Oh, yeah, so this place is actually two halves of a duplex, and originally, we owned just one. Then the neighbor overextended himself bricking up all the yards back there. You see the street back there? All the yards behind my house are made of concrete now. Rudest thing you ever saw, because they didn’t put in drainage, so all those yards that used to be soil and dirt ended up flooding, directly into my garage. I had my car floating in it, out to the street. I mean, it was raining pretty heavy and all the cars down at the bottom of the hill were also floating, but I’m halfway up the hill so you wouldn’t expect my car to float, but no, I open my garage, and there it is, bobbing up and down. I loved that car. It floated down the street and ended up in the river – yeah, there’s a river down there, you can’t tell most of the time because it’s so shallow it’s barely a creek, but that day it was overflowing and my car floated right into it and sailed off. Never got it back. Pretty sure it’s in the bay someplace. Now all we have is my wife’s minivan, because she was at her parents’ house with the younger kids that weekend, and I’m really not a fan. Who builds a car large enough to transport drywall but too small to stretch your legs if you’re an adult man? Honda, that’s who. She doesn’t care because she’s short, but I miss my car. It was a Chevy Impala, we called it Vlad because you have to call an Impala Vlad, right? Vlad the Impala? Come on, it’s a Dracula joke.

Right, so anyway, the reason they’re all bricked up is that my neighbor was trying to buy up all the properties there, so he had a business offering people that he’d brick up their yard – no more tickets from the city about high grass and weeds, no more kids sneaking into the back to grow illicit tomatoes, no rats – and a lot of people took him up on it, because they didn’t realize about the flooding. Sure, most of it ended up in my garage, but a lot of it ended up in people’s basements, and no one around here has flood insurance, we’re halfway up a hill. And that dislodged the ghosts. See, most of this city’s built on an ancient burial ground of some kind or other… I don’t think Native American, I think it was one of those colonial cemeteries or something, so when you flood basements, you’re gonna get ghosts. And that meant people trying to sell their properties because they’re haunted. So he figured he’d buy up all the houses on the block cheap, right? Except some investigators came in from a government agency and they figured out that he’d known about the ghosts and that’s why he talked people into letting him pour concrete all over their yards, so there were lawsuits – I considered joining in myself, but at the time, he lived on the other half of my house so I didn’t want to stir things up. And at the end of the lawsuits, he was the one who had to sell his house for cheap in a big hurry or face foreclosure, because he’d had to mortgage his house like three times to pay the lawsuits.

Well, we tried to get it legitimately. My wife’s name isn’t on the title to my house, so she was eligible for an FHA loan. But they absolutely refused to believe that she wanted to buy the house next door to the one she was living in just to live in it. They were convinced she wanted to rent it out. She pointed out that the mortgage payments were like twice what anyone would pay to rent a place around here – yay for gentrification, I guess – but they weren’t convinced. So we rented her an apartment and she was going to live in it for six months so that she could go back and get the FHA loan – I mean, she wasn’t really living in it, she was just storing her books in it, but no one was going to be able to tell she wasn’t living in it because if an auditor came to the house, she had it rigged with cameras and speakers and whatnot so she could talk to people remotely and tell them not to come in because of the books, and if you looked through the windows you could see that you couldn’t see a damn thing because of the piles of books everywhere, like seven-foot-tall stacks of books all over the place. But before she could go back to get the loan, the bank finished foreclosing on the guy and then the house wasn’t available for sale.

Now, see, we knew that sooner or later, the bank was going to sell that house, so we went into action. Here’s where my son being a ninja came in; we had him go over there and steal all the doors inside the house and hide them in the attic. The embarrassing thing is that he forgot where he put them so the entire house still doesn’t have doors. We have to have a curtain up in front of the bathroom, since it’s an old house and the width of the doorjamb doesn’t match the sizes they make doors anymore. The cops came and searched for the doors – I think they were suspicious that we took them, since how many houses have a ninja? But after they went up into the attic and two of them fell through the ceiling and broke their ribs, they decided it wasn’t worth their time. Also, I kept pointing out to them about the lawsuit, and the ghosts, like my family was the only one who’d have motivation to steal the doors? Really?

Then we filled the bathroom with dead rats. I guess this requires a little bit of explanation. We didn’t have the chickens yet, or the assassin cat – did I tell you about my assassin cat? No? Well, let me finish telling you about the house first. So we had a lot of rats, and we were poisoning them, as you do when you’ve got that many rats, and we also had traps, and a giant dollhouse with murder dolls in it. You’ve never used a murder doll on a rat? It’s a doll that’s got a knife in its hand, and when the sensors in its eyes detect that there’s a rat walking by, it starts slashing at it like Jason at camp. My wife dressed them up nice so the rats would be fooled, and changed their clothes every day so they wouldn’t smell like rat blood. They had these frilly Victorian white outfits that she just drowned in bleach to get the dead rat smells out.

So anyway, when you’ve got four dozen dead rats, what do you do with them? If you put them all out in trash bags, the city might condemn your house for having that many rats. Never mind that most of them were swarming over from the other house anyway because it was abandoned. So we piled up the dead rat bodies in the bathroom. Then my son stole their refrigerator and rolled it out in the late evening, strolling along with it, mostly because at the time he wasn’t 18 yet but also because ninja, and we loaded it into my wife’s minivan and drove it to a friend’s house because his wife had gotten drunk on cheap wine and stabbed their refrigerator to death with a knife. Apparently it was a really big knife. Then we took the oven, which was good, because there were rats living in it, and we hid it in our garage, which we didn’t keep cars in anymore because of the risk of the garage flooding and the cars floating away. Since we were cognizant of the cops potentially looking for the oven, I let my wife take all the books back out of the apartment she’d been renting because we couldn’t really use it for what we’d intended anyway, and she stacked them all around the oven, and after she was done not only could you not tell there was an oven in there, but you didn’t want to go anywhere near it because you were afraid of a seven-foot-tall stack of books toppling over on you, and I’ve never met a cop who’s seven feet tall. They never did come by, though. Which was good, because the first time it rained, my wife went out there to retrieve all her books to save them from flooding, and of course then you could see the oven again.

We tried to steal the hot tub, but someone else got to it first, along with my lawnmower and backup generator. I felt really bad about the backup generator because we had some really beefy squirrels in there running the dynamo wheel and I don’t know where I’m going to get squirrels that big and strong again.

Then the bank started showing the house, so we stepped up our game. We played death metal at ridiculous volume when people would come to see the house, until we found out from my youngest son’s friend’s mom that she’d actually come to look at the house and thought the death metal was encouraging, as it suggested neighbors she could get along with. So after that it was endless repetitions of music from Sesame Street and The Song That Doesn’t End and Dora the Explorer. During that time period we all wore headphones; it was kind of unbearable, except for the youngest kids, of course. They didn’t mind.

We put cat food and sardines in the air conditioning vents, and potatoes in the closet so they could rot and turn to mush in the dark, and my oldest daughter, whose room was absolutely full of ghosts, did a séance and an exorcism to get the ghosts to move to the other house, and of course it was full of flies because of all the dead rats, and then we randomly placed mannequin parts in strategic locations. It must have worked, because in the end, no one bought the place and the bank put it up for auction, and my wife’s parents bought it for her. And then, of course, we had to clean up the potatoes, and the flies, and the ghosts, and the cat food – someone had gotten to the dead rats already – and deal with the power company being too scared of the ghosts to come hook us up, and the insurance agency rejecting my wife’s parents’ insurance application because someone came by while my daughter was doing her séance/exorcism and apparently black magic is one of those things they don’t tell you you can’t do in an insured house, but they won’t insure your house if they know you’re doing it.

So after all this, after my son the ninja has busted his butt trying to make this place unliveable so we could get it at auction for cheap enough that my wife’s parents could afford it – they’ve got that kind of professional man and housewife money that only boomers get to have anymore, not rich but sure as heck not as poor as I’d be if my wife didn’t work – he says, he wants chickens. He’s found his spirit animal, or something, and it’s a bird. It doesn’t hurt that I have a new boyfriend – yes, I said it, I have a wife and a boyfriend and they know about each other and we all live in the same house, and if you don’t like it, you know what you can sit and spin on. Anyway, my boyfriend is a wild animal dude from Canada, who, like, communes with animals and has conversations with them and is very possibly actually delusional, but he has all these ideas about how we can convert the two yards into an urban farm. It’s his original idea about the chickens, but my son is thrilled with the idea and I’m not gonna say no to the guy after he helped us get our second house, and I like the idea myself, so we go and get chickens.

First snag. My wife’s parents hate chickens. They hate birds in general. Apparently when my wife was a kid, they had a dog who didn’t believe in birds, and the birds pecked his eyes out, so they’ve got a grudge. I… gotta say, much as I love dogs, any dog who told a bird to its face that he didn’t believe in birds had it coming. You just don’t tell people that they don’t exist while you’re looking straight at them. That’s rude.

Second snag. The city won’t let us have more than 4 chickens per yard, but my boyfriend has acquired eight because he thought we’d be able to use the second yard, and because my wife’s parents hate birds, that isn’t happening. And no one wants to give any of the birds up. We’ve got some amazing chickens. We’ve got a white Silkie who I like to keep on my lap and pet when I’m being a supervillain, because any villain can have a long-furred white cat but it takes a really original guy to have a long-furred white chicken. (Obviously, Silkies don’t really have fur, but their feathers have a consistency like silky fur, hence the name.) We’ve got a Silkie crossbreed who sings dubstep. She’s a tiny little bantam chicken, but because she was raised by my son, who has been taking care of all the chickens since we got them, and they think he’s the alpha hen, she gets to boss all the rest of the chickens around because she’s the daughter of the alpha hen, which I guess makes her Princess Hen or something. We’ve got a big black Cochin with feathers on her feet, and a Naked Neck chicken who wants all the rest of her feathers off too, and a bunch of others. Really exotic chickens. So we’re not giving up any of these chickens for anything. We hide the two bantams – the Silkie and the princess – in the house, which necessitates chicken diapers, about which the less said the better – and we just kind of pretend that we have four outdoor chickens instead of six.

And our chickens are heroes. The cops come by one day looking for an armed robber who’s hiding somewhere. The chickens are all riled up. We think they’re worried about the cops, until eventually, they start pecking at something under their coop, and here comes the robber, crawling out from under the coop shrieking because he’s being pecked by half a dozen birds. The cops give the chickens a medal – one for all of them, they don’t have that many medals lying around, and we have to take it away from them and hang it in the house because they’re fighting over it all the time. And the news decides to do a human interest piece on our hero chickens, and we think the world should know how awesome our chickens are, so we let them.

This turns out to be a mistake. Because we’re not legally allowed to have six chickens. So one cold winter afternoon, while we’re getting ready to spend a weekend in another dimension, Animal Control comes and steals all our chickens, and trumps up charges against us such as “no water” (which is what happens after you tip a waterer over on its side), and “inadequate shelter” because they tore the door off the chicken coop to get at our birds, since naturally we had the coop door locked, and “immoral consecration of chicken souls to Satan” which is just a flat out lie. We’re atheists, not Satanists, and even Satanists don’t actually consecrate chicken souls to Satan. That’s mostly edgy teenagers who were raised Catholic.

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever gone through a dimensional portal, but the thing is, they are only open for a short period of time, and it can be years before they open again. We couldn’t change our plans; the tickets for the boat were very expensive, since only so many boats were going to be allowed to sail through the portal so it was a really limited thing, and this close to sail time there was no way we could sell our tickets or exchange them. So we had to go on our trip for the weekend, which was great. Really fun. Not as much fun as the time when I was a kid and my family went to the moon and had a barbeque, but do you ever really have as much fun on a vacation when you’re an adult as you did when you were a kid? I keep meaning to take my kids there one of these days – among other things, my family’s barbeque grill is still stuck up there and I want it back – but I’m a little bit afraid that I won’t be able to get the magic back and it’ll be really depressing. While we were sailing out there, we actually got to see the Kraken, at a safe distance away, breaching out in the bay some ways away. My oldest daughter wants to be a marine biologist, so she was telling us all kinds of Kraken facts, and disputing my statement that the fire that burned down the city a century ago was actually caused by the Kraken.

It was carrying a car in its tentacles. I couldn’t be sure – my vision’s not the best even with a telescope – but I could swear the car looked just like Vlad the Impala.

Anyway, when we came back, we found out that the chickens had already been shipped out to a zoo in a different city.

My wife piled us all into the minivan and we drove five hours to go see the chickens at the zoo, and they were doing fine – they were apparently now a traveling exhibit at a petting zoo – but it turns out chickens can see ninjas, particularly ninjas who raised and cared for them. They got so excited when my son snuck into their enclosure to steal them back that they raised a huge ruckus, and even the most talented ninja can’t stay invisible when he’s surrounded by clucking chickens. Then my wife started trying to tell a sob story about stolen chickens, but I’m afraid I got a little angry at the injustice of it all, and it is possible that a zoo employee ended up in a pond, and as a result we were thrown out of the zoo. And then they went to the other side of the country, and we just couldn’t figure out how to smuggle six chickens onto an airplane, and we couldn’t take off enough time from work to go out there with the car… so we basically gave up. The chickens were having a good life at the zoo, and getting them back was going to take way too much effort.

We hardened our premises, securing the run with a locked gate so an animal control officer would have to climb over a six foot fence to get at our chickens, and then protected the fence by getting clematis to grow all over it so it turned into essentially a six foot tall flowering bush, and got a set of eight chicks that we were assured would grow up into hens. Spoiler alert: you can’t tell what sex a chick is. Half of them grew up into roosters. So we ended up with four hens, plus the two bantam hens in the house, to live outside again, but we also ended up with four roosters, and we had to keep the poor guys in the basement. My boyfriend lived in terror of Animal Control, fearing that every time he heard a cop car, it was the cops coming to break into our basement and take our chickens. I’d say he was a little paranoid if not for what happened later; turns out it’s not paranoia if they really are out to get you.

Well, some of our new chickens had a case of wanderlust. We had Raspberry, who really liked to sleep in the bush, and Henry the Eggth, who was something of an escape artist; we kept finding her running down the street, sometimes with my son’s ninja headgear on her body, like she thought that if she just dressed like her ninja Queen Chicken Dad, she could borrow his powers and sneak out unseen. It didn’t work like that; no matter how hard a chicken trains to be a ninja, she just can’t do it. Not if her goal is to go unseen by humans, anyway. I have no idea whether Henry was able to hide from other chickens or not. The other two, Marie Curie (she got that name because she was a Polish, and Marie Curie was from Poland) and Hen Solo, would sometimes fly up to join Raspberry in the clematis bush. Chickens can’t technically fly, most of the time, because they’re too big for their own wingspan, but Solo was a bantam and Polish are a pretty tiny chicken breed too, so they were both light enough to fly as far as the bush.

Down in the basement, we had Eggy Pop, the sweetest little bantam chick size of an egg you ever saw, who grew up to be an asshole bantam roo, the kind who have a real chip on their shoulders about being bantams, and will try to kick everyone’s ass, including humans; MeToo, a beautiful Silkie who got his name when we thought he was a hen and figured that if anyone was gonna harass a chicken it would be that one; Dr. Tran, whose name I really can’t explain if there are young kids around; and Lyndon LaRoo, who kept trying, and failing, to improve his own position in the pecking order. (Dr. Tran and Lyndon got name changes when we figured out they were roos, as previously they had been named Nightmare Moon and Twilight Chicklet.) We had to keep them boxed in with baby gates, otherwise they’d have escaped through the secret tunnels we’d dug in the basement. (And what a pain those were. Ever try to dig secret tunnels in an area full of ghosts without disturbing anyone’s bones and getting a poltergeist infestation in your house? We had to use the stud finder to find the bones and then avoid them. Must have made the whole project take four times as long.) Upstairs in my son’s room, we have the two bantams, Scootaloo the Silkie crossbreed princess, and Ms. Bigglesworth, the white Silkie.

One day, all the outdoor chickens disappear. Gone, without a trace. This is deeply upsetting to me, my boyfriend and both my sons, so when a neighbor comes by and tells us that there are a lot of chickens running around an empty lot up one of the streets behind my house, we’re very hopeful, and we go into action. We take as many cardboard boxes as we can, the kind my wife uses to store books, and the four of us head up there on foot, since my wife is the only person with a car and she’s taken it and my younger daughter to go visit my oldest daughter in college.

Well, we find there are a lot of chickens up there in that empty lot. We find ours, all right – Raspberry and Henry and Marie and Solo – and a whole lot of others. A Barred Rock rooster, two Orpingtons, a Wyandotte, four random Cornish (these are meat birds, rarely found as pets because of their short life spans, so who knows what they were doing up there), a gamecock and two game hens (couldn’t tell whether they were American Game, Old English Game or some other kind, but they were little and the roo was fierce), an Ameraucana, an Easter Egger, a Brahma, a Rhode Island Red and a Jersey Giant, and then there were the really weird ones – a Sumatra, a Yokohama, a Houdan, a large Oshamo, an Onagadori, two ducks, a baby peacock, and a flamingo. I have no idea what those last guys were doing hanging around chickens.

We’re very worried for these chickens. They’re running around free in an abandoned lot and they’re expensive chickens, a lot of them, that someone is probably looking for… and my experience with Animal Control tells me that if they come along and take the chickens, the families who bought these chickens will never see them again. I have a lot more faith in my boyfriend’s ability to find local chicken owners on Craiglist or various neighborhood sites than I do in Animal Control’s willingness to actually look for owners of the chickens. So I tell my boys, and my boyfriend, that we should grab as many chickens as we can – not just our own, but all of them, so we can repatriate them to their correct homes.

We start boxing chickens. For most breeds you can get two in a box. Little chickens, sometimes three. My ninja son is an experienced chicken wrangler and my younger son is good at making a lot of noise and scaring chickens toward my older son, my boyfriend, or me. We get our own chickens boxed up quickly and start boxing the other chickens.

Then this woman I don’t recognize shows up and starts screaming at me that she’s called Animal Control and I don’t have any right to have any of these chickens. I point out that some of these chickens are mine, but she isn’t having any. She accuses me of being a chicken thief and insists that the chickens have to go to Animal Control. I tell my ninja son to get himself, his brother and my boyfriend out of here with all of the chickens they already have in boxes, and I distract the woman by arguing with her that I have every right to my own chickens and all of these chickens are mine or belong to neighbors of mine that I intend to return them to, and there’s no need to call Animal Control, who will probably ship the chickens off to a petting zoo and the owners will never see them again. She’s not having any. I’m the worst person in the universe for taking chickens that belong to me out of a yard they don’t belong in.

I stand there arguing with her until Animal Control actually shows up, at which point I head back home, hoping my boys have been smart enough to stash the extra chickens somewhere safe. Here’s where there’s a problem. I have a permit for four hens. Not the six hens I actually own, where the bantams live in the house half the year; the city doesn’t let you keep chickens in your house, never mind that bantams have a hard time living through the winter if they live outdoors. And not the four roosters I own, because you’re not allowed to own a roo in the city, and also you’re not allowed to keep chickens in your basement, which would be a reasonable prohibition if not for the prohibition on roosters and the fact that you can’t sex chicks worth a damn.

While Animal Control is gathering up the chickens we didn’t get to, plus the ducks and the baby peacock (the flamingo has flown off by this time), this crazy woman follows me back to my house, continuing to harangue me about stealing chickens and she’s going to have Animal Control inspect my house. I turn back toward her. “Do they have a warrant?”

“I – what? They’re Animal Control, they don’t need a warrant!”

“The only entity that doesn’t need a warrant is Child Protective Services. Everyone else – the cops, the FBI, the Time Police, the SCP Foundation – they’re all required to get a warrant. Why do you think Animal Control would be an exception?”

“Okay, well! We’ll go to a judge and see about getting that warrant!”

“And who’s ‘we’? Unless you work for Animal Control, you’ve got nothing to do with them getting a warrant. All you are is a complainant.”

“You’re a terrible person who mistreats chickens!” she shouts. “Your yard is horrible, your lawn is nothing but weeds all year long, you put construction trash out on your parking pad, and you keep six chickens when you’re only allowed to have four! Four! Four chickens and only four chickens!”

I’ve just figured out who called animal control on us the first time, when our chickens were confiscated, and I feel sudden rage. “You seem to pay a lot of attention to my house for someone I’ve never seen before,” I say. “You know that stalking is against the law, right? Maybe I need to get a warrant served on you.”

She flounces back toward Animal Control, but now I know that she knows where I live, that she has some kind of long-standing grudge against me, and Animal Control actually listens to her. This could be bad.

So when I get back to the house I find a zoo waiting for me. My sons released all the chickens… into the house. Argh. “You’ve got to get them into the basement,” I tell my oldest. “Use the secret tunnels and get them out of here before Animal Control arrives!”

Animal Control shows up five minutes later when my sons have just finished boxing chickens, and after I’ve just finished texting my wife about what’s going on so she can get back here. They demand to come inside my property because they say I have illegal chickens. I tell them the only chickens I have are the ones I’m permitted to have. They don’t believe me. They tell me they’re going to go and get a warrant. I tell them to have fun with that. They insist they can hear a rooster inside, and my heart sinks, because they absolutely can. The basement roos have set up a cacophony of crowing in response to the sound of all the chickens who my son has just finished boxing up and who were previously running around my house.

Now they’re telling me that if I don’t let them in to get the roosters they can plainly hear, they are authorized to use force. Since when has Animal Control been so hardcore? I can’t afford to let them in; quite aside from the roosters and all the extra chickens, I have an illegal rabbit and none of the cats have licenses. Plus, there’s a tarantula. I can’t remember whether it’s legal to have a tarantula for a pet around here. “Fine,” I snap at them, and with great regret, I go downstairs, I get Dr. Tran and Lyndon, and I hand them over to them to protect the rest.

Meanwhile my sons are in the basement on the other half of the house, the half owned by my in-laws, and they’re using the secret tunnels we dug under the entire street to deliver chickens to every house on our side of the street. My boys managed to recover 16 out of the 24 chickens or so we found running around in that lot, and my older son the ninja dropped 2 or 3 chickens at each house (he kept the game hens and their roo together and left them in our old enemies’ basement. I haven’t talked about our war with the people down the block whose son has always been a terrible person and who always decorate outrageously for the holidays, but you have to hate people who have a 20 foot Frosty the Snowman on their roof all winter long.)

Animal Control leaves. The woman, who is hanging back in the yard watching Animal Control, leaves. My wife arrives. Now the thing you need to know about my wife is that, at heart, she longs to be Big Sister – like Big Brother, but just surveilling everybody without actually doing anything about it. Also, she can’t recognize faces. She recognizes me because my hair is distinctive, but she always mistakes my oldest daughter for one of her friends with a similar hair color, mixes up my son and my boyfriend a lot because they have vaguely similar hair, and one time stalked a guy through a shopping center because she thought he might be her brother. There was absolutely no reason to think he might be her brother, to be honest, her brother lives in a different state. So she’s got all this software on her PC that does facial recognition and matches it against databases.

She takes the pictures my youngest son took with his cell phone of the crazy woman, runs them through her databases, and gets a hit. The woman lives on the street behind ours where all the back yards got bricked up. Don’t recognize her name at all, and my boyfriend confirms she is not one of the people he corresponds with online who’s a fellow local chicken owner. So we have no idea what this woman has against us, but my wife doesn’t care.

She goes online to those places that want you to subscribe to three dozen print magazines, and subscribes to them all, in the name of the crazy lady up the street. She orders cheap sex toys and has them shipped there. She signs the crazy lady up for a subscription to monthly snacks in the mail, and Book of the Month Club, and yes I want more information about energy choice, please send an agent to my home. She gets the woman’s phone number out of online databases and requests car insurance quotes, home insurance quotes, quotes on solar panels, quotes on home renovation, quotes on exorcising ghosts, and please send me information on cruises and destination vacations. She prints the woman’s name on about fifty shipping labels and starts putting moldy VHS tapes of children’s cartoons from the 1990s into envelopes, creates a fake online business so she can buy a Stamps.com account in the name of the fake online business, uses a prepaid Visa card from the drug store to pay for the postage, and mails all the tapes to the woman… one at a time, every day, for two months. She prints fake labels for empty prescription bottles for AIDS anti-virals and really hardcore anti-psychotic drugs and puts them on the prescription bottles, and she’s gonna have my son drop them off in the yards of the neighbors of the woman, but I point out to her that that’s kind of ableist because her entire idea revolves around getting revenge by making the neighbors think the woman is sick, so she shelves that idea.

You don’t mess with my wife.

Animal Control comes back with a warrant the next day. We show them around the house. See? No chickens here. No chickens in our yard, they disappeared. No chickens anywhere in the house! We don’t open any of the doors to the other side of the duplex, so they don’t know that the other side of the house is also ours and therefore they don’t know about the chickens that belong to us that we hid in the basement over there, nor do they know about the secret tunnels we have running under our entire street so they don’t know about the random chickens in the neighbors’ basements. My boyfriend reports that on his neighborhood forums, lots of people are complaining they can hear rooster noises, but they can’t find any roosters, because none of them expect to find roosters in their basements, so they don’t look.

After Animal Control leaves, we go down to the shelter where they drop the confiscated animals, and try to claim four of the eight chickens that got picked up yesterday because if this works, then we’ll find who in the neighborhood lost their chickens and try to get them back to them. We’re told that the confiscated chickens have already been identified as to who they belong to and their owner has picked them up.

Owner, not owners. Remember, you’re only allowed to have 4 chickens per house in this city, but someone managed to get eight.

My son retrieves the various chickens he’d been hiding in people’s basements, we pile them all into the car, and we drive to my boyfriends’ parents’ farm in Canada. Extradite these chickens, assholes. When the heat dies down we can try to find their real owners, we figure. Meanwhile we retrieve our own chickens from the basement on the other side of the house, put four out in the yard and put the two roosters in with the bantam hens, then think better of it and remove MeToo and make him a house rooster. He wears a chicken diaper well enough and he never crows anyway, and Eggy bullies the crap out of him so it’s best he doesn’t stay in an enclosed environment with him.

Then my youngest daughter comes home from school with a story. Apparently there are wild chickens in the woods near our house. What?

I should explain this. We live in a city, but we live close enough to the outskirts and to various parks that there are small patches of nature all over the place. The “woods” is about a block long and four trees deep, hardly what I’d consider woods, but it’s a good place to dump possums when you find them hiding in your laundry room. (Yes. Possums in our laundry room. Lots of them.) So my son and I go back there, and sure as day, yes, there are chickens back there. All of the chickens that got confiscated from that yard, plus additional chickens who have been disappearing from people’s flocks all year. Either somebody has been stealing chickens and then keeping them in a mega-flock in the woods… or the chickens have been escaping, and gathering together.

We leave the chickens where they are; I’m no narc, to rat out chickens who maybe just want to be free. But my son and I do put up wire fencing to keep our chickens from joining them, because one off-leash dog and those chickens could be in a world of hurt. We do notify the other chicken owners in the neighborhood about the woods chickens, and over the next few days, several of the chickens disappear from the woods as they’re retrieved by their owners.

Meanwhile, my wife has continued her vendetta against the crazy lady. She has my son go over in the middle of the night and throw trash into the yard, which she stole from trash cans in the park so there’s nothing that can be tied back to us, and then calls 311 in the morning to report that the woman’s yard is full of trash. She inspects our car every day to make sure no one has slashed the tires, but she uses a ballpeen hammer to break the crazy lady’s headlight because that will get her a ticket. I tell her to let it go. She buys a bale of hay and throws it in the woman’s yard. And she’s still sending moldy videotapes.

A For Sale sign pops up on the woman’s house. We’re currently extending the tunnel network over there so we can sneak in and leave tripe in the air conditioning system and dead rats. It’s not next door to our house, so there’s a very good chance that my wife actually could buy it, this time.

Never found out why she had a grudge against us, but she’s moving out, so who cares.

#52 project #alara original writing #chickens

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visndcaitswhore · 4 years ago

Text

Ephemeral|| FRED WEASLEY

Summary: Starting his first year at Hogwarts Hades Lestrange thought it was going to be peaceful and he would keep a low profile. But peaceful and low profile isn't in the twins' vocabulary, apparently.

TWO

The Slytherin dorms where quiet, which made sense since it was the middle of the night and every student after eating to their hearts content had quickly retired for the night. Yet, in the dark and suprisingly warm room- of course, there is no way the wealthy parents would allow their kids to freeze under the lake- a sigh sounded through the quiet of the room.

Hades shifted for the hundreth time that night, sleep wasn't his friend that night. Laying on his side he pushed the dark green curtains of the bed aside slightly to peek at the clock that was resting on the bed side table. He squinted at the clock which told him that it was almost 4 in the morning.

He closed the curtains with a groan.

Whatever, he thought, time is relevant.

Fuck, he needed sleep.

He closed his eyes trying to fool himself into thinking that he is asleep but that did not seem to work because of the unexplained uneasiness he felt. Well, not exactly unexplainable, he knew it was because of the red headed twin storms and their friendship that lasted for almost three hours or so.

It was stupid to think about them so much, of course it wouldn't last. He knew that. But he lost himself, he was happy and he laughed so much he forgot to take in account their worn out shirts, their baggy clothes that obviously weren't originally bought for them but for someone taller, propably a sibling. No signs of wealth anywhere, he couldn't associate himself with them even if they were sorted in slytherin.

Which they would not want, who would seat in a table full of back stabbing snakes?

Assholes, mother fucking, horses ars-

There was a loud snore from one of the boys that broke the silence out of nowhere, causing Hades to fall off his bed with a loud thud, becoming a tangled mess with his covers. Struggling, he managed to push his upper body glaring at the boy,

"Sorry, Lestrange" he mumbled sleepisly before turning to his side and falling asleep.

The dark haired boy just growled at him as he considered attacking his fellow slytherin but he decided to let it go as something dawned to him.

He was a Lestrange- rich, spoiled and entitled. He didn't know what that meant in its entirety but what he did know was the fact that he absolutely should not be bothered by irrelevant Gryffindors who were quite clearly prejudiced against him for his house while ironically calling Slytherins prejudiced.

He scoffed, shaking his head with a smile.

"What a joke..."

And everything went quite again, and stillness conquered.

Then a very loud snore shook the bedroom, again.

"For fucks" Hades grabbed the pillow from underneath the snoring boy, before attacking,

Hades walked the halls of Hogwarts like a zombie on his first day. His dark curls were all over the place, his tie was made up the wrong way and he would glare at anyone that dared talk to him this early.

Any activities before 12 should be forbidden by human rights, he scowled.

But does that mean that he would have a quite day?

No, because the universe had another obstacle for him that morning. And it had purple hair.

"Hey, Hadie, wait up!"

Hades did not respond to the name Hadie so he chose to ignore the female voice but the girl just moved to walk beside him.

"You are Hades Lestrange, right?" Asked the purple ball of energy and loudness.

"No. I'm Miguel"

The purple haired girl threw her head back with an obnoxious laugh, almost falling causing her to grab onto the dark haired boy.

As she laughed Hades kept glaring at her hand located on his arm, then at her face. Glare at her hand, then glare at her face. He continued to do that as she came down from her high, wiping away the tears that had gathered at the corners of her eyes

"You are funny, mini Lestrange "

Salazar, give me strength to not slap this bitch.

"I'm not that small" he sounded pretty offended. Which he was. He knew he was pretty small for his age but he still had room to grow, or that's what his uncle told him one day when he was giving him the cold shoulder for calling him short.

"Aww, of course you are. You are cute and small, with really cute cheeks. Perfect for squeeezing" she 'complimented' while squeezing his cheek really hard giving him a mischievous smile.

Hades slapped her hand away, suddenly thankful that there were only a few students at the hall.

"Rude" she gasped "Is this how you treat your cousin?"

"No cousin of mine has purple hair, I can assure you" Of that he was pretty sure, purple hair just didn't fit with the dark and brooding death eaters of his family. It wasn't angsty enough.

"Well, now you do. I'm Tonks" she extended her hand for a handshake with a huge smile.

"Your first name is Tonks? Your parents dont really like you" he furrowed his eyebrows

Another obnoxious laugh.

He didn't know, or even like this girl, but she sure knew how to laugh.

"You are good, mini Lestrange"

"Meh"

"Dora!" a male voice cut their conversation off giving Hades the opportunity to try and bold as Tonks was looking at the by that called her. Only for her to grab his cloak without even looking.

The red headed boy walked closer to the two with a smile ignoring the pouting and glaring Hades, held captive by Tonks.

"Dora, you need to stop skipping classes. Sprout is looking for you"

"Well, I'm sure that she can excuse me this time. It's a family reunion!" she put a hand around Hades shoulders when he tried to wiggle his cloak out of her hold "Charlie, meet my cousin. Hades, Charlie Weasley"

The dark haired boy stopped struggling, pushing his dark curls back, looking at Charlie in pure shock.

Charlie was a very handsome young man, that much was clear. With red hair reaching past his ears, with shining blue eyes that were slightly screwed as he smiled down at Hades kindly. The boy bit down on his cheek as he could feel the blood rushing through his cheeks, quite a contrast on his pale skin. He wasn't sure if he was blushing because Charlie was handsome or because his last name was Weasley, reminding him of the twins he so wanted to strangle now.

A bit of both.

Charlie moved for a handshake when Hades made a sound of realization. With his mouth agape he pointed at Tonks accusingly "Tonks, Andromeda's new surname after marrying a muggle born." he paused "So, your first name isn't Tonks"

"Nope," she said playfully "but you can just call me Tonks"

Charlie, saw an opportunity and took it "Her name is Nymphadora"

There was a glint in the cousins' eyes.

"Don't call me Nymphadora" said the girl with a dangerous glint in her eyes as her hair turned red.

Meanwhile, Hades and Charlie smirked at each other. The glint in Hades' eyes screamed mischief. And here he thought he would get bored without annoying Draco for a whole year, little did he know the next victim would offer herself over to him. Cousins are a blessing.

"Anyways!" Hades interrupted their bickering "I have to go to my potions class. See you later," he pinched Dora's cheek affectionately with a shit eatting grin "Nymphadora"

Hades turned on his heels, suddenly very jolly as he skipped away with an evil laugh.

So, Hades was set on one thing. His potions teacher is an insecure asshole who likes to bully kids, propably because he finds no real joy in his life. And to top it all off, he was the head of his house.

And to add to that, the asshole kept calling on Hades even when his hand wasn't raised. Obviously because his last name, Lestrange, meant that he knew every single answer. Which he did, but thats besides the point. The point was that Hades' anxiety had reached its peak, and he thought he would propably have a cardiac arrest,

Not to mention he was obviously biased towards his house and he didn't even hide it as he took points from the Gryffindor's mercilessly for every stupid reason he could find, usually undeservingly. The only instance that was excused was when the twins made tampered with another students potion making it explode in his face as they died of laughter. Hades almost smiled.

If the potion had exploded in Snapes face he would have laughed not caring about the consequences.

But that small prank costed 20 points from Gryffindor and Snape seperating the twins, so thats how Hades ended up trying to scoot as far away from Fred as possible. Thankfully, Fred respected his boundaries as they both worked on their seperate assignments while stealing glances at each other from time to time.

As they stole glances at eah other their eyes met, and they held eye contact for a few seconds before the redness spread from their neck to their whole face and they looked away, wide eyed.

Hades cleared his throat, continuing with the potion but not before slapping Fred's hand away as he tried to sneak something into his cauldron.

"Touche" whined Fred rubbing his hand

"I thought we were the snakes that went behind people's backs?" Hades asked not even bothering to look up from his cauldron as he threw in the last incredients.

"I never-" tried Fred, touching Hades' wrist but he was quick to raise his hand

"Professor, I'm done"

The head of his house made his way towards him to check his work. As he examined his cauldron, Hades and Fred examined his face wondering what he felt since his expression continued to be sour and his eyes basically dead. The two first years ex changed looks, then looked back at their teacher in curiosity.

"Very well done, Mr. Lestrange. 10 points to Slytherin." Then his eyes fell on Fred's unfinished project "Mr. Weasley, why don't you follow Mr. Lestrange's," he trailed off as he saw that Fred still had his hand on Hades wrist, the slytherin not bothered in the slightest. Honestly, they had forgotten about it but now they noticed and quickly pulled their hands away ", example" Snape then walked away with a confused expression, not really wanting to know the details.

"Yeah, follow my example, Weasley" Hades smirked.

Fred puffed his chest , clasping his hands behind his back, sticking his nose high in the air "It's Mr. Weasley to you, young man" he shook his head disapprovingly "Kids these days"

Hades just smiled "Well, you should propably get used to following my example."

Fred's smile fell as he instead narrowed his eyes at the shorter boy whose smile widened. Snape dismissed

"Finally," Hades sighed "Now you can go back to your non- backstabbing Gryffindors, and I can finally be rid of your horrible excuse to a humor, yeah?" and with that he grabbed his books and walked out of the classroom.

Fred watched his back before George snapped him out of his daze and they walked out of the classroom with Lee as Fred explained to them their next plan.

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fox-fic-and-ink · 5 years ago

Note

Just seen the list and 15 for shiro/lush or osiris/saint if it's not too much trouble

We need some Shiro/Lush fluff after the last few angsts! 15, "You have no idea how much I want you right now." A little nsfw but your brain can run free at the end.

"You believe these things used to be all over the place?"

"It's not so different from the markets in the City," Shiro says right before he is reminded of the great, glass dome overhead and the chandeliers in every split hall. "Except maybe a bit more excessive."

Which, in part, is what made Shiro think to share this place with the Awoken Hunter. Bright eyes flick over every piece of once shiny decor and architecturally complicated feature.

Lush tugs Shiro gleefully over to the broken arch of a door-sized glass panel where a map was once projected and Lush's Ghost, Hops, hacks the remains to present the Guardians with a holographic rendering of the mall layout.

"Ah! It's huge!"

Sure enough, the overgrowth of trees and brush outside has done a spectacular job of hiding the scope of the place which Shiro had only barely glimpsed in a flyover months ago.

"Hey," Shiro pokes his eager partner in the rib. "Don't get carried away. We only have an hour until rendezvous."

Lush doesn't pout. It would waste too much time. Instead he takes Shiro's arm and tugs until they fall into a quick jog. "Just the highlights for now! You'll bring me back after!"

Lush jumps the counter of the first food stand they find.

"Welcome, handsome wanderer! What can I get for you?"

Shiro squints at the cracked and faded menu overhead. "I'll have a large...uh...whatever used to be where that bird nest is now."

Lush's whole body twists with laughter and then he rushes through the tattered curtain leading to the hidden food prep area. There's some rummaging and a gasp before the Hunter returns with a swollen bucket slopping black something that expired the Maker knows when.

"Bad news, handsome wanderer!"

Shiro takes his turn behind the counter and plunks keys on the mossy cash register as Lush reads everything off the menu and adds on a few he makes up. Shiro states some fantastic total at the end and earns himself another one of those bubbling laughs.

They pass dozens of shops at a brisk pace. Most have clearly been ransacked at some point or other. Some, like electronic-based entertainment stores, greeting card shops, and knickknackeries seem largely undisturbed. Lush pulls them into an apparel store for a fashion show but most of the clothing is rotting off the racks so they arrange the mannequins into a tableaux instead.

A shopping cart race too close to an inert escalator leads Shiro to a twisted arm and an impromptu bullet/revival combo. Only after he's back up does Lush laugh until tears stream down his cheeks.

Time is drawing to a close when they jog past a shuttered corner business. Lush's boots squeal when he halts suddenly and backs up for a better look. "Shiro!"

The Exo pads back, swerving back around a fallen section of ceiling and the vines that dip down four stories to brush the mall floor. Lush is already tugging at the rusted cage but he's trying to be gentle about it. Shiro checks his internal clock and rips the protective shutters away from the concrete wall to the pop of locks and horrible scratch of metal as it drags across the floor.

"I was going to put it back," Lush explains but then shrugs and places a quick kiss on Shiro's cheek. "Thanks though."

Lush practically skips inside and it's instantly clear what caught the Hunter's eye.

"Wow." Shiro can't help but gawk at the find. "I've never seen so much jewelry in one place."

"Isn't it gorgeous!"

Lush wipes a display case with his sleeve and practically puts his nose to the glass for a closer look. The Awoken is the one with the appetite for shiny baubles. What Shiro sees is bartering material for parts and the rare outside labor on his ship.

The Exo is still debating if they'll fetch more by keeping the pieces whole or by separating rare metals from gems, when he notices Lush has made his way behind the display cases and is crushing locks with a precise, void-wreathed fist. There's three necklaces glittering around the Awoken's neck by the time Shiro pipes up in reminder. "Andal's rule is no more personal plunder than you can carry."

"Andal's not here," Lush counters with an easy smile and slips a stack of bangles over his slim wrist. "But even if he were, we're not technically on a run yet. Also, I'm wearing it, not carrying it."

Shiro concedes that point. "You better stash it all away before we see Cayde though. He's gonna want to know where you got it."

"There's two bookstores, an arcade, and a bowling alley in this place. With Cayde's weird instincts, he will find it on his own. We'll just be sure to take the best stuff now."

Shiro shakes his head fondly as Lush examines himself and his gaudy collection of heaped jewelry in one of the shop's many mirrors. If Lush didn't glitter before, he most certainly would now. Though some of the smaller pieces are quite pretty against the pastels of the Awoken's skin. Shiro might suggest they personally keep just a few pieces. Lush catches Shiro staring and winks before continuing on his magpie rampage. Shiro doesn't blush but he feels a telling warmth building in his chest.

"Oooh! And what have we here?"

An entire tray of rings is liberated from its case and set on top.

"Now I know you don't have enough fingers for all those," Shiro teases.

Lush grins and reaches across the counter to snatch Shiro and bring him closer. "You're right! Better give me your hands too."

The Exo is so used to being pushed and pulled along that he follows easily even if he huffs. "I don't want to wear all this nonsense."

"Hmm. You're right." For the first time since they tore open the shutters, Lush seems to stop and consider Shiro with his plain but functional armor and almost gunmetal paint job. Lush scans the tray of rings. With a small 'aha' he bypasses all the large, sparkling stones and swooping designs to pluck a single band. He tugs off Shiro's glove and slips on the ring. The thing sits perfectly at the base of Shiro's finger.

"Oh!" Lush giggles. "It's kismet!"

Shiro blinks at the band of gold with its warm amber inlay. The colors aren't so bad.

"You know, most City couples wear a ring on their right hand when they get engaged," Lush whispers as if it's a particularly important secret and taps the tip of Shiro's right finger- the one with the newly acquired ring. "Then, when they get married, they switch the ring to their left hand."

Lush picks out another ring. This one is the same gold but thinner with a gentle loop around a smooth piece of amber and he holds it up to the fourth finger of his left hand so Shiro can picture it there forever.

The words tumble right out of Shiro's hanging mouth. "You have no idea how much I want you right now."

Lush's laugh fills the shop. He places the smaller ring in Shiro's hand and then offers his right with a prompting flick of the fourth finger. "Do it and we'll celebrate."

The ring slips right onto Lush's finger with just enough room for the Awoken Hunter to then curl his hand in Shiro's as the Exo hauls the smaller man across the counter- piled jewels and all- for a spectacular kiss.

When Lush comes up for breath, he orders sweetly, "Now take off my pants."

*Prompts currently closed. Btw, I am without income due to the pandemic. Tips are greatly appreciated! https://ko-fi.com/foxficandink

Or join me on Patreon for more fic.

https://www.patreon.com/foxficandink?fan_landing=true

#destiny #destiny 2 #shiro #lush #shiro/lush #prompts

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joonbug21 · 5 years ago

Text

Beyond the Facade | knj

Pairing: HandyMan!Namjoon X Pregnant!Reader, BestFriend!Taehyung X Pregnant!Reader

Word Count: 11k

Genre: fluff/smut/angst

Warning(s): strong language use, childbirth, mention of infidelity, alluding of a love triangle, evidence of a sheltered background, angst involving family matters, smut, oral (f receiving), nipple play, hand groping

It’s been four months since you deemed the fellowship hall your home, and appreciatively, the area has been vacant since the falling of the church which saves even more stress than what you’ve been in since moving here. Achingly, your legs stretch to move off the bed before your feet land onto the grainy carpet. Your right-hand slips to steady your back, maneuvering your body to scoot to the bed frame, which has become a daily routine, weak fingers gripping the wood until your digits become pale white. Letting out a steady sigh, with all your strength you lift yourself to where you can stand, “Oomf,” a small whimper escapes past your lips, tensing at the cringe plaguing your shoulders.

Being seven months pregnant sometimes has its perks, but this isn’t one of them. Bending your body forward slightly, you step sluggishly toward your dresser, pulling out maternity clothes lent to you before the move.

“So, when are you going to tell us?” The soft murmur belonging to your mother echoes from the driver’s side. Her expression submits an evident mixture of exhaustion and exasperation; though it’s been a month since the announcement of your pregnancy, your mother is currently driving you to a doctor’s appointment for a checkup on the baby to make sure everything is okay, “we have a right to know.”

Arms crossed over your chest in mild annoyance, you bite the corner of your mouth until the side of your head meets the window, getting lost in the line of trees zipping by.

Waddling into the bathroom, the vague memory fades, your hand reaching to turn the knob of the shower. The squeaky sound along with rushing water splatters against the shower curtain sending a soothing jolt of excitement. Chilly air springs goosebumps over your limbs once you’re freed of your clothes, waiting patiently for the water to warm before inching into the tub. When steaming liquid soon dribbles among your frame, a grin of satisfaction sparks brief happiness you needed an escape to. The heat of the downpour eases your aching bones, fingers clasping behind your neck to lean your head back, “Oh!” You gasp in surprise when the instant feel of a kick happens within your tummy. Eyes flutter down in the direction of your swollen belly, palms moving to caress it, “Look at you, what are you trying to do? Escape?” Cooing with a light giggle, when the baby kicks again, you can’t help the giddy smile tugging at the corner of your lips. Now, this- this is what you love about being pregnant. Finishing up, you dry your hair before swiftly dressing along with brushing your teeth.

Thoughts still pertaining to the small life growing inside you, you’ve decided since your first doctor’s visit that you do not want to know your baby’s gender until the day that you give birth. When you presented the idea to your mother, she was all on board, proclaiming how she had done that with your younger sibling. Running a brush through your hair, you skim one final look into the mirror formerly then head to exit the bathroom.

Gradually sauntering through the mini hallway, you’re more zoned on the way your hand pats upon the wall in some form of maintaining stableness to the point you hardly notice almost slamming into a tall figure.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry!” A deep voice panics, raising his arms in a way to catch you though your arms mirror the same. Heart ramming, a breath of relief winds past your parted lips- your eyes scanning the slim legs that follow to the handsome face of Kim Namjoon. His eyes enlarged apologetically.

“Oh Namjoon, you scared me,” a tender chuckle sets the feel of calm for he sees the amnesty etched in your eyes.

“I’m so sorry, [Y/N], I was about to head out to mow the lawn, but just wanted to check and make sure you’re okay,” he timidly scopes the view of your huge abdomen, gulping once his hands rest loosely at his sides, returning his eyes to search yours before a sweet grin spreads upon your face.

“It’s no biggie. Thank you for checking on me,”

Kim Namjoon works for your father, making sure the church grounds continuously stay clean and cut creating a pretty environment to the eye. Protecting the land is another part of the job description- protecting it from any loiterers, wild animals, protesters, etcetera- maintaining flower bushes encircling the area as well as mini projects your father will want Namjoon to build. The swing set, including the shed, happen to be plans that Namjoon successfully constructed due to your father’s wishes. In return, Namjoon is provided a place to live- the room that once held your father’s office, is now changed into a bedroom.

It’s strange for you to think about it now- how so much has changed in just seven months, when a year ago the church was thriving, unaware of the secrets that clouded within the audience. Squeezing your eyes shut, a reminiscent from the beginning of your pregnancy rears its head causing a tiny brink of nausea to form.

Taehyung’s arms drape around you tightly, embracing you in all entirety that your eyes shut against the crook of his neck. Your fingers squeeze his shoulder, legs bent across his thighs while tepid tears spill onto your cheeks.

“Shhh,” he tries to comfort, his breath tickling your exposed ear- your face still buried beneath his chin, “It’s going to be okay,” he whispers just as soft as the flicking fire burning amongst numerous candle wicks. Scents of vanilla blends with birch fitting the dimly lit bedroom that you’re thankful exists other than the man refusing to let you go until you feel better.

“How?” You choke back another sob, “How am I going to tell my parents? How am I supposed to confront the church if that’s what it comes down to? Shit… My dad is going to fucking kill me,” Taehyung’s shirt is soaked, but he could care less, tangling his long fingers into your hair to stroke the back of your head.

“Okay, now, you’re being dramatic,”

“So, maybe I am? But you know very well that my parents aren’t going to take this lightly,”

“Yeah, but I think it’s safe to say that telling your parents you’re pregnant is far better than if you were to tell them how you truly feel about religion,”

“Okay? Perhaps, you’re right,” a snippet of a frustrated huff leaves your trembling lips, “especially not with what’s been going on with the church, I don’t know how much more they can take,”

“Well, your dad should have thought of that before he had an affair with my mom,” Taehyung’s icy tone brings chills to your frame before he loudly swallows, lips firm from the anger boiling behind his almond eyes. Tendrils of his bright, red hair glow regardless of how dark the atmosphere is, and you hardly hold back the sheer pain stabbing your heart from the guilt you can’t help but endure.

“Tae, I’m so so sorry,”

“Hey,” he peers down at you, realizing he may have taken his comment too far, even though you’re just as angry towards your father as your best friend is, “you didn’t know,” sniffling back the remaining mucus clogging your nostrils, you desire to face Taehyung no matter how foolish you think you may look, scooting your body to where your palm indents in his mattress next to his legs, his arm now rests around your waist, and for a split second, you’re close enough to where the tempting appearance of his striking face beckons the strange glimmer of longing. A longing of curing whatever loneliness you’re going through, but you’re not the only one experiencing this moment for Taehyung’s lips part just enough to plead your attention.

You can’t stop yourself, and you don’t, because before either of you comprehend, you close the gap letting the delicate wave of his kiss caress yours. “Tae,” you breathe against his lips, reuniting with his kiss almost immediately while a dizzy spell of want travels through your chest. You know this isn’t right. He knows this isn’t right, but too many pent-up emotions between your hearts have gotten out of hand, and for now, all the two of you have is each other. His fingertips move to tenderly trail your jaw, gasping into his mouth when the tip of his tongue circles yours before you move to trap him in a perfect straddle. You need something, anything to feel whole again- something to forget about the people you lost and the people you will lose. And, if there’s anyone in this world you do not want to lose it’s him.

There’s no refraining, there’s no hesitation, just the growing pace of the kisses, and the way you’re so enthralled with how beautiful he feels squeezing you tighter to him. “[Y/N],” he moans, hating himself for how far he wants to go with you, yet he craves your touch, nearly supplicates for it. You want to feel his skin, and the aching throb below you seems to deafen any other screams of stopping, and yet, your fingers move to the end of his shirt, peeling it just enough to expose the solid wall of his abdomen. “[Y/N],” he stops you, breaking the final kiss, his hand covering your wrist, while your eyes frantically search the side of his face, “We- we can’t,”

You haven’t seen him since, because of the boundaries that were crossed and would have been farther crossed if Taehyung had not had the strength to stop. The pair of you have been best friends since childhood, and neither of you wants to take anything beyond for the sake of feeling empty, but he assured you that night, even after your panic of apologies pouring from your mouth, after the humiliation that shackled your system, even after the daunting assumption that your friendship was over- he cupped your cheek, promising that he was still here and that he would never end your attachment over something, you both will never regret.

It’s a secret you’ve suppressed for some time. Taehyung calls every so often when he can; dealing with his broken-hearted father on top of two jobs consumes every bit of his time. Yet, you can’t help but miss him, the one person who loyally stayed by your side even when you came forward to your friends about your pregnancy. And, the one friend who still loves you all the same, even after discovering his mother’s affair with your father.

Rage isn’t enough to describe the resentment against your father, and ever since you told your parents that you were expecting, and ever since your move, you haven’t spoken to him. You’ll never forget how torn your mother was- depression weighing heavy on her, and that’s something that’s hard to forgive.

Your mother looks frail as she twiddles the crumpled tissue in her hands. Tears brim her eyes through the silence in the car, sparse sniffles breaking your heart into a million pieces. The two of you had just come back from the grocery store to restock the kitchen in your recently new home and are now parked at the church’s back door to drop you off. You hesitated upon leaving because the thought of your mother having to return home to a place of remorse is the last thing you want for her. The promise of a car was granted to you, but you turned it down, refusing to accept anything from the man who caused so much pain to your family. To Taehyung’s family.

Running the tissue underneath her eyes, she speaks, “[Y/N]?”

“Yeah?” Your voice is barely a whisper, but the guilt from how stressed your mother has been is something you wish you could carry instead of her. After the betrayal of your father as well as him resigning from the church to send people away from the place they once sought refuge in- on top of her oldest daughter being pregnant with her first child is already a lot to handle. The other frustration you bite your tongue from expressing is the fact of your parents refusing to let you get a job until the time after you give birth. You want to make the money to provide for yourself and your son or daughter without the dependence upon your parents- your mother especially, yet you’re grateful for her adamancy on keeping you from any risks outside of the walls of your home.

It takes a moment before your mother gathers her words, “Do you- do you think you could ask Namjoon to help take you to the hospital? Whenever it’s time… for you to have the baby?”

It was easier for your mother to ask that of you because he lived in the same building, and if any emergency of your water breaking happened earlier than expected, at least you would have someone available to take you to the hospital. Your gaze clears from the zone out you’ve had the whole time standing in the entrance of the hallway before Namjoon left. Turning on a heel, you decide to return to your bed, slipping under the covers- you’re too wide awake to sleep as of now, yet the foam of the mattress eases the soreness of your back once you lean against the pillows.

-Four months earlier-

Queasiness envelops your abdomen to where you recognize the cue, rushing to the porcelain throne to heave whatever yellow liquid is left- spurting it into the toilet while you grimace through the pain. The door swings open behind you mixed with heavy footsteps quickening to you. When large hands swoop to hold your hair back, you don’t have the strength to look at the intruder due to the continuous retching that deems you defenseless.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” the deep voice is soft, and relief brings tears to your eyes when you recognize it to be Kim Namjoon. You’re embarrassed once your stomach gives you a break, your palms pressing to your forehead while you slump against the wall.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, swiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Namjoon scatters to find a tissue, patting the corners of your mouth.

“You don’t have to be sorry,”

“That… wasn’t what I was apologizing for,”

A knowing glance is all he must give for you to share whatever thoughts you can’t bring yourself to voice. He was your friend before all of this, yet you failed to mention to him about the pregnancy, and with him being the worker of the Church- he didn’t discover your budding stomach until the day you moved in. His eyes flicker away from your stare toward the slight protrusion of your baby bump due to your ruffled t-shirt. He settles on the floor across from you, silence being the only conversation held. He isn’t one to hold anger, and though you kept him unaware until your third month of pregnancy, he refuses to leave your side, making a pact to himself he will do whatever it takes to provide the care that you will need. As well as the little one.

Despite the emotional roller coaster, you remain amazed with how he keeps his patience with you. A day of depression to a random bout of laughter- memories turning of the betrayals of close friends who judged you immediately the day you put your trust in them- the freedom you craved away from the sheltered life your father forced upon you- even days where you can’t seem to put your tears on pause, yet Namjoon holds you through every grieve.

“What if… what if I’m not good enough?” Your voice shakes between sobs- you had been dreaming restlessly yet another night, tossing within your bed to the point Namjoon came to check on you- rushing to pull you into his arms the moment your eyes fluttered to reveal pained tears. Your words nearly shatter him- pulling away just enough to where his eyes lock with yours.

“How can you say that, [Y/N]?” The faint light of your lampshade causes his face to glisten- angelically, you decide, yet the shadowing doubt of motherhood plagues you still, because what if you genuinely can’t care for the child that you’re six months away from holding? Fears encompass you like an ocean, smashing along your mind in harsh waves. “Look at me,” are the words that snap you from whatever sea you were suffocating in to realize you had unintentionally switched your gaze from him. It’s the calming effect the warmth of Namjoon’s eyes bring when he exposes whatever faith he has in the woman you are and will become. “You’re going to do just fine, believe me, I know it,”

Sniffling, you run the back of your hand along your chin where an escapee of a tear dangled, “How can you be so sure?”

“Because when have you ever given up on anyone that you care about,” it’s not a question, he’s stating what he knows to be a fact. Something he learned of you when he first was hired to tend to the property. “You’re stubborn when it comes to winning someone over. I was determined not to befriend anyone here. But you changed that for me, remember?”

A knowing tug of a smile trembles into a stretch upon your lips, “I do,”

“Same with the baby. I know you will love that little one more than life itself. It doesn’t have a choice, and you’ll let him or her know the second they’re born,”

When a hearty snicker leaves your mouth, you notice the sticky feel of your drying face- you are no longer crying.

“You don’t have to do this alone, [Y/N]. You showed me that even when I didn’t know what else to do. Now, get some rest, okay? You have a doctor’s appointment bright and early,” the bed creaks from the gradual movement of Namjoon standing,

“Wait!” You speak before you can stop yourself, Namjoon immediately pausing- the heat of his arms is felt beneath your palms from your pounce of panic, and with evident chagrin, you shyly stare at his chest, “Can you uh, … Can you stay in here with me tonight?” You’ve refrained from asking sooner due to the shame of not telling him the news that’s become apparent, and even now, you haven’t been able to comprehend how he’s not the slightest bit angry with you. When his arms encircle you closer to his frame, no words need to be said because he’s already answered by just this gesture. Nuzzling into his embrace, the side of his chin pressed to your forehead, “Whoever it is, I hope they grow up to be half the person that you are,” you whisper, squeezing him tighter, infinite smiles now ending the night that cures any ounce of uncertainty.

By the fifth month of pregnancy, you finally come to the realization of how selfish you have been- it’s no longer about you and your needs; it is now about the needs of your son or daughter growing within you. Namjoon catered to every grocery store trip, stocking the kitchen and in return, you choose to cook for him every meal, hoping to show as much appreciation to him that you can.

“Have you thought about any names?” Taehyung’s voice muses on the other line of the phone, the sound of him bringing a small smirk upon your face. You’ve missed him terribly so, yet the acceptance of surprise phone calls is all you can settle with for now. At his question though, you pause with the tilt of your head, taking a quick sip of the broth that you’re currently heating on the stove.

“No?” It’s a brief question of guilt, something you haven’t been ready to ponder, “Honestly… haven’t thought that far ahead yet,” you add in the vegetables to boil within the broth.

The familiar, deep chuckle is all you hear to gain an idea of what your best friend is about to say next, “I should have known,”

“Alright, Birkenstocks. What do you mean by that?”

“Breezing past that mistake. You named your Parakeet, Bird,”

“Well, in my defense, I was seven years of age,”

“And in my defense, playing basketball in Birkenstocks was supposed to start a trend,”

“Since how? I-”

“Ask Hoseok,”

“You lost a bet didn’t you-”

“And, I will pay for it for the rest of my life, now won’t I?”

“With me around, you will,”

Hoseok is the deacon’s son who’s dream of fashion has been shunned by his family, yet he designs in a sketchbook Taehyung hides for whenever Hoseok and he share the same work shifts. He’s not one you have had the opportunity to communicate much with, but you’re thankful Taehyung has someone to maintain a friendship with while you two have been apart. A short response of silence settles while your cheek and shoulder squeeze the phone for a moment as you stir the steaming vegetables.

“You could have named the bird, Tweety at least-”

“Oh!” You playfully growl, “Back with that again, huh?”

“Do I need to send you a link of baby names-”

“I promise you, Tae, I do not plan on naming my child, Kid, okay?”

“You’d be surprised-”

Taehyung’s excitement for his future Godchild brings a simmering joy to the surface of your pattering heart. Almost as equal to the eagerness, your mother has shown with this being her first grandchild. Graciously, your mother has never been as strict as your father, hence why the past five months have gone much smoother then they would have if your father had never had an affair with Mrs. Kim.

Small talk ensues with the typical questions of how each of your days has gone once the pair of you take your seats. One secret, yet another you and Taehyung have harbored, is the awareness of Namjoon’s atheism- something your father must never learn of his worker. Namjoon, who will not admit it, works on the church grounds in order to provide for his family who lives a few miles up the road. Ultimately, there are many secrets not worth sharing to your parents, not only for the sake of sanity but for the protection of the ones who you’ve kept close, especially Namjoon. With your father being the tyrant of a priest, he used to be, there is still the potential distress of him firing Namjoon over the mere difference of beliefs. Something you refuse to let happen while you’re around.

Clinking spoons replace conversation, for how long, you’re uncertain; the fog of your thoughts seem to consume upon one in particular- something that has remained festering long enough, yet you have never said it aloud- figuring this moment may be the time that you do. Namjoon confided in you and Taehyung once he found comfort in trusting the pair of you- even subjects that one would have never expected him to open about. Guilt presents itself to the point your eyes squeeze shut, opening them to move your spoon to play at a piece of broccoli swimming in the potage.

“They don’t know,” your words are careful- slow even- continuing your vision on the dinner before you. You can feel Namjoon’s soft eyes on you, his expression confused. “They don’t know who the father is,” that’s when your gaze trails to meet his eyes just for more guilt to manifest behind them. By they, you’re referring to your parents, as well as every other soul excluding Taehyung, “I won’t tell them.” Namjoon slowly nods with the sense of understanding, knowing the cost that will be taken if your father were to know who you’re trying to bury beneath this web of fear. “Besides,” you sigh heavily, “I’m surprised my father was lenient enough to let me live here,” you confess, “if he wasn’t so guilty over the affair, I would be homeless-”

“I wouldn’t let that happen,” Namjoon says suddenly, destroying whatever anger you were dwelling upon. Your mouth falls open in shock at his words and the frilly flutter of your heartbeat is hard to ignore. After living here for two months, he’s proven time and time again that he means what he says; what he just said. Speechless, the rest of dinner continues in fond silence, your heart refusing to steady for the man slowly captivating your heart.

The sixth month of pregnancy gifts swollen feet and aching bones on top of your belly growing heavier by the week. Namjoon has stayed loyal- tending to your pregnancy cravings in the dead of night, aiding to your discomfort whether it involves a heating pack or a cup of ice, slipping under the covers on nights you want him to hold you, driving you to every doctor’s appointment without any hesitation; with all that he’s been doing for you, it’s like your feelings have blossomed deeper which you know shouldn’t be happening with the peril of your father finding out. The unexpected visits from your father are few, yet you usher the reminder to yourself of protecting Namjoon, though he carries the weight of facing your father instead of you who avoids the confrontation.

Night comes quickly after a day spent cleaning up the nursery that seems to be coming together, other than the crib Namjoon’s been building- something you accidentally discovered when strolling close to the shed one sunny day. He’s so dedicated to the unborn infant, it nearly brings you to tears, glancing around the elegant hues of multiple pastel colors painted across the room with stuffed animals, blankets, and furniture he continues to gift you amongst different items your mother has added to the collection. You always enjoy the sporadic visits from your mother, because she’s free to celebrate the life that she refuses to consider as a sin.

“Are you thinking boy or girl?” Your mother elbowed your side earlier today after moving around the furniture.

“Hm,” you hummed happily, thankful for the relationship that’s being redeemed with her, “you know? I’m not very sure,”

“I can tell from all the colors you’ve chosen,” she teased, “it looks beautiful,” she cooed, pulling you into an accomplished side hug. You didn’t want to stick to just pink or blue, so you chose every other shade in between, colliding the space with colors that could go for either or. “You’re going to be a wonderful mother,”

“Hiya,” you greet, trying to ignore the subtle increase of your heartbeat. Namjoon flashes a kid-like smile once he shutters out of his jacket, “How was your day?”

“It was good, thank you,” he replies, taking long strides until he makes it to you, “How was yours with your mom?” His right-hand steadies the small of your back while his left one clutches yours to help settle you into your seat. It’s hard to focus on the question he just asked when the scent from outside seems to heighten the attraction you already feel towards him, “It was good,” you manage to say, reaching for the silverware to begin digging into your food, “Thank you… For helping me,” the distance between your stomach and the table now is something you’ve been trying to get used to as well as the turmoil of trying to stand and sit.

“Anytime.”

“It’s okay,” you chortle at his reaction, “it’s just the baby kicking,” his response reminds you of the moment you felt the baby kick for the very first time- similar to a weird flutter that’s hard to describe, and it had taken you a second to realize what it was exactly- just your baby making its presence known to you. Namjoon swallows the bite of food in a nervous gulp, the pang of his silverware mutes from where he lays it on the napkin.

“Here,” you murmur affectionately preparing to stand to your feet. Namjoon immediately jolts from his chair, rounding the table to gather your hand in his. Instead of relying on his strength to help you position yourself, you plop back onto the seat, sliding his hand to the area where the baby kicked a few minutes prior. Namjoon kneels to level with you, his plump lips ajar mirroring the widen stance of his eyes while he patiently waits, his nervous heart pounding in his temples. It’s the exuberant joy in his smile that meets his eyes in a dazzling glow the pure second the baby kicks again, and the bliss of delight smothers your heart in so many ways imaginable at this moment the pair of you are capturing together. Your hand remains resting upon his while your eyes lock repudiating from breaking contact.

“I told you that you don’t have to do this alone,” he whispers, and it’s then you come to the awareness of how near his face is from yours, his dimples visible from his smile to the point you press your lips to each one, shocked at your act of boldness, but you can’t refrain. He’s too handsome and too wonderful to stay away from any longer. That’s all the invitation needed, for Namjoon’s lips brush yours igniting the sparks of what you’ve been trying to suppress for way too long. Your fingers find his hair when he leans to deepen the kiss, moving his hands to rest on the chair, fingers pressing into the wood until pale white.

At this moment, you don’t care what anyone thinks.

You are in love with Kim Namjoon, and there is nothing in this world that’s going to scare you away from that.

-Present day-

The pitch black outside the window brings frustration when you awaken to scold yourself for how long you’ve slept. Gathering yourself once the fatigue rolls off, you cautiously sit up, scooting to the bedpost until you’re on your feet. Taking a trip to the restroom, you notice upon exiting the clock on the wall reads seven pm, and you wonder if Namjoon has made it inside for the evening. It’s eerily quiet save for the air conditioning, but you pause when you see the lights are on in the main area of the building. Shrugging, you waddle around the corner until the sudden shouts of, “SURPRISE!”, nearly knocks you to the ground.

Gasping, your eyes widen while your hand flies to your chest. A prolonged second interferes before your brain deciphers the two individuals cheering before you. Numerous pink and blue balloons hover to the top of the ceiling matching the colors of a cloth decorating the one table now adorned with a cake and wrapped gifts. “What?” You can barely speak from the light headiness taking over, but the tears that well in your eyes when you see the boxy smile of your best friend sends you in an attempt to run just to crash into his arms. He meets you halfway, surrounding you within his embrace as he rocks you back and forth muffling your wails of joy into his checkered sweater. Your soaked cheeks are wiped away from the material as been done countless times before, and his tepid palms squish your cheeks when he steps back to gesture toward your belly.

“Wow look at you! Your belly is huge!”

“I’m still in denial of how fast this pregnancy is going!” You say breathlessly, you’re so happy to see Taehyung, you can hardly contain your composure. Namjoon steps forward with his hand reaching to squeeze your best friend’s shoulder. Taehyung’s fiery strands are curled upon his forehead, lustrous beneath the lights as it always has before, “Your father let you come?” There’s a seriousness behind your voice at the question because you are cognizant of the fury Tae’s father has against the church from the events that occurred what, in some ways feels like a lifetime ago.

“Well, no,” Taehyung winces mischievously, “I told him that Namjoon and I were going to a basketball game,”

“Of course, you did, you sly fox,”

“You know you love me,” Tae pecks your forehead before leading you to the table where the sweet whiff of cake flatters your nostrils.

“You guys didn’t have to do this,” you’re still wiping tears off your face, though it’s evident that your crying is from untainted gratitude, “What did I do to deserve the two of you?”

Namjoon kneels, intertwining his long fingers with yours, using the tip of his thumb to tickle circles upon your skin, “Taehyung mentioned how when you were kids that you loved surprises, especially if it involved a small party of some sort so,” he tilts his head toward Taehyung, “And I knew how much you missed him, too. I just wanted to do something to celebrate you. And, the baby,”

It doesn’t take much to smother this man in kisses nowadays, and once you express your thankfulness to the men before you, Namjoon reads your mind, snatching a small kiss in return.

“You two are on kissing terms, again?” Taehyung teases while you poke your tongue at him in mild embarrassment. Namjoon does not know of the moment you and Tae shared, and that��s something you’re not ready to talk about, and with the cutesy scrunch of Namjoon’s face, the memory escapes to the back of your mind for now.

By the end of the night, the frosting had met all three of your faces- some smushed into Taehyung’s hair while some swiped across Namjoon’s neck, and your eyebrows are smeared along with the possible suspicion of some getting up your nose. Cleaning the mess takes a while, but nobody in the room would trade it for anything, and it’s good stalling to prevent the night from completely ending.

Walking Taehyung to his car is the only dread overwhelming your system because you’re not sure of when you will get to see him next. Tears flood your eyes, breaking Taehyung’s heart as an awe of shame gusts past his lips, “I’m sorry, [Y/N]. My dad’s expecting me home soon,”

“I don’t want you to go,” you choke, on the brink of bursting at the seams- Tae fumbles to tighten his arms behind your back- him trying to be mindful of your abdomen being pressed too firmly against his frame.

“Please don’t cry,” he whispers near your ear, “Please, please don’t cry,” His lips curl from the tears burning within his own eyes wishing with all his strength he could rid of the aching hurt that has kept your friendship separated. Tae swiftly pulls away when he remembers another present, he meant to give you earlier, whirling around to unlock his car, bending into the vehicle while his hands shuffle around the floorboard in a desperate search for whatever he wants to show you. When he turns to face you, a sharp inhale of glee echoes into the night- the lopsided plush of a heart is attached to a blue body ornamented with yellow polka dots that match its mouth. “Oh my gosh!” You squeal, “Tae, it’s adorable! Where did you find this?”

Wiggling his eyebrows in pride, he hands it to you, “I made it myself. And,” he pauses for effect, “since you have trouble naming things, I did the honors and named it for you. I introduce, Ta Ta.”

“Ta Ta?”

“Yeah, like ‘Ta Ta… for now,’”

“Just when I thought I couldn’t love your dork of a self even more,” you exhale, slamming your eyes shut just to bury your face further into his chest, not able to breathe in his scent from the clog of mucus stuffing your nose.

“I love you, too.” His voice thickens with emotion, “Now, quit saying it like you’re never going to see me again, because you know I’m not going anywhere.”

“You promise?” Your cold nose moves to press into the corner of his jaw where steady breaths move between your parting mouth. It’s a serene moment where he turns just enough to glimpse at you, engaging in the beauty he’s always found within your heart. Taehyung’s agape lips now rest centimeters from yours when his large hands raise to rest his fingertips along your flushed cheeks- the curls of his frizzy hair pressing to your forehead, prickling your closing eyes. You discover your free hand enfolding around his wrist from the daunting desire looming from what’s been left unspoken, and the shiver in his breathing brushes your chin once the light touch of his nose cuddles to yours. You both stand there for a seeming reel of eternity, battling the inward mayhem of choice that’s displayed itself on the invisible line tempting to be traversed.

“I promise.”

He hadn’t kissed you, but there was no denial that he wanted to, especially with the way your face has haunted his dreams since the night your lips met in emotional patterns of sorrow. But, deep down, he knows it’s too obvious of a choice if the one for him is to be you, but the love that has been kept for you will never go away. The same as a tether of your heart will forever be his no matter how deep your love goes for someone else. Kim Taehyung will always be your poise- your muse- the soulmate of a friendship that you will always need.

Toddling to the nursery upon Tae’s departure still presents the boiling tears from your tired eyes dripping off your cheeks as you set Ta Ta beside the koala plushie Namjoon gifted you; the humor involving the struggle of both Taehyung and Namjoon carrying the crib Namjoon built for the baby taunts a smirk at the corner of your lips. It’s dark besides the faint light of the hallway behind you, giving you just enough to admire the scenery around you- sniffling back what you can before reaching to cover your quivering chin with your hand. You’ve missed Taehyung. You miss him. And, how beautiful of Namjoon to surprise you with your best friend’s presence? Reuniting the three musketeers from once upon a time?

Little do they know, from the unearthing of your pregnancy to now, the two men have mended your broken heart and stitched it back together again piece by piece. You’re highly uncertain of where you would be without them, and just the thought alone is one you refuse to dwell on. While memories turn like a spindle of loosened thread, a revelation halts you in your tracks. The thought rings loud and clear gracing a wide smile on your face while one more set of tears dampen the corner of your eyes.

After scolding yourself for so long for not thinking hard enough on the subject,

right here, hands grasping the handlebar of your future child’s cradle,

you finally have a name picked out for your little one.

2 months later….

“Namjoon, I’ll be fine,” the pointed look you flash him prompts a nervous chuckle once his hands rest to rub gently along your sides. He’s concerned as he’s been almost the entire pregnancy, but of course, now his worries are heightened to an extreme, “I’m not due until next week. Don’t worry,”

“I know,” he groans, tugging you closer just enough to plant a warm to kiss to your neck, “But, I can’t help it.”

“I’ll be fine,” you drag the word with a teasing sound of a whine. Namjoon shaking his head at you with a smile you’re now feeling upon your lips. “Mm,” you hum into his kiss, your hands sliding to squeeze his shoulders in reaction to how impeccable it feels. You end the moment simply to gaze at him, “You’ll be back before you know it,” you assure him- his trip to the grocery store being the plan for the afternoon.

“Okay,” he says tenderly, eyes flickering to your lips once more before leaning to brush them to his own, “I love you,”

There’s a small pause, one that entails warmth smothering your chest in giddy sensations when his eyes steal yours after pulling away, “I love you, too, Joon,” watching him head out the door until the truck disappears along the road.

Of course, the day doesn’t go accordingly the way you expect, because on carefully prodding to the kitchen in preparation to cook breakfast, a slight ache ensues within your abdomen. “Oh,” you groan, stroking the area with your fingertips before deciding to lay down for a bit instead. When reaching your room, the sharp pain of a cramp returns causing a harsh cringe as you lean against your bedpost, hardly able to concentrate on the attempt of climbing onto the mattress. You remain hunched over for five minutes, forcing slow breaths to prevent from panicking, and when you find the coast to be clear, you straighten yourself out.

Suddenly, before you can comprehend what’s happening, a gush of water splatters onto the carpet soaking your feet in the process.

“No,” you whisper, eyes frantically scanning your room for your cell phone. Namjoon shouldn’t be far with the grocery store only being a few miles away, but in order to get a hold of him, you must find your only way of contacting him. Hands pat your bed, thrusting off the bed covers and shaking them roughly, yet no ’thump’ is heard before you cast the covers in a pile onto the ground. The next destination leads to the restroom, with no luck of your phone being in your bedroom- when another wave of pain shoots within your stomach, you gasp, trying to endure through the discomfort with all your might.

Leaving a water trail behind with every step you take, you desperately search the countertops before stepping into the area that holds the kitchen, wondering if there is any possibility it may have been left behind there. Your feet meet the cool surface of the tile floor, your gape scanning the entirety of the space before a pant of relief escapes past your dry lips the second your shaking hands gather the device. “Agh!” A contraction surges, hands squeezing your phone unintentionally, yet you grimace just enough to maintain your focus on the task at hand. Managing to get the phone ringing, it doesn’t take long until you hear the man of your dreams at the other end of the line.

“Hello?”

“Joon, it’s time,” you choke, voice thick with pain.

“Oh, shit! Hold on tight, I’m on my way, just hold tight, I’m coming-”

You just happen to be running by the church in favor of dropping off the work truck keys to your father when he unintentionally introduces you to the new employee you assume he plans to hire, “[Y/N], this is Kim Namjoon. He’s going to be taking care of the church grounds for us, isn’t that wonderful?”

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you,” you greet, underlyingly suffering from the attraction swarming to your reddening cheeks. When your father mentioned of hiring, you never anticipated the person to be this overwhelmingly breathtaking.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Ma'am,” Namjoon’s polite nod mirrors the dimples evident from a soft grin, his hand reaching for yours to shake before your father continues the tour of the place you’ve grown up memorizing. But something initiates you to stay, eyes lingering on the back of the tall figure decked in a turtleneck covered by a green jacket complementing a pair of jeans along with brown shoes. There’s a spark of intuition that day, one that ignited the prominent determination that you want to get to know this person even if your father ends up finding out.

Namjoon busts through the door with pure alarm etched in his voice, “[Y/N], I’m here! Baby, I’m right here,” he immediately jumps to where you are, keeled over on the floor, throwing his arm around you until he lifts you out of the fellowship hall and into the work truck. Words you attempt to form are muted by whimpers, tears brimming your eyes from the pain that doesn’t end, “I’m going to grab the suitcase, I’ll be right back,” time must be faster than you can measure for Namjoon arrives, slinging the suitcase into the backseat before slamming into the driver’s side.

It takes a while for the newly found employee to warm up to every opportunity you take in order to get to know him. One thing he’s slowly but surely learning is that you’re not one to give up so easily- something you’ve noticed him picking up on, especially on days, you annoy him when he’s on call to build a project. You make it clear to talk to him nonstop until he acknowledges your existence, and the times he doesn’t breathe a word results in a call to Taehyung.

“Come help me,” you plea hearing Taehyung’s exasperated sigh on the other line.

“You are so annoying,”

“You know you love me, fool,” you gloat because with defeat, your best friend reluctantly joins you, even accompanying a basketball just in case if Namjoon happens to fancy sports. Your girlfriends, Luna and Jo, were informed of your undying crush on the mysterious worker, crossing their arms in jealousy that you half-heartedly ignored.

“He doesn’t even come to the services,” Jo droned, “Don’t you think it’d be best to get to know someone that’s more… active in the church? Like the pianist’s son, Min Yoongi. You two had such a cute relationship when you were three-”

You can’t get past why no one seems to understand that you must win Namjoon over, and though Luna and Jo have seen the world along with you since childhood, you roll your eyes, turning on a heel, “I’ll catch you later,”

Tires screech along the road while Namjoon swerves past cars on the highway, hands ghost white from the tight grasp he has upon the steering wheel. Meanwhile, your hand grips the bar above you while your other rests upon your belly- the keenness of getting to hold your baby in your arms is all you’re thinking about other than Namjoon who’s keeping you sane.

“Just a few more miles and we will be there. Just breathe,” his voice is unsteady from the fright of this situation, but he upholds his enlarged gaze upon the road. He fumbles for his phone- trying to contact anyone from your family in order to tell them the news.

“GAH!” Leaning forward, a wail echoes within the vehicle as another contraction attacks.

“You guys aren’t going to stop until I’m your friend, am I right?” Namjoon’s elbows are folded from the hold he has on the basketball meeting his chest. Tae jumps sporadically in front of him with outspread arms preparing to prevent the ball from flying into the hoop.

“Damn straight,” you shrug your shoulders in observation of Namjoon’s tilting head.

“I thought church girls didn’t cuss,”

“And I thought you’d have more game than the basketball,” Tae halts, straightening his frame, eyes flickering between you and a quiet Namjoon, “Now hurry up. If you win, I will leave you alone for good. If Tae wins then we treat you to dinner and a movie. How does that sound?”

With an incredulous shake of his head, Namjoon smirks, “Okay,” the scuffle of his converse is heard on the pavement when he briefly turns to toss the ball toward the hoop. The basketball pangs the ring, twirling ferociously to the point, your heart begins to sink, but to your pleasure, the ball tips off the rim, landing in a rejoicing Taehyung’s arms.

“HAH!” You sprint, colliding into Taehyung’s embrace while Namjoon tries to stifle the smile overtaking his lips, “Looks like it’s going to be a burger and fries’ kind of night,” you wink, unaware of the hope that Namjoon has of wanting to gain your friendship just as much.

The hospital entrance appears after the rush of Namjoon turning into the parking lot soon helping you out of the truck. The suitcase will have to wait being he can retrieve it later, his ultimate goal is getting you within the building to where you’re safe. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he tries to appear relaxed, but everything becomes a blur until a nurse with fluffy, black hair approaches with a wheelchair to help settle you in. His nametag reads 'JIMIN’ – him rolling you quickly down the hall when the presence of a female nurse whose nametag reads 'MONNIE’ helps you change into the nightgown upon arrival of the hospital room. Voices are mingling together from the pounding in your temples, but Monnie keeps her hands gentle on your back to lead you to the bed where she hooks you up to what seems like a million machines whilst providing as much comfort to you as possible.

Namjoon’s calloused hand covers yours when one other nurse, Jungkook, floods the room, bringing a chair for him to sit in. You’re not sure of all the commotion that’s overwhelming the room, but you steady your breathing as Namjoon directs, squeezing his hand through each contraction. You recognize the doctor, Kim Seokjin, a tall man already dawned in a scrub hat, mouth mask and gloves, scurrying to where you are, “Alright, I am going to check your dilation Ms. [Y/N], just breathe in and out.” Slamming your eyes shut, you whimper from the discomfort, “Alright, she is dilated three centimeters. Once you are at ten centimeters [Y/N], you will begin pushing. No worries, I will alert you as soon as I need you to begin. Keep breathing. Everything will be okay,”

“Taehyung… My mom… Dad-” you murmur deliriously between breaths, the foggy sense of your conscious outweighing how to speak properly.

“No worries baby, they’re on their way. They’re on their way right now,” he sweetly kisses your perspired forehead, running his free hand through your tangled hair.

The three musketeers were official after the day at the basketball hoop, eventually learning of Namjoon’s atheism as well as him providing for his family.

“My dad couldn’t find a job that pays enough, so I promised him that I will do whatever it takes,” it had been six months since Namjoon had been hired, and currently is finishing his final paint to the shed while you and Taehyung sit Indian style in the grass. “Thanks to the job here, I can afford the rent for my parents as well as give them my car since here, I just use the work truck…” Namjoon sharing more in-depth with his life story- you finally get what you’ve been determined to gain since meeting him.

It’s weeks later that you’ll never forget, leaning against a mini, red monkey bar after sharing your feelings toward the man you’ve grown so fond of. There’s no denying the feelings he’s had for you, and once he inches closer, the crave to hold his hand has never been stronger. Boldly, your fingers trail to intertwine with his, your nerves close to getting the best of you despite the persistent smile that hasn’t left him. When you find the bravery to look up at him, he swallows calmly before leaning in, you stand on your tiptoes to meet halfway until your lips touch. The slide of his arms encompassing your frame feels so inviting when he presses his body to yours. The world is put on pause to you and nothing else matters other than the way his lips move so elegantly- your arms wrapping around his shoulders while he sways you from side to side.

Time doesn’t seem to speed up through all this pain, but the adrenaline swimming in your veins peaks when Dr. Seokjin prepares to check your dilation again. “Ten centimeters-” He confirms, “Alright, [Y/N], the baby’s coming. When I say push, you push. Okay,” he positions himself though you can’t see anything past your gown and raised knees, “One, two, three! Push!”

“AGH!” You grunt, a small scream vibrating at the back of your throat once you push with every fiber of strength, you can muster.

“Breathe, breathe,” Namjoon’s hand hasn’t once left yours- sweat pouring from your scalp while the burning agony overpowers your body.

“Is she here!?” The click of darting heels enters the room and are loud enough for it to catch your attention. “Oh, honey, I’m here!” It’s your mother- scampering to your side with the undeniable blur of Taehyung’s red hair following suit. You want to ask where your father is, but before a chance is given, the doctor shouts, “Push!”

“AAAAAAAGH!” You manage, body straining in all its entireness. Taehyung jolts to let you squeeze his hand along with Namjoon’s. His features show nothing but fear at the sight of you being in so much strife, yet he holds it together enough to cheer you on.

“I’m- I’m so glad you both are here,” you cry- another sixty seconds drifting before the shout of, “Push!” erupts.

“I’m scared,” you murmur in the dimness of the room. On your knees, Namjoon’s soothing hands glide along the tops of your thighs motivating you to run your hands along his forearms. You don’t know where your parents are, and you’re too angry to care. You’re bushed of the fighting so, you sought comfort in being here, with Namjoon. Taehyung dropped you off at the fellowship hall with the promise of not breathing a word- because if your parents were to find out remotely of your whereabouts, you’d hate to discover what the consequences will be.

“Me too,” his nervous eyes investigate every inch of your face. You’ve never been with anyone this way before- secretly hidden away from the world outside trying to suppress the revealing crave of what you’re curious about. Scooting forward, you drape either leg around him, propping yourself enough to where your arms lace around his neck.

His breath hitches from the gesture- your lips erotically aligning with his in slow movements, heat rising below you when you feel the hardening of his being beneath your sense, “I want you,” you whisper. He knows that you’re a virgin, and with care, he lays you on the bed, hovering above your frame where your bodies align perfectly. “Are you sure this is what you want,” concern consumes his countenance, but you desperately bring your hands to cup his cheeks.

“I don’t think I’ve wanted anyone so much in my life,”

You gasp into his kiss where he slips his tongue along yours- the sensation one you’ve grown used to from the slovenly kisses leading up to this very night. You give Namjoon permission to sneak his large hands underneath your shirt, trailing up your ribcage before swallowing your breasts whole in his heated palms. Nipples so sensitive, your heat drenches the moment he realizes the effect it has on you just by merely brushing the rising buds, lipping at your neck while he basks in the beauty of your moans. “More,” you beg, “Please, Joon, more.” When clothes start to be thrown off, you’re determined to pleasure him, but have not an idea on how to do so. “Show me,” you breathlessly demand, Namjoon’s palm leading yours to encircle his twitching being. You stroke his erection as shown, biting your lower lip from the throbbing feeling of your core- him instantly finding your entrance to fill it with his fingers as carefully as he can- both of you pleasuring each other, yet still getting lost in kissing so deeply, the two of you forget to gasp for air. The sensation of heated pressed bare skin can be the most beautiful thing, especially with the way your legs entangle with his. You’re surprised the feel of his prodding fingers didn’t bring as much discomfort as you would have originally anticipated, but when he brings a hand to his penis, he rubs his tip along your slit letting the sloppy sound of you leak onto it. “Holy shit,” he moans from how soaked you are for him- his fingertips finding your clit while yours dig into the backs of his shoulders.

Smoldering kisses move from your lips to your breasts, down your abdomen to your inner thighs where you tense underneath his touch that slides to hold your bottom half where he can scan your heat. The tip of his tongue swipes upon your slit excruciatingly slow to the point your fingers tangle with the material of the bedsheets. The smacking sound of his lips savor your taste while his tongue circles your core- you’re hyperventilating from how deliciously he flicks his tongue upon your slit, screaming his name relentlessly- the speed of his skilled mouth driving you wild from the growing climax beckoning your stiffening thighs, “Oh, Namjoon, oh- Joon- I- Oh!”

He’s not ready for you to finish because there’s more he wants to show you. Hovering above you once again to see you coming down from your high, your heaving chest longs for his touch, and he nearly comes undone from the smile embellishing your face. His tracing fingertips parade along the outline of your body in featherlike tickles while the sounds of panting breaths mingle with shifting sheets bring subtle music to your ears for the rest of the night. The gentle parting of his lips grasps your own in smooth movements persuading arousal streaming from your core. Your fingers now link with frilly tufts of his hair, gripping the strands in reaction to the pressing of his bare chest to yours, dreaming of nothing more than to be entwined with him for what you hope will be forever. Hips grinding into yours prompts the light moan teasing his ears for more before his mouth trails to pause above your pounding heart. His hair brushing your chin, your arms glide to wrap around him holding the hope that he will never let you go. Not even for a second.

“Alright, one more! Almost done! Push!”

Sucking in one long breath, with a compulsory scream, you push with all you have left in you. Exhaustion weakens your limbs, yet a rush of relief floods your body when the cries of an infant reverberate within the room. With heavy eyes, you turn to see your mother with tears cascading down her face and onto the back of her hand covering her agape mouth- eyes remaining locked in front of her. Taehyung’s gaze doesn’t drop though his fingers loosen from yours at the small bundle immediately apprehending the eyes of every individual. Right then, you move your head to your other side where Namjoon gradually rises in awe- his hand still has yours. Gathering any ounce of strength, you’re ready to see the child you’ve been waiting to hold for nine months, so cautiously you sit up until your stare meets Dr. Seokjin’s. You can see the smile in his eyes despite the mouth mask, and what he says next brings you to tears, “It’s a girl,”

“Oh!” You thrill, anxious to meet her while the nurses scurry to clean her up.

“Sir, would you like to do the honors?” The doctor gestures a pair of scissors towards a stiffened Namjoon whose eyes are welled with hushed tears. He can’t even speak, yet he nods from the happiness exploding beneath his chest.

“Wait,” Your mom says, “Is- is?”

It’s a moment that seems to fit the setting for your father walks in, as if on cue, shoulders slumped from the anticipating tension now darkening the room. Taehyung’s shoulders tensed at the sight of the man he despises, but for the sake of you, Namjoon and his Godchild, he keeps his composure enough to ignore the elephant now standing in the room. The fear that used to consume you upon your dad unraveling the truth about your secret vacates you when you know that you and the two men present can conquer anything.

“Yes,” the answer is to your mother, but your stern glower of warning is only connected with your dad’s although your mother’s stare remains on you, “Namjoon is the father.”

Namjoon stands with pride while he accepts the pair of scissors from Dr. Seokjin- your father, with a shocked expression, watches as the man he hired happens to be the same man who stole his daughter’s heart without his knowledge. Yet, he refrains from anger, because who is he to ruin such a precious moment about to unfold here?

Pictures are taken of Namjoon cutting the umbilical cord, his fingers gently rubbing his daughter’s cheek while he wipes at the tears dripping from his eyes. Jungkook takes her into his arms to weigh her before wrapping her in a plush pink blanket, “She is seven pounds and five ounces,”

Endless joy envelops your heart from the scene playing out before you; especially, when the vision of your father’s quivering chin, admiring his granddaughter leaves you speechless along with the hope of redemption entering your beating heart.

“Are you ready to hold her?” Monnie’s kind eyes match her smile when she touches your arm.

“Yes,” you stifle a sob, “I want to hold her,”

Monnie poses her arms to where Jungkook places your daughter, Monnie guardedly turns to rest your baby into your arms. Her small face chortles, her eyes closing while she puckers her tiny lips. “She’s so perfect,” you cry, love in all its beauty falling from your eyes while you watch your daughter’s fingers fold individually upon her chest.

“Just like you,” Namjoon whispers, locking eyes with you before inching forward to give you a loving kiss.

“I love you, Joon,” you whisper, pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth.

“I love you, too.”

“Uh,” the deep serenade of your best friend interrupts, all attention abruptly turning to see him raise an index finger in the air, “So, as the Godfather, I must ask a very serious question,” the room chuckles along with him as they patiently wait for his request, “What’s her name?”

“Ah,” you nod, realizing that hasn’t been made known to anyone other than to yourself. Your mother steps forward to place her hand upon your shoulder while your father keeps his distance enough to not cause any trouble- though the two of you share a small smile to let him know all is well. Namjoon watches you in admiration- the woman of his dreams holding his child in her arms while facing her deepest fear yet holds her head with pride about the man she will spend the rest of her life with along with her daughter swaddled to her chest. You are everything he’s ever longed for and more, and he’s ready to defeat any storm in life if it’s with you and his daughter.

To answer Tae’s question though, you return to face him, tears gathering in exhilarating bliss.

“Taejun.” Her eyes slightly open at the hearing of her name as a tiny smile adorns her lips,

“Her name is Kim Taejun.”

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unholyhelbiglinked · 5 years ago

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Project Skeptic | Chapter 1

Read from the Start | Read on AO3

Summer 2019

The first thing that she realized was the taste of blood. It was subtle at first, a light dance across her tongue with a metallic edge. But then it was dry, dry enough to make her want to dart her tongue out against her lips and dull the throbbing edge. She had a headache, that was observation number two. Number three came in the form of the thick restraint against her wrists, burning and unrelenting.

You don’t ever trust a stranger, Emily. Her mothers’ words would echo through her mind like a steel drum against an empty corridor. When she was younger it never made any sense. The mailman was just as strange to her as someone in a dark hoodie with unkempt hair. If they didn’t offer up a handshake was she supposed to remain on high alert? Katherine Junk would be spiteful right about now. Spiteful or worried.

Emily pulled her head back, drawing in a sharp breath as an undeniable ache pulsed against her spine. She was in a chair, one that creaked and groaned under her weight. Her consciousness was barely there but started to spark; there was a fire nearby, she could smell it and feel its heat on the side of her face. The room had a sweet and floral scent to it.

“Good morning, Sunshine.”

Loud. God that voice was loud and oh so familiar. Emily wasn’t fully there, her heartbeat deafening in her ears as she made a jumble of noise past her lips. Her whole body was stiff, and she blinked a few times to get used to the coloring of her surroundings, dark and rustic, and she could swear up and down that there was a Christmas tree situated in the corner. It had multi-colored lights and way too much tinsel. It had been meticulously applied branch by branch.

“I hit you pretty hard there, huh?” The voice was calling attention and Emily blinked three more times before focusing. The figure was, in fact, shaded in a deep orange that flickered against the floor sporadically. She was dressed casually, normally. Not like someone who would kidnap a person; a dark green sweater and jeans that contrasted from her deep ginger hair. Her eyes, even in the light from the fire, were sparkling like broken waves. “You’re okay though, you’re strong.”

Emily drew in an easier breath and clenched her jaw, which was sore too. Claire, Callie maybe even Chelsea Emily’s mind was searching for a name to the face. It was her next-door neighbor; she can remember the conversations they’ve had at the mailboxes and the golden lettering on their forest green door. She recalls that this woman has a wife, a music producer that’s too grumpy for her own good, but her name. God, what was her name?

“What’s going on?” Emily asked, swallowing the bloodied taste in her mouth. Her voice was dry enough to be unrecognizable. “Where am I?”

“That’s classified, I’m afraid. But we’ll get to that depending on how well you take this.”

“Take what? Being kidnapped?” She let out a small groan and rolled her neck again. “Who are you?”

She couldn’t remember much; the walk home from work, the elevator ride up with her neighbor nodding and asking her about her plans for the rest of summer. Emily explained she would work like she always did and struggled to find her keys in her bag. She remembers an earth-shattering pain in her temple and a warm sensation before everything went dark.

The woman let out a deep sigh as if Emily was inconveniencing her. Maybe she was at this point. She sat down on the edge of a leather reading chair that was positioned right across from the wooden seat that Emily was fastened to. It had a large studded back and reminded Emily of something that would accompany a glass of scotch and imported cigar wrapped in gold.

“I’m Chloe, I didn’t’ technically kidnap you, and this is a secret organization dedicated to keeping the holiday season sacred.” She had rushed out her words like a band-aid and Emily wasn’t sure if this woman was completely nuts or if she wasn’t exactly hearing her right over the pounding in her ears.

None of this registered, however, so Emily simply said, “But it’s only June.”

“Oh, I know,” Chloe slumped back in her seat completely, letting her hands hang over the sides of the chair. “We’re so behind schedule. Recruitment was supposed to be in May but being so close to you proved very difficult. There’s a lot we have to catch you up on, Emily.”

“Can you-?” Emily tugged at her restraints, trying not to flinch too hard at the stinging pain that moved through her skin as she shifted. The woman lifted her eyebrows and moved forward, almost as if she had forgotten entirely.

“Yeah, sorry about this. We’re not usually so violent but it’s not every day that you refuse orders from the big guy. You know, don’t you? You work for some big television company.”

Chloe talked too fast, Emily decided. She had an innocent edge about her, and at this point, she didn’t’ care if she had to keep the conversation up. She reached to the side table and pulled a golden crafted letter opener, gently trying to saw through the rope. It came undone easily and Emily let out a relieved breath she didn’t’ know she was harboring. She rubbed the raw skin, eyes searching the room.

It looked like the inside of a cabin that her family used to rent by the lake, from the stone figures all the way to the throw that was draped over the edge of the chair Chloe sat in. It was too eerie, too familiar. There wasn’t a door, that same flutter bubbling in Emily’s chest.

“You’re taking this remarkably well.”

“You hit me in the head. I’m afraid I don’t’ believe you.”

She was scared to move her fingers up to her temple. She was sure it was sticky. She could practically feel the blood that has soaked into the collar of her shirt. Instead, she resided into staring into blue eyes that looked silver.

“Do you believe in Santa, Emily?”

Did she? It was a loaded question. The fiction of it all was ripped away violently when she woke up to her mother’s hand wedged under her pillow when she lost her first tooth. She was a light sleeper. Emily remembered crying as she asked her mom about a bunny who hid eggs and a man who delivered toys in exchanged for burnt cookies and room temperature milk.

“You stopped believing when you were six years old. After that Christmas didn’t’ feel the same anymore, and your mom would let you pick out what you wanted at the store, didn’t’ she?” Chloe asked, “You knew what was under the tree every single year until the tree vanished completely and was replaced by a card with a fifty-dollar bill in it.”

Emily slumped back in her seat, because yes, that was exactly what happened. It didn’t’ feel so sad when her mother told her she was going on a cruise instead of sticking around and dealing with the stress of the holiday season. The way Chloe told the story deflated her. A story that she hadn’t talked about, not even to Aubrey.

“Say you are telling the truth,” Emily started “Say you’re apart of a secret organization that rotates around Christmas… what do I have to do with it?”

The younger woman wasn’t sure why she was entertaining the idea. It might be the pounding in the side of her head or the fact that her bubbly little neighbor had a complete backstory on how her Christmases had played out, but she simply dug her fingers into her sore shoulder and looked at Chloe was expectancy.

“The world is changing, Emily. It’s growing bigger, some would even argue better, by each day. For the past five years it’s been too much for one man with a couple of reindeer to handle, you know? The old guys retired.”

“Is he now?”

There was sarcasm leaking past her voice. It wasn’t intended, but it spilled out like a pool of steam over fresh hot chocolate. This room smelled too much like cinnamon, Emily decided.

“He is. And when he’s away he trusts in this organization, Project Skeptic, to deliver presents, grant wishes, and keep the Christmas spirit alive.” Emily swallowed roughly. Her mouth still tasted metallic and Chloe’s words hadn’t yet settled with her. “We’ve kept an eye on you, Emily. We know that all you want is to get that feeling back.”

December 2019

Emily pressed her stomach to the cold of the wooden floor, it’s edge soaking through her jumpsuit in a simple motion. It was the type of cold that she remembered as a child when her bed was given to her older cousin from Kansas and she drooled all over her pillow. She hadn’t even bothered to wash it before throwing it into the trash. Emily had slept on the hardwood flooring for two weeks.

Now she was struggling to hold her breath, letting it catch in her throat as she stared up at the windowpane above her. The sheer white curtains caught the light of a passing car, one that stalled- she could hear the crunch of tires against gravel and practically smell the gasoline that rested in the tank. She pressed her cheek close to the laminate and listened. It eventually pulled away, breath short as she was bathed in darkness once more.

Emily brought her frame back up to a standing position, careful not to let her form show in the large bay window; the house was normal, a large pre-lit Christmas tree that was filled with family ornaments made from Styrofoam cups, the angel on top that seemed to stare her down, and the plate of cookies that were stacked high enough to not only feed one reindeer but twelve.

She didn’t dwell too much on her surroundings. Sometimes it was different. The house wasn’t as decorated, or the tree was a live one. Very seldom was it just a barren wasteland with nothing more than cold granite countertops and a fire that was unlit.

Emily reached against her belt, pulling a simple laser pointer from its leather confines. She felt blindly for the little switch, the thing smooth under her fingertips. She pointed it at the ground, drawing a neat little line with its electric blue light. She could almost taste the charge in the air as she squatted down, reaching her grasp into the clutches of the glow.

This type of technology had scared Emily at first; a simple laser pointer that created a hole in the void to grasp Christmas presents that had already been pre-made. Now it was like second nature, a warmth engulfing her skin as she unshelled packages wrapped in paper with little candy canes and bushels of holly.

Emily learned not to question the size or weight, or the elegantly written Santa on the paper. Instead, she questioned other things: How many parents were in the house? Did the kids have a habit of staying awake? How full was the moon and how visible would it make her?

There was a subtle growl that cut through her little atmosphere like a butter knife through a grilled steak. It leaked grease and edged a deep feeling in the pit of Emily’s stomach. Were there any dogs?

She moved her hand over the line of electricity and plunged herself into innate darkness once more, slowly standing as her palms faced the floor. She could hear the rumble in the German shepherd’s chest, practically feel it close to the wooden floor. Its jowls dripped, hot saliva fell in thick strands.

Emily kept her eyes on the animal as it took a step forward. It was blacker than brown, and its eyes caught the green lights of the tree behind her. If it wasn't cheap plastic, the scent would be seeping into her clothing. The dog licked his gums, stepping closer.

Before she could protect her throat, the lights flashed on. They were almost worse than being mauled by a house pet. Her fingers moved against her stare to block out the stage glow, to blink away the afterlight that dominated her vision. There was an alarm too, a loud one that should signal fire but instead brought defeat.

“Emily!”

She let out a deep groan before anything else, slumping her shoulders and shaking her head. Even through the light, she could see everyone rushing around, could hear the door that stood next to the windowpane open and close- a simple little house rigged to produce nightmares.

“We have talked about this,” Chloe let the door fall behind her, “You need to check your compact before you get into the house that way you’ll know if-“

“There are any animals on the perimeter, I know.”

“If you know, then why didn’t’ you?”

Chloe didn’t’ wait for her to answer, instead, she clicked her tongue and had her follow from the faux room and into a standard hallway. Standard in the way that Emily could walk into any building on Wall Street and come in contact with the same generic paintings of beach scenes to make it feel a little less frigid in the winter. The red fire alarms stood out against tan colored walls. Chloe Beale looked ragged and tired.

“As much as I love you, Emily, you’re not going in on your own.” She finally said, breaking the silence. “Do you even have your compact?”

Did she? Emily felt against her waist and she did. It was easy to run her fingers along the extensive little device. It held everything she needed; the ages of the children in the house, what they wanted, if there was any unexpected company like a guard dog- even if it was simulated.

“Of course, I do, Chlo” Emily stopped in the middle of the empty corridor, pressing her fingers against the woman’s elbow. The Kevlar on her black jumpsuit was cool under her touch. “You know how I operate. We’ve been through this training a million times. I’m just… nervous, I guess. A lot is riding on this. Making and breaking Christmas.”

Chloe’s cerulean eyes softened at this. She looked tired. Her skin was pale under the neon lights and her jaw was clenched- nothing like it had been before, the stress of the holidays edging against her frame and making it stiff. “You’re telling me. This is my block- hell, it’s my city. But it’s no excuse to forget what you’ve learned.” She tapped the compact with her fingers. “What we’ve taught you. Right?”

Emily allowed herself to smile softly at Chloe. “Right,”

“Go get changed. We’re meeting 007 tonight for dinner.”

“Oh, Chloe I am not third-wheeling with you and your wife again.” Emily all but whined “She hogs all the noodles. Besides, don’t you two ever get tired of me tagging along?”

Chloe rolled her eyes in a dramatic fashion, crossing her arms over her chest. She looked intimidating in the small hallway. “First of all, Beca is the youngest of three, she’d bite your hand off for those noodles. And second of all, no we don’t get sick of you hanging around because you’re family now.”

“You don’t have to take pity on me,” Emily scoffed playfully “Just because my girlfriend is halfway across the country on business 90% of the time does not mean you have to suffer through me at the end of the couch during movie night.”

“We invited you, end of story. Go, get cleaned up.”

Emily saw no benefit in arguing with Chloe Beale. She was already high strung enough as it was, her back straight and eyes always trained on the little clipboard of hers. It sent a quick twinge of guilt through Emily, forgetting her compact like that didn’t help anyone- especially not the crew that set the whole elaborate thing up in the first place. Fake snow and a rabid hologram of German Shepards.

Everything that Emily would have chalked up to insanity seven months ago. Seven long months of working her day job, only to slip into a dingy warehouse on the east side of town. Scanning a badge, she hid among old candy wrappers and half-used Chapstick. No one would go searching in there.

The training had been embedded in her head, by Chloe herself, mostly. She sat in a classroom with unlimited servings of hot chocolate stirred with candy canes. Something she quickly grew tired of- cringing away from the sugary drink now. She had taken the defense courses and the Child Protocol lectures. But her anxiety continued to spike in rebellion, Christmas approaching fast.

Her phone buzzed in her back pocket, Chloe narrowing her eyes “You can carry your phone, but not your compact?”

Emily ignored the comment and stared at the screen. “Oh, Shit.”

“There a problem?” Chloe asked.

“Nothing major, my mother just informed me that we’re having Christmas at my house this year.”

Her voice was calm, but a flutter of anxiety licked at the back of her mind. That was one of the first things that they had taught her- no connections, plenty of excuses. Most of the people here didn’t’ have anyone depending on them for the holiday season. No obliged trips to church or brunches consisting of runny eggs.

For the past two years Aubrey had to work through Christmas and Emily would travel a few miles out of the city to be with her family for a few hours before she facetimed her girlfriend and they shared a long call littered with apologies, and Emily explaining that it was just a day.

“Oh,” Chloe sounded out evenly “You know what, no big deal. I’ve hidden this from Beca our whole marriage. Some would say it’s concerning how oblivious she is.”

Emily hummed in agreeance. Chloe was shockingly calm about the situation- about having to sneak out right after dinner on Christmas eve. About breaking into houses until the sun rose behind morning clouds.

Chloe must have sensed her worry, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “It’ll be fine Em. Now, go get changed. She’s probably taken out half the restaurant at this point.”

#Beca Mitchell #Chloe Beale #Aubrey Posen #Emily junk #junksen #Bechloe #pitch perfect

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howling-harpy · 5 years ago

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No question about it

Pairing: Winters/Nixon Rating: G Word count: 3454 Summary: Loose lips sink ships prompt fill: “Dick and Lew have been a couple since the end of the war, pretty much married but keeping it quiet. When Ambrose interviews them in the '90s, he 100% fails to notice. ” Disclaimer: This is a piece of fiction based on the HBO drama series and the actors’ portrayals in it. This has nothing to do with any real person represented in the series, and means no disrespect. In this universe there is also a historian who interviews the men of Easy. He shall be called Steven.

Steven was excited for this project. His previous book on paratrooper infantry had been a success as well as a lot of work, and after all that he had thought he was done with the subject. Only he had been wrong, since after accidentally running into a reunion his interest had been completely captured again, and here he was.

He already had a good chunk of the Easy Company men’s anecdotes and stories, and based on those alone Steven knew he definitely wanted to work them into a proper historical publication, and it would feel all the more powerful with personal testimonies. He just couldn’t quite believe that he was here, about to talk to those two men everyone had mentioned in pretty much every story with nothing short of absolute admiration and dedication. Mr. Winters wasn’t an easy man to get to know. Sure, he was polite and pleasant, but as someone trying to dig deeper Steven had quickly noticed that the man wouldn’t spill the beans to just anyone. They had so far talked only on the phone, but even like that Steven had gotten the feeling of being put in his place by a gentle yet strict grandfather whenever he tried to pry into things that apparently weren’t his business yet. But as time went on, Steven had slowly won the man’s trust and assured him he intended to do right by the men – that was the part Winters had been really concerned about: his men. And now finally, Steven had managed to culminate enough trust to be invited here, into the man’s own home. The farmhouse was a thing Winters had been working on for many years as a side project and finally near retirement sold his house in the city and moved there permanently. Steven had driven two hours from the airport to get there, and by the time he turned his small rental car to the driveway the upcoming meeting had turned from distant to palpable. It was a forest green two-story house with a large porch, surrounded by apple trees and garden roses, then vegetable patches and rows of corn, a small potato field and sunflowers. Years of hard work was evident, and the operation looked like it had spread with time and become more and more ambitious. Steven parked his car, gathered his research files, notebooks and tape recorder, walked up to the porch with it all and rang the doorbell. A dog barked somewhere in the house. Steven could hear its paws on hardwood floors as the animal was the first one to get to the door, but only a moment later he heard a familiar voice ordering: “Tom! Basket!”, and then the door opened. Winters had hunched down in his old age a bit but he was still tall, his hair was the colour of faded copper, the remains of once no doubt flaming red, and his pale blue eyes were clear and sharp behind his glasses. He was already smiling when he opened the door knowing who to expect, and he gave Steven an evaluating once-over. “Hello, Steven. Nice to meet you in person, please come in,” he said and stepped aside. Steven smiled, excited and nervous, but in a good way. “Good day, Mr. Winters, thank you. It’s an honor to finally meet you.” “Please, drop the formalities, this is my home and I’ll have none of that here,” Winters said, waving a hand. “Did you find your way here alright?” Steven shook off his jacket and put it in a hanger. “Yes, thanks to your instructions. It was a drive, but the way was easy. You have a beautiful house.” “Thank you. It’s been under a lot of work for a long time. Please, come to the kitchen, we’ll have coffee and something to eat.” Steven followed. The house was warm and cosy inside, carpets on the floor and curtains in the windows, and as he followed Winters down the hallway, he got a glance into a living-room with several overflowing bookcases, a plush couch with embroidered pillows, and a fireplace with two armchairs in front of it. When they passed the staircase to the second floor, Steven had a fright when Winters suddenly slammed his hand against the railing and called upstairs: “Lewis! Don’t be rude, we have a quest!” Steven had been too busy being impressed with Winters and had completely forgotten that Nixon lived with him. He didn’t beat himself up too much about it since he had only spoken with Winters who had also invited him, and Nixon hadn’t spoken to him or agreed to be interviewed. They continued down the hall to the kitchen, a huge space that had the dining room joined to it. There’s already coffee brewing and the small kitchen table had been set for three. “Please take a seat and do whatever you do with those things,” Winters told him while gesturing at his tape recorder and continued to the fridge, where he took various plates out on the counter. Steve spread out his notebook and set up the recorder in the middle of coffee cups and dessert plates. On the other side of the table was apparently Winters’ place with a stack of photo albums and folders of other mementos next to his cup and plate, and Steven felt a tremor of excitement go through him. “Can I help you with any of that?” Steven asked, tearing his eyes from the stockpile of material. Winters had piled up plates and trays from the fridge on the counter and was holding a plate of sandwiches and another of cookies, and now threw Steven an appreciative look, probably actually meant for his mother for installing manners to him. “Sure, if you want to. I’ll get the coffee. Also, there’s a pie in the oven.” Steven got up and carried plate after plate to the table. “This looks amazing, Major, but this is also way too much,” he said and actually meant it. There were cookies, cinnamon buns, little sandwiches, cupcakes, and apparently an apple pie still in the oven too. “Nonsense,” Winters said, “and I meant it about the formalities. Just Dick is fine, especially since you plan to pry into my life.” “Oh, no, it’s just research, and anything you don’t want to disclose you can just say and I’ll –” Steven stopped abruptly when he looked at Winters, saw his smile and twinkling eyes and realized he was joking. Steven laughed nervously. “Yes, well. Casual, then.” The coffee was ready, and Winters picked up the pot, brought it to the table and poured it into three cups. “Casual is the best way to go. I know this must seem like a big thing to you, but to me it’s just how things were. It was a job, and it was over forty years ago. It calls for little fanfare,” he said. Steven sat down and picked up his pen. He had to scribble that down to remember it later, since he knew fully well he himself couldn’t treat any of this as just a job or a casual thing no matter how much it was so to Winters. Steven also glanced at the third coffee cup for the other man living there, who had yet to show himself, but decided not to ask. “So. What do you want to start with?” Winters asked, mixing milk and sugar into his coffee. “Um… Anything you’d like. I’m planning on writing about everything from beginning to end without focusing on any single event or operation. I’d like the full picture. A personal testimony,” he said. “Beginning, then,” Winters said, “that was in 1942.” Steven turned the tape-recorder on, and they started about paratrooper training. Winters talked generally about physical training and equipment, occasionally side-tracking to talk about his fellow soldiers, friends and acquaintances he had made, and Steven interjected only with specifying questions. The thing that actually interrupted them was when the egg timer went off. “That would be the pie,” Winters said and got up. The smell of simmering apples, cinnamon and sugar spread into the kitchen as soon as he opened the oven. Winters brought the pie to the table, setting it down in the middle and tossing the oven mittens to the side. He supported himself on the edge of the table and lowered himself back to his seat. “Now, where were we?” he asked. “Uh… You were telling me about utilizing airborne infantry in Operation Overlord,” Steven answered. Even despite his excitement he had gotten distracted by the pie. “Ah, yes. We were all qualified paratroopers at this point of course, we knew our function, but an actual campaign has so much more attributes to it and there’s no training for those. We didn’t know when or where we were going, or what our mission after landing would be, so – “ he paused suddenly, eyes turned to the door and a new kind of smile spread on his face, lines around his eyes drawing deep. “Look who decided to finally come down.” Steven turned around just in time to see another elderly man entering the kitchen. “Yeah, don’t think too much about it. I’m here for the pie,” Lewis Nixon grunted, brown eyes narrowed at Winters as he came in. He had thinning silvery hair he had combed neatly back, heavy grey brows and white stubble covering his cheeks. He had a reserved look on his face, but he still nodded to Steven in acknowledgment before sitting down next to Winters. “You should have come sooner. Your coffee must be cold at this point,” Winters said. “Oh well, I’ll drink it anyway,” Nixon replied nonchalantly, already reaching for the steaming pie. “You know what the old maids say, cold coffee makes one more beautiful.” Winters’ smile stretched into a grin as he watched his friend piling his plate with pie, then with cookies and cinnamon buns and a singular cupcake, “like you ever needed any help with that.” Nixon took a sip from his coffee cup and glanced at his side, clearly pacified. Wrinkles on his forehead and between his brows smoothed, and when he spoke to Steven he sounded considerably less bristled. “So, you’re here about the war? Has he ranted about our first CO to you yet? Because if you ask about him, you’ll get enough material for all your little tapes,” Nixon quipped to Steven while he mixed sugar into his black, lukewarm coffee. “We talked about him some,” Steven said. Winters had let his feelings be known but hadn’t ranted per se, probably still holding back on that front, as it suddenly occurred to Steven. “Would you like to make a contribution?” Nixon’s lined face was soft and his cheeks slightly droopy, but his brown eyes were suddenly sharp while he simply kept stirring his coffee. “No. Like I said, I’m here for the pie, and I’m not going to answer any questions. So you can turn that recorder off for as long as I’m here.” “Certainly,” Steven said easily and did as he was asked to. Recording was a privilege that he hadn’t always enjoyed anyway, and he had a feeling that if he wanted anything out of Nixon it would be on the man’s own terms anyway. Winters sighed at his friend’s attitude and shook his head but didn’t comment. “We were just getting to D-Day,” he said. Nixon snorted. “Oh great, the worst day of our lives.” “It wasn’t the worst day, Nix.” “You’re right, it was only the worst day of our lives so far. It got steadily worse from there.” “That’s not true,” Winters said, leaning closer to his friend, close enough to bump their shoulders together. He sounded comforting, gentle and warm in a way true friends apparently did after spending most of their lives together. “The next day was a good one. I saw you again, for starters.” Nixon visibly softened at that, gave Winters a yielding look and ceased with his comments, taking a bite of a cinnamon bun instead. “This is good,” he said with his mouth full. Winters smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Anything for you.” Steven watched them from the other side of the table, pen and paper ready now that recording had been denied of him. What he could pick up on was that Winters and Nixon had been on separate planes during the Operation Overlord and been uncertain of each other’s fates for the entire night and most of the next day. He couldn’t even imagine what that would feel like, being sent on such a dangerous mission separately from your best friend and then not knowing if they were okay for so long. “You didn’t see each other at all while in Normandy?” he asked. Winters refocused on the subject again. “We did, but at that point the invasion was on the way and we were moving tanks to the beach.” He paused to think about something. “That was the only time during the war we were apart, right?” Nixon had his mouth full of pie and he quirked his brows as Winters spoke to him. He nodded heavily, swallowed and smiled slightly. “Someone had to keep eye on you.” Winters leaned back in his chair and gazed at Nixon proudly, a look that he favoured the most when he spoke of the men he had served with. “You did, didn’t you? You kept me sane,” he said warmly, then pointedly added: “Despite your best efforts on the contrary.” Nixon accepted both the praise and the needling with a self-satisfied smirk and a quirk of one heavy eyebrow. “You love me and you know it.” Winters scoffed and smacked Nixon on the arm with the back of his hand. “Just eat your treats and behave yourself, would you?” Steven sensed a natural opening and seized the opportunity with a question: “What was your role there, Mr. Nixon?” Nixon turned to him again and gained that same slightly grumpy seriousness he had entered the room with. “I was the S-3, the intelligence officer. I started as a platoon leader at Toccoa but was quickly transferred to the battalion HQ where I spent pretty much the rest of the war.” Steven took notes. He already knew about Nixon’s job since he had already been praised by several other members of Easy he had already talked to, but personal testimonies where why he was here in the first place. “So you oversaw most of the operations?” “I oversaw all the operations,” Nixon corrected grimly and took a hefty bite out of a frosted cupcake, which somehow didn’t make his displeasure any less stingy. “I observed, listened, scouted and planned. I was always aware of everything that was going on around us and kept everyone up to speed.” “Sounds like a lot of responsibility,” Steven said. Nixon shrugged. “Sure.” For a beat or two Steven waited for him to continue, but he was quickly realizing that Nixon wasn’t going to say a single thing more than necessary. Steven tried to not take it personally as Nixon wasn’t the only man who had refused to talk about the war, but it was starting to look like he really was there only for the various pastries. He glanced at Winters who was taking slow sips from his coffee with a glance to his friend every now and then. Steven tried to be tactful. “It sounds like there was a lot going on behind the scenes.” Apparently it was the wrong thing to say. Nixon’s jaw tightened and his upper lip twitched, baring a side of teeth for a moment before he averted his eyes. “I was in the line,” he said, almost snapping. “I might have been a drunk who never fired his weapon, but I was there with the rest of the troops. That’s the spot my work was done in, not in some nice, safe office miles from the action.” Steven took notes. He had to admit that being snapped at by a veteran of Easy Company and Major Winters’ best friend wasn’t the best feeling in the world, but he was starting to understand Nixon’s reasons for not talking about the war much. “May I quote you on that?” Steven asked. Nixon snorted. “No!” he grunted, then seemed to mull it over some and added: “But make sure you get it right. I was there the whole time. I was in the line.” “Of course,” Steven said. Winters reached over to lay his hand on Nixon’s back, whose tensed-up shoulders slumped under his touch. “It’s already there, Lew,” he soothed, hand rubbing his friend’s back. “You know that I think the world of you. You were always there for me, always by my side, reassuring and comforting me. Do you think I’d agree to talk to anyone about that time and let them leave you out?” Nixon let out a deep sigh. He turned his eyes towards the ceiling and just breathed for a while, then hunched forward and leaned on the table with his elbows, eventually turning his gaze to Winters who never stopped rubbing his back. For a long moment they sat like that, completely silent but clearly communicating with their eyes alone. Steven didn’t want to interrupt the moment. There was a deep intimacy between the men opposite from him, something deep and strong that they had built during their decades together, and even despite being an outsider Steven felt the warmth of the bond. “May I ask how long you two have lived together?” Steven asked. The moment came to an end. Winters let his hand drop and both men leaned on their own seats again. “Since… 1946, I think?” Nixon answered but glanced at Winters for confirmation. “Yes. We moved to New Jersey then,” Winters continued, “we lived there for less than a year though. Lew’s father discovered and disapproved of us, so we left, moved around a bit but finally settled down here in Pennsylvania.” Steven nodded as he scribbled down notes. “And you stayed together the whole time?” “Well…” Winters started, drawing the word out, “it wasn’t anything we decided or talked about. There just… Simply wasn’t any question about it. We both felt very strongly that we needed to be together, and that’s what we did.” “We’ve always been together since -46,” Nixon added, “that’s forty-five years.” Steven made a note of that. “It must be nice to be such good friends,” he said. Nixon and Winters exchanged a look. “Yep.” “Sure.” There was another natural pause, and once again Steven glanced at the pile of photo albums Winters had readied. He was absolutely dying to get a look at those, to put faces to names and make comparisons. Winters had also told him he had kept meticulous diaries, and things like that were an absolute goldmine to a historian. “Are those all the documents you have?” Steven asked, pointing at the stockpile with his pen. Winters shook his head. “Oh, no, those are simply the photos I have. There’s a whole pile from the regimental photographer as well as photos the men have sent me, personal and from reunions and such. My diaries are not here.” “May I take a look at those? That would be most helpful,” Steven asked. “Yes, certainly,” Winters assured. Next to him, Nixon had relaxed and shaken off the previous gloom. His brows quirked with new mischief and suddenly he grinned. “You have always been the archivist of us. With those glasses you’d make a fine librarian too, Mr. Winters.” Winters gave Nixon a clearly warning look over the rim of his glasses, but Nixon just smirked back at him. “Yeah, keep that up. See where we end up,” he teased, and Winters gave an exasperated huff and rolled his eyes. “You didn’t keep any mementos or souvenirs, Mr. Nixon?” Steven asked. Nixon shook his head. “Nah. I got rid of most of it a long time ago. I got rid of my uniform and everything pretty soon after I was discharged too.” He got a wicked look in his eyes again. “What I do have are my letters, from that time and after too. They take up several shoe boxes, but maybe I should bring those down and read some. He might not talk much but you’d be surprised by some of the stuff my darling soldier boy here can – “ “Nix!” Winters cried out, snatched the oven mitten from the table and swatted Nixon with it. Steven focused on his notebook to hide his smile. He could only hope to be such good friends with someone someday.

#winnix #band of brothers #loose lips sink ships #mun ficci

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alchemist-shizun · 5 years ago

Text

I Can See My Kingdom Now

Read on Ao3!

Chapter 3: Time and again boys are raised to be men

Word Count: 10,176

Characters: Virgil, Roman, Logan, Patton, Deceit.

Pairing(s): Eventual Logicality and Prinxiety. (hints to Royality, they’re forced into an arranged marriage)

Warnings: -Mild cursing (there's just one cuss word) -Minor character death -Negative thoughts -Panic attack -Insomnia -Some kind of selective mutism -Toxic parental behavior -Mentions of hallucinations -Food mention -Self-esteem issues and self-deprecation

Summary: Growing up isn't easy for anybody. Especially when you're the new around, when you feel like you lost everything or when it seems you have the world against you.

A/N: Or of how I’m projecting slightly into one of the characters. As for the next update, I don't have much ready so you'll have to be waiting a bit for it, nothing specific this time. I'm currently working on a Prinxiety one-shot that I hope I can release soon, plus in September I'll be participating in the little event with daily prompts dedicated to the series. Also, I'll be soon starting the last year of high school, so updates will be definitely slower, but I won't give up, promise. Thank you for sticking around till now, I'll hear from you soon!

✾

❝ You are broken and callow Cautious and safe You are boundless in beauty With fright in your face ❞

The first years through his “learning how to be a valuable prince” had passed, and Roman was already grateful for the castle servants, who seldom sneaked in his room extra food. It wasn't like they were making it too hard for him and basically throwing knowledge at him or expecting him to be a natural and ace every single lesson.

His teachers adjusted to him, they let him take his time and were more than happy to explain concepts more than once.

It was just that he felt like he had to learn how to live all over again: first came posture, back at the orphanage none really cared if you were walking, skipping along the pavement, even running at times.

Here you had to keep your body in a particular position, your head straight, especially among other aristocrats. Your step had to be measured, every part of your body talked for you most of the times.

A step back could mean disdain, fright, a step forward could be interest, trust, a hand towards you is a chance to dance or an offer for a hug.

Roman had met many nobles, apart from the royals from Tinfea, after he came back to the palace; they all wanted to congratulate his parents and meet the famous lost prince. The story they knew was that a naïve servant had let the gates open and he had wandered outside by himself until he got lost for good.

As a child, he liked the attention of numerous people, but how to behave around them wasn't exactly his expertise.

Every time he did something unusual, the strangers would mention how adorable he was. His parents would smile and stroke his hair gently, a sign that, regardless of his inexperience, he was doing a good job.

To help him to get used to it, servants that casually met him in the hallways reminded him of his posture. Eventually, he got there.

While also practicing that, which reminded him to always look up to people and never look down on them, he learnt what kind of behavior he had to keep during meals, which silverware to use, how many servings there were in each meal, which one was his reserved seat.

To make it fun, he established a game between him and his parents: it consisted on guessing the food that was going to be served by the kitchen servants. It was a secret between him and the cook, but he'd occasionally sneak in the kitchen to get a “general idea”, as he liked to call it, of the possibilities. He totally wasn't cheating. Besides, he loved how his parents compared him to a magician every time he succeeded.

They made everything easier for his age, enjoyable even.

Everyday he learnt something new and everyday he was aghast: it happened even as he woke up in his chambers for the first time.

He had been woken up by the gentle daylight of the morning that was peering through the translucent curtains, pulled apart by one of the servants he had seen going around the corridors before going to sleep.

He had tried to snuggle closer to the covers and the pillows, shielding himself from the eventual tasks he had to complete during the day.

The servant had approached him and, with honey-like words, they persuaded him to get up. Only that he was simply expected to sit up on his bed.

Ever since he came to the castle, a servant would meet him in the morning to wake him up, then they'd be helped by a couple more to bring in the room a dressing table with a mirror, a chair, some objects and utensils they needed, meanwhile one of them would look into a wooden case full of rich fabrics that Roman didn't even know to distinguish.

The servants always helped him get up on his feet, they led him to the chair to sit down and they washed his face, his hair got combed and treated with products that made them soft and perfumed. Different types of oils and creams were smeared every day on his skin as they undressed him, careful not to get the night vest dirty.

No wonder they forced him to take a hot bath every night.

When they were done with that he got up, almost completely naked, and they proceeded to help him put on his clothes, which were layers on layers of various types of cloth. He didn't even know all of their names.

He looked at his minute figure on the tall mirror nailed on the wall which was perpendicular to the bed: splashes of red, gold, white and black blinded his sight as he noticed his hair tied at the nape of his neck.

After breakfast he had his first lessons of reading and writing in the library; his teacher was the same one that taught him about the history of their kingdom. She was an old lady with a streak of bright green in her white hair and a perpetual knowing look that made her seem like she had lived as long as the planet had existed. As if she knew everything there was to know.

Roman had always found her somewhat intimidating, which led to an ever-growing respect towards her: in a couple of months he had been able to read fluently and write with little to no mistakes.

The lady was amazed at how he kept practicing and demanding for books narrating fables. To the point that, unable to stop herself, she finally asked.

« What is it that interests you so much? » she lent him the second book that week, she was afraid she would run out of them soon. She made a mental note to send a man to the nearest kingdom.

« They remind me of the village I was in. » he said, eyeing the book cover with enthusiasm.

« How so? »

« I used to make up stories with a friend! » he looked up at her with a warm smile « Father said I'll visit him soon. » he added, excitement in his eyes.

Something sour set in the lady's mouth. She knew better, as always.

She couldn't help but smile back and place her hands her hips.

« Perhaps after you learn a bit of those history lessons I gave you, will you? A prince has to know everything about his kingdom if he wants to rule someday, understood? »

He let out a small huff « Of course, ma'am. »

She pat his head. « That's good. » and, as she stared at his back to check his posture while he walked away, a sad look couldn't help but make its way through her face.

After Roman had mastered all the first lessons, he was taught how to speak properly in the presence of nobles, elders, young people and the plebs in general. It was a surprisingly young servant that helped him, since sometimes it could happen that some wise and skilled enough servants could be “promoted” as teachers for the king's children.

All the letters in front of the prince seemed to swirl around his head and pressing at both sides when he looked at all the different meanings a single word could have. All the different ways that you could say something so that you could be understood by all types of audiences. The best moments were when he used the wrong linguistic register and he ended up talking to a kid the way you would treat an emperor.

At the same time he took up art lessons with that same servant. Roman found out they were not only good at how to behave with someone but they could also make the nicest instant portraits. The first one she did of him, he hanged it right after in his room, on the side of his half-empty bookshelf he asked his parents to bring in after a couple of gifts from his history teacher.

The second reaction was simply a request to teach him how to be as good as them. So they started going out of the palace daily, then into the gardens, to just sit down and draw from reference. He kept trying, transforming nature in swirls of colors and pencil figures.

Before he could say he was pretty good at it, a couple of years would have to pass, but he was content enough with just staying outside and enjoy the artistic point of view his servant offered him.

Twice a week, on the other hand, they stayed inside and flipped through a history of art book, full of pictures and analysis of the paintings or architectures.

Then, there was one of Roman's favorite things: he began sword fighting lessons. A valuable prince needed to have an eclectic knowledge and skills, but most of all if he wanted to protect a whole kingdom, he had to be able to protect himself first.

One of the Royal Guard's knights was lent to teach him; Roman believed he was going to have one of those basic lessons in which you went into the backyard of the castle, out of earshot not to disturb anyone with the clanging noise of metal.

Never in his life he would have imagined to be led into a ballroom and met with a curly dark petrol-haired man and a mischievous smile: he had two perfectly created wooden swords behind his back, like a ninja about to unsheathe his own katanas.

Roman approached the man with a confused yet composed look and when he stopped a few feet away, he held that stare.

The knight's expression shifted to a thoughtful one, never leaving that slight curve of his lips; he saw Roman, a tiny child, refraining from taking his eyes off of him, a well-trained man from the Royal Guard. And he didn't find fear in those honey-like irises, he was expectant. Rigid, but ready.

At this point silence had been enough to still keep her around. The knight threw a sword at the boy with no warning, it was definitely a test for his reflexes.

It was a habit that he always did with his new apprentices, it felt like some kind of superstitious gesture, if the person didn't catch it was probably going to have a lot of trouble teaching. On the other hand if they did …

The knight could only watch as the hilt of the wooden sword flew in Roman's hand, perfectly adjusting to his grip.

… well, it was going to be fun.

« I like you. »

The prince flashed him a satisfied smile.

The older man got a few steps closer and leaned down, Roman could see the red in his eyes that previously he thought was an unusual shade of brown.

« Shall we dance? »

Always busy with lessons and writing down stories to read to his loving parents, Roman found himself being fifteen, the village and its inhabitants was a distant memory he couldn't have the luxury to think about.

He didn't even realize he stopped asking about Virgil. He didn't realise he stopped thinking about him or the orphanage. It was less hurtful to pretend it all didn't exist than accept he would have never been able to come back. They hated him by now, probably.

His history lessons were so persistent he could now recite all his ancestors' lives backwards. Or in alphabetic order. Or in any kind of order, really. As he let go of the lessons he had mastered, new ones would come up almost instantly and, sometimes, take away even more time than the ones he had before.

Not that he wanted to complain, he'd be exhausted enough to have no trouble sleeping and never waking up a single time in the middle of the night. Which made the actual waking up ten times more challenging.

But most of all, he loved a lot of the lessons he got. Especially singing. You don't know where Roman is and it's time for his daily walk around the front garden's sculptures? He's probably moving around a large room and singing his heart out.

What was frustrating but also very surprising was how good he sang, as if he was a natural, born to entertain those around him with enchanting melodies.

His teacher couldn't believe it the first time he heard him. Soon enough, they had started a duet of voice and harp strings, creating symphonies in every different possible way.

Sometimes they really had to drag him out of rooms to participate to at least thirty minutes of his other teachings, and yes, a prince needs to know about the gods, the pontifex can't do everything by themselves.

Roman walked down the castle's external stairs, as white as the clouds above him, he occasionally thought that maybe there was a spell keeping them so clean and candid.

There was an old sage leading him towards the marble sculptures that ran along the garden's limit. Same impeccable color of the castle.

Nothing got ruined in their royal bubble, it seemed there was an invisible defense around their property. That was were the odd legend of their kingdom came from.

« Remember this one? » the sage, another one of the teachers, pointed to the marble figure they were standing in front of, halfway through the garden.

« Yes. » Roman studied the sculpture, an androgynous-looking anthropomorphic god stared him down, eyes white and empty, they had a crown on their half extended left arm, with bifurcated tips at the top.

The other hand kept their vest up, pressing it on their chest, over their heart. The pattern on it displayed, in a bas-relief, detailed and messy curves and swirls.

« The God of Death, ruler of the Underworld, also called “Dark Kingdom”. That's the reason of the crown. » the old man nodded, satisfied with the answer, but that wasn't where Roman had finished. « The vest suggests the symbol of dark magic, as they were believed to be the First Sorcerer. »

« You could have stopped before … »

Roman arched an eyebrow, it was unlikely for a man like him to be skeptical towards the Forbidden Topic. « I'm not afraid of two words. »

« You're aware of the reason why we refrain to mention it, aren't you? »

« I am. But I don't think it is right to belittle a God, or conceal one of their most important features, only because of a human dilemma. Isn't it impious to bend a deity's description to a mortal rule? » Roman turned back to his teacher, expecting a frown on the man's face.

Instead, the facade the sage was keeping up suddenly fell, only to be replaced by a satisfied and content expression; he pat the top of the boy's head while nodding slightly.

« Very good, Roman. I take you've read those books I suggested? »

The little prince showed a sheepish smile. « I guess I enjoy myths. »

Their conversation went on, the topics somehow brushing philosophy at times, but was soon abruptly interrupted by the loud noise of hooves on the stone pavement between the two sections of the garden.

Their glances turned towards the entrance, where a carriage was let in through the gates.

Both prince and sage straightened their postures and waited for the mysterious person to show themselves. They didn't expect a boy around Roman's age to come out of the carriage, all dressed up as an obvious piece of nobility, by himself.

As he got closer, Roman could notice the sneering look that engulfed him, red hair almost looked like fire under the hit of the sun rays.

The boy stopped a few feet away from them, then bowed down. « I am Desmond Ananke, marquis of the kingdom of Elis. » when he looked up, he found himself transfixed by those pitch-black eyes, as dark as a moonless night, or the moment right before your eyes adjust to the blackness of a room.

He felt dizzy for a second, was that even natural? Magic?

He came back to life when he felt the sage's hand being placed on his shoulder, when he looked over to the teacher he surprisingly found a sour expression. Roman decided to just nod at the boy, a cue for him to state the meaning of the visit.

« My parents agreed upon sending me for the monthly donation we had planned decades ago. » he turned his head to the older man. « I'm positive you wouldn't mind if I helped myself up the stairs to meet the sovereigns. » a smirk was all he needed to show for the man to understand.

He stayed silent for a few beats, then let go of the prince and stepped aside.

Desmond, before excusing himself, got a closer look to the boy. « So you must be the famous Roman Bia, I suppose. » he held his hand towards him, if he expected a handshake, he wasn't ready for the marquis to take his own hand and place a kiss on the top of his knuckles.

He looked up at him, Roman's hand still close to his lips « Your surname means “brutal strength”. I wonder if your delicacy can contrast that. »

Roman had no clue what that meant, he felt Desmond's stare on him, the warmth his hand was irradiating on his skin and the general discomfort of the whole situation. Was he supposed to answer? Was it a compliment? Did he know …

« I wonder if you're aware our prince is only fifteen and has been promised to the prince of Tinfea for five years by now. » Roman was glad his sword fighting teacher had come to the rescue, he was probably being late to his lesson.

The marquis eyed him, his smile slightly faltered and he carefully snatched his hand away.

Without any further word, he excused himself and began pacing towards the palace.

Roman had retrieved his hand as if he had just touched a burning pot, only that the only fire he felt right under his skin was dancing around his cheeks and ears because of the embarrassment. He looked at the place where the marquis once stood with a confused expression.

What was his deal?

« That motherf- »

« Language! »

« Gods! » the knight put his hands on his face and slid them up on his hair in a desperate gesture. « Stop lecturing me, dad. »

« I am not your father. » the sage gave him a puzzled look while the knight rolled his eyes.

« Maybe when you stop treating me like a child, you won't be. Well! » he clasped his gloved hands together and turned to a silent Roman that was wondering whether or not he should have let them have their moment and leave. « Ready for your lesson, kid? » Roman simply nodded.

They excused themselves from the elder and the knight, Crowley was his name, as he finally recalled, slid his arm around Roman's shoulder in a friendly way, only to lower down a little and speak to him more clearly.

« Look, that guy from before? Bad news. » he made a face. « I'll tell you, just because our kingdom is so awesome, the more outer people try to take advantage and benefit from us. »

« They're envious? »

« That's an understatement, but yeah, pretty much. » Roman felt some kind of burning feeling in his chest.

« Can't they just focus on improving their own kingdom instead of taking things from us? »

Crowley grinned. « Oh, is our prince getting bitter? »

« Hah. Not at all. I'm keeping my cool here. I'm in perfect conditions. » he flashed him a perfectly constructed smile. « See? »

« Sure, my lord. In perfect conditions of pretending, should I call the jester and tell him to call some actors to join you? »

« Oh, gladly, thank you so much. »

As they entered the fighting room, chuckling, they made their way towards their steel swords and started their usual sparring.

« Still, you should know … » the swords kept on clashing with no result. « … that boy from before talked about a donation. »

Roman started to lose some ground. « Yes? I never heard of that. »

« In my opinion, it's stupid. Arcadia has to donate part of our treasure to help other kingdoms. »

« What? » Roman's movements looked even more aggressive, tenacious.

« Apparently, it's the only way to assure they don't move war against us. » he sighed as Roman made a mistake in his posture, but regained it quickly.

« Wouldn't that lead us to eventually fall? It's not like the gods gift us gold every month. »

« That's what I've been saying. And the king's advisor too. They're ruining us anyway, this is only the slower method, the king said. »

« This is ridiculous. » the knight noticed Roman was basically throwing all his hits on him.

« I know, not to mention that marquis clearly wanted to woo you. »

« Woo me? »

« He wanted to marry you, to, of course, get your nobility status from the kingdom's alliance. There's no love there. » Crowley noticed Roman's expression hardening with rage. « Only strategy. » the prince scoffed, annoyed. « Like a mere tool. »

That's when Crowley realized his tactic was working and, in a matter of seconds, he found his sword clattering to the floor. Roman stopped moving, awed by his own doing and looked up to his teacher both smiling widely.

« Well done, kid. » he reached to pat his head, but Roman ignored that and wrapped his hands around him in a happy hug. He literally started screaming of joy.

« Gods, I did it! Did you see that? Did you see how I landed that sword? That was awesome! » he trailed off complimenting himself and pacing around the room, excitement printed on his face.

Crowley, amused, kept on watching Roman's little burst of happiness. Still, he realized it was now time for him to let other lessons take up his time. Like …

« Courting. This guy needs to learn courting. »

He was sixteen when it happened. Roman was enjoying one of the books his literature teacher had recommended, sitting at the library's table. He loved those lessons and was waiting for them to start.

His eyes lit up when he heard the door opening, but he never expected to find one of his servants and a gloomy expression. They approached him and took his hand while watery eyes threatened to start tearing up.

« Crowley is dead. »

That was the last thing he heard before zoning out, his heart sank and he felt numb; his hearing stopped working, it was as if the servant was talking to an inanimate object. They continued talking about how he died while helping a kingdom in a battle and was found lifeless, but Roman's mind couldn't process any more information.

Crowley is dead.

He could still see his mischievous red eyes in the corner of his own, now covered by a tragic and dark veil, his mouth agape as if he wanted to say something but there was nothing else to say at the same time. It was written all over his face.

Crowley is dead.

The servant brought him back to consciousness by touching his shoulder, the memory of his teacher doing the same burned in his mind, tears welled up in his eyes and found the strength to sprint away from a startled servant and run down the castle halls.

Crowley is dead.

He knew who he was looking for. His sight was clouded, making it harder to recognize his surroundings. He didn't care he was running, he didn't care his sobs could have been audible from outer space. He received concerned but knowing looks by anyone he crossed paths with. Then he found the room.

Crowley is dead.

His trembling hand turned the shiny and cold handle that almost blinded him. After closing the door behind him he rushed over to the person he knew needed comfort the most, just like him.

Roman hugged the sage, Nicephorus, he hugged him tight and pretended they didn't notice each other's red eyes. They also pretended they didn't hear their crying, seemingly unstoppable. Nicephorus pretended he didn't lose who could have seemed like his son, Roman pretended he didn't lose the brother he never had.

You can never judge whether someone's life was happy until it's gone.

Roman was seventeen. He was also finally allowed to make little trips outside of the palace and meet his people: he went mostly around the center, where his parents didn't prohibit him to go. Seven years kept inside the castle, busy with his education and getting to know his parents and kingdom, and everything about the village was now long gone from his mind, a distant memory he didn't dig into anymore.

Saying that he was well recognized by his people was an understatement. The people loved him. They cheered for him when his carriage made its way towards the center's plaza. He'd greet every single one of them, he let them hold his hands, he kissed little children's heads and willingly let them lead him through the city.

He wasn't like those royal people that looked down on the plebs with indifference from their carriages, he enjoyed interacting with others, being able to confront his life with the one of the others.

He often listened to their problems and realized that this type of confrontation helped the royalty greatly in fixing the kingdom's problems for the better; dealing directly with the people that faced issues that could be resolved was one of their best mechanisms.

And not only had he a great relationship with his people, but also the one with his servants couldn't be of any less importance. They were happy to spend time with him when his parents couldn't, as much as he was grateful for them for anything they had done.

People outside stopped believing he was a real prince, how could someone so kind-hearted have no dark feature?

They didn't know about his nightmares, for sure.

Or all the times he felt like he was remembering something of the night he disappeared, only to break down right after, the only comfort being his mother's embrace.

And despite being surrounded by a multitude of loved ones who loved him back, they didn't know about the loneliness he felt when he finally reached eighteen.

« Roman, dear, the Pais family is coming very soon, will you come to meet them? »

Yes, even with a guaranteed fiancé.

Royal courting was weird in their days: the two promised could see each other little to no time at all, preferably spending as less time together as they could. Meals with parents were fine, they even had the luxury to sit in front of each other, talk sometimes, but out of those? One or two hours a day were enough, thank you very much.

So, what the Tinfea and Arcadia families were doing to follow these unfathomable laws was meeting once a year, celebrating one year less to the upcoming wedding.

And now that Roman was eighteen, well, things were only starting to get faster.

« We're going to speed up the preparations with them today, you can finally spend some more time with the lovable Patton, aren't you happy? » his father was at his left as they made their way towards the entrance of the castle.

« Truly charmed. » he mused, not particularly focused on his question. It wasn't like he didn't want to meet him, or thought he wasn't at all an appreciable companion, but the little time they spent together wasn't enough for him. He wasn't even allowed to send letters; their relationship only started as acquaintances and went back to strangers after a couple of months of not seeing each other.

Roman thought that was ridiculously inconvenient for both of them.

« Wait, is Logan going to be here? »

« Honey, of course, he's always been. » Roman made a slightly frustrated pout at that.

« Don't be like that. He's their closest advisor. »

« I know, but I don't like him. He makes me feel incompetent. »

« He's older than you, Roman, it's normal if his knowledge is higher than yours. »

« And you should respect him as such. Then you will get along just fine. »

The prince sighed, he couldn't argue with that. What they always said was that he could at least act like he was glad to have someone as guest.

Furthermore, he loved acting. He couldn't remember how many times he had sneaked out to get to the local theatre to watch actors perform, or perform himself after he made sure none was there.

« Oh, I forgot to tell you! » Roman's mother turned to him, beaming. « This time, they're going to stay here longer. We're going to put into action what Logan had suggested two years ago. »

Well, that was certainly new.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Patton had often wondered why things were a certain way.

He sounded like a kid when he kept on asking different questions about the subject he was debating with someone.

Why were clouds like that? Are stars motionless? Why is grass green and not blue? How come animals didn't talk, do they even understand us?

As he grew up and reached adulthood, the questions would change into more soul-searching ones.

Does happiness really exist? Is the mind more important than the heart? What's the difference between justice and revenge? When is it required to be selfless and when is it allowed to be selfish?

One time at fourteen he found himself stargazing and wondering if he could even reach the stars one day, that sky glitter that winked and smiled at him every night. He had approached Logan's chamber and ran in the room out of breath, at which a startled seer blinked a couple of times, frozen still, and looked at him with arched eyebrows.

« Hey Lo- » a couple of short breaths. « You're a magician, right? »

A slow nod came from the older boy, whose gears began turning in his head, trying to predict which kind of outcome that conversation was going to lead to.

« So can you fly?! » Pat had clasped his hands together in little fists in front of his mouth and leaned in towards the chair his friend was sitting in.

Logan wondered if he could have either expected that kind of question or if he definitely wasn't aware this scenario could have ever taken place.

Eventually, he decided to get up from his chair and, kindly, escort Patton out of his room, while the prince whined about wanting to reach the sky.

After he closed the door behind himself, he pinched the bridge of his nose as he fought back an amused smile that was threatening to form on his lips.

Of course, he lost, but in his defense, he was pretty tired.

After the prince's fifteenth birthday, Logan wondered sadly why they had to unquestionably stop attending lessons together; they had less time to spend with each other now that Patton was up to courting lessons most of his day, while he retreated to his room pretty much always to self-teach himself the remaining of magic knowledge. His sovereigns told him he didn't need teachers anymore, they meant to praise him for his own talents at such a young age. But he didn't somehow feel satisfied.

On the contrary, his heart sank when he stopped in front of their closed room and heard that they were actually glad their son was going to spend less time with him and that they couldn't wait to get rid of him.

He stayed silent and moved on.

When Patton reached sixteen, Logan decided he hated feelings.

He hated feelings because he could not conceive his kingdom's rules and what sometimes they did to people, how it changed them and made them treat him from a respectable member to a simple servant undeserving of any kind of attention. He decided to stop showing such feelings as he now found them useless: what could he do with his emptiness? The anger? Disappointment? Loneliness? All the other emotions he didn't want to name? Things that only slowed down his work?

Well, there was one thing he surely could do, which was bury them deep inside and never listen to them again.

And so he did.

At seventeen, Patton was having a mental breakdown. Too many things were happening at once: preparations for the wedding (already, though Roman was still fourteen), the fate of the curse approaching which he tried to ignore, his teenage mood swings, him reaching soon adulthood and the always more persistent lessons. About literally anything.

It was especially the lessons that stressed him out. In one of them in particular, in which he had to learn how to dance but was failing miserably, he concluded it was best to abruptly storm out of the room and take his frustration out on the grass he was stomping as he made a beeline for the flower garden of the east side of the castle.

Stressful tears were prickling his eyes, he carefully wiped them away on his sleeve, growing discontent was spreading inside him since he didn't want to cry, and yet he was too vulnerable to stop himself. Why did he feel so weak?

Patton took a deep breath and made his way through the garden, hands curled in fists at his side, when he eventually had to stop himself once again.

Logan was sitting on the ground, a couple of feet away from him, he was leaning on some flowers, examining them, while some objects – related to magic, Patton thought – were lying all around him.

Suddenly aware of a viewer, his friend- wait, were they even still friends? How long ago was the last time they talked for real?

Patton grimaced, he couldn't even remember that.

Nonetheless, Logan looked up at him with a blank stare, it only faltered for a moment as he noticed the slight redness around the prince's pupils.

They kept staring silently, until eventually the mage broke the silence between them, after he turned his attention back to the flowers he was observing attentively.

« What can I help you with? » there was no real interest in his voice, no signs of concern (although he definitely knew Patton was missing his lesson), the lack of anything bothered the prince in a way he couldn't comprehend. It's like that uneasiness you feel when someone slightly moved everything in your room and you can't tell what has changed.

Patton as well couldn't tell what had happened to make their relationship so different from before.

And maybe it was exactly because of that, maybe because of how much pressure they were putting in him, the expectation of his parents that he could master all his teachings in no time, the absence of the comfort he once found in friendship with his servants, whatever case it may have been, that he found himself dropping on his knees and throwing his arms around Logan's shoulders.

Patton tried to hide his face on the other's robes, tightening his grip as little sobs shook his body.

Whatever grudge Logan could have been holding against him (which, mind you, he didn't, since Patton was just that impossible to despise), he cast that aside and surrounded the younger one's chest with his own arms, hesitantly.

They sat there for a couple of minutes as the prince let out all the displeasure and the other boy just tried to help with soft rubs on his back.

As soon as he felt an ounce of relief, Patton broke the hug and took a deep breath, after muttering an apology.

« I don't know what's happening. To me, or in general. » he sighed, a hand touching his forehead while he looked down.

Since they had basically been ignoring each other, he was expecting a remark, he thought he was going to tell him he was an idiot and it was his fault, he would have believed that.

Instead, Logan nodded. « That's perfectly understandable. »

Patton looked up at him in confusion and disbelief. « How? »

A humming sound escaped the mage's throat. « How about you describe what is bothering you? »

« Uh. » he was looking at the sky, but focusing on his thoughts. « It's like I'm in a cage. Everybody's telling me what to do, what to wear, how to act. Or who I have to talk to. » he looked Logan in the eyes. « When was even the last time talked properly? » his azure irises darkened in a greyish color. « I feel like I have no friends anymore. »

Logan's heart sank at the words, he knew he was included in that group and he couldn't help but feel ashamed for accepting the distance they suddenly began to keep, instead of doing something about it.

« It is only normal that you're getting badly affected by the situation. Look at yourself, » Patton lifted his hands to observe them. « you're clearly stressed out. Are you getting enough sleep? » there were so many questions he wanted to ask. They barely saw each other out of meals.

« Do I, they expect me to be asleep the moment they escort me to my chamber. »

One problem less ticked off of Logan's mental list.

« We both know your drinking and eating schedules are practically perfect, so I guess this is partially about pressure. Everything at once. »

« Yeah, it's mostly because of this “perfect” you said. Everyone expects me to be perfect, my parents- »

« That's it! » Logan abruptly interrupted, pointing a finger towards the sky, a knowing smile making his way through his face. He dropped the objects he was carefully putting away in his bag.

« Uh? I barely finished … »

« Listen. Don't you think your parents are a bit … too much into this? They have started preparations way ahead of time, they can't stop talking about the wedding's details when neither you nor Roman reached adulthood yet. It seems to me that they want this more than you do. To the point that they don't care about your feelings. » the words tasted sour in his mouth, talking badly about your king and queen wasn't exactly the main topic in a kingdom, but he saw the prince slowly nod in agreement.

It wasn't the first time he had noticed that, either.

« My feelings … yeah, they're definitely messed up. » he found the will to giggle.

After a beat, Logan continued with his reasoning « I can't honestly believe you forgot my most important lessons. » he looked away to open the only vial that was lying on the ground and poured a drop of its content on a dying withered flower that immediately blossomed in a soft pink hue. When he looked back at his friend he met a confused but pensive gaze, mixed with amazement by the little magic trick.

« You're your own person, Patton. You don't have to act like anyone but yourself. Break free of those puppet strings, they're not unbreakable. You can be a prince in your own way. »

Patton showed him one of his brightest smiles, gaining all the inspiration he could have ever possibly asked for. He could still be himself while having lessons or while in front of other nobility members.

« You're right! » he beamed, getting confidently on his feet. He felt like he could take on the world by himself. « Plus, how much can they go against a prince? »

Logan rolled his eyes. « As much as they like if he starts getting full of himself. »

« Aw, come on, I was just kidding. »

They made their way towards the castle's ballroom, while catching up on the things they had been up to in the past year.

Time, of course, flew by in an instant and they were already facing the entrance of the ballroom. They stopped in their tracks.

Patton turned to the magician. « I don't know if a “thank you” is enough. But I appreciate that you didn't reject me being all emotional. » he then shrugged with a small smile. « Sometimes I get overwhelmed by the smallest things. »

Logan shook his head. « You don't have to thank me. I only helped a friend in need. »

The prince almost jumped in joy at the label, it was a sign their relationship wasn't destroyed by outer circumstances, which was what Patton had feared the most. How could he have gotten such an amazing friend? He felt the desire to surround himself with more people like him.

« And remember, if you don't understand something, write it down. Only then it might become clearer. » the seer shared one of the most important pieces of information he could give in order to prevent future breakdowns anytime soon.

Patton considered carefully his words as if he had just found out a glowing treasure, then nodded. « Will do. » he made to turn away, placing his hand on the door's handle.

« Sorry for forgetting what you taught me! » he apologized with a sheepish grin. Logan only chuckled and started to step away, when he got called again.

« And Lo? » he gave him his full attention and suddenly found Patton's hand on his arm.

Patton gazed deeply in his dark eyes. « Please, talk to me more. »

And just like that, he disappeared into the room, resuming his dance lesson with a lighter feeling in his chest.

It was the moment in which Logan felt a colder spot where the prince's hand once was and his cheeks burning red that he decided he hated feelings even more.

At eighteen Patton understood that he could be a bit freer, but his parents wouldn't let it slide so easily. At least not without some guilt trip or psychological pressure.

King, queen, prince and seer (who had also become their personal adviser since they didn't find a way to get rid of him) were sitting on a carriage, seemingly talking about topics of no relevance. But one would know better than believe aristocrats didn't measure their every word, sticking hidden meanings or snide remarks in sentences here and there.

It was their charm, how they could hold a conversation while talking about something completely different.

« Did you hear about this? They say that Roman kid had already caught up with his lost lessons in less than two years, isn't that a prodigy? » their favorite topic was throwing Patton down with their “oh-so-perfect” examples.

They always told him so many things about him, things he wasn't even sure were entirely true. So many voices went around castles. Ever since Arcadia's prince came back, he had been in everyone's words and minds.

Of course, Patton's parents used all the information they could get, thinking they could have been able to attach those puppet strings back to his body.

They tried and sometimes they succeeded in grazing even just slightly his self-worth.

Self-esteem issues weren't late to the party as well.

Patton noticed a pattern in the arguments: they would find anything that didn't please them, blame him and eventually start to criticize him. His looks, his behavior, his intelligence, either the first thing they saw or the first thought that came to their mind.

Initially he apologized as much as it felt fake. But he didn't like lying every time there was a fight, though doing the opposite made the situation worse.

His parents would get frustrated by his silence, the yelling would increase for minutes until they got tired and gave up on him.

So Patton only stared at the marble pavement, his eyes danced around its colored details, a blank expression surrounded his face; when they finally let him free he'd only run back to his room.

After that there were two different outcomes: one would simply picture him crying to let out all of the horrible things they told him, as if he could shake them off and forget about it.

The other would display him lying down with a weird feeling in his guts. It was something that mixed with wanting to fight someone and wanting to fight himself. As if he deserved to feel pain. But the only thing he allowed himself was to think of all the remarks he could have done, if only they didn't make the situation worse.

Many could wonder how he managed to endure the whole thing. Patton had the kindness of his servants to get him through the day, the food they sneaked in every time he left during meals because he couldn't just bear it.

And he had a best friend he could rely on anytime he wanted or needed to vent. Especially when he saved him from annoying situations.

The conversation between his parents continued, their eulogy towards Roman never seemed to stop.

Patton breathed out slow and deep through his nose, he knew the last thing he needed was a reminder of his inferiority complex when he was on his way to Roman.

The funny thing about it was that he couldn't even blame Roman for how he felt, on the contrary the boy was always so sweet and welcoming. It was more how everybody portrayed him to be the perfect prince he could never achieve.

« On the topic of talents. » Logan, the foretold savior, spoke only after giving a sidelong glance to the younger boy.

The sovereigns immediately shut their conversation to Patton's relief.

« Since we are second in prosperity to Arcadia, I was thinking we should value our people more. » he had them hanging on his every word. « Maybe we should organize some kind of event that aims at that specific goal. »

The two adults' faces lit up, ideas flowing in their minds. Every argument on how to somehow be better than Arcadia was valid for both of them, it was the perfect diversion.

« We definitely agree. Please do tell us what you have in mind. »

Instead of going off with one of his explanations, (that often became monologues), he turned to Patton.

« What about you? Would you like that? » a faint smile crossed the prince's lips, ignoring the voices in his mind that said “How can he give his opinion? He understands nothing of it!”

« I would love that, Logan. » he nodded. « It would be ideal for our people to stand out in their specialties. I'd want to know if the best poems ever written belonged to one of our humble and simple villagers. » he stopped looking out the window to glance at his parents' shocked expressions, their mouths left hung open upon hearing his valid opinion. Suddenly they didn't have anything to remark.

He felt something very similar to pure bliss. Then he shifted his gaze to Logan. « Don't you think? »

Pride glimmered in the magician's eyes. « Exactly my thought. We could also participate or just watch, if so you desire. »

« Thank you for your suggestion! » Patton smiled even wider and Logan knew that he also silently thanked him for the attention.

After Logan finished displaying his idea, the sovereigns kept quiet for the whole trip to Arcadia's castle and Patton couldn't have been any more glad about it.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

How could he have been such an idiot?

Hopes and dreams, fake abstract concepts made up only to ruin people's expectations.

What was hope? It only meant relate to the future in a way that will eventually result in experiencing anxiety and anguish, whether it is a happy future you're looking for or a negative outcome that you're fearing. It is never something that helps you relax, but it keeps you in a restless mood, always unsettled because you know you're waiting for something and you're paying very much attention to it.

It is as if you're waiting for a delivery that has even the infinitesimal possibility to get lost into the nothingness. Or waiting for a person that promised to come back, a promise that has a high percent chance to be broken anyway.

But your hopes get in the way and erase any pessimistic belief, without realizing you're actually deteriorating yourself. With hope comes illusion and after that you're only left with pain.

Growing up, Virgil learnt to take nothing for granted and have very little trust in all the people who presented themselves in front of him.

To say that his parting from Roman had been a hard hit for him was an understatement: ever since then, he had never been able to get close to someone just as much or have any friendship quite as strong. It didn't feel worth it anymore.

Everything constantly reminded him of Roman and he just was so tired, he wanted the world to stop.

There had been many attempts by the school's children to get him to cheer up, but every single gesture failed its goal like they weren't even trying hard enough. But they were, when he wandered in the streets the villagers would greet him with a genuine smile on their lips, Virgil would only nod at them, unimpressed by the sudden interest.

Kids had tried to play with him, offered to go spend time in the woods together, but nothing could do. It reminded him too much of him and their memories were the last things he wanted to experience all over again.

He was eleven when hope started to fade out and disappointment took over him, a wave of sadness brushed his feet as strange thoughts began to force themselves into his mind.

These thoughts were the ones that tried to keep him awake at night, they persuaded him to think that it was better to embrace the darkness of the night, in which none would bother him as they all drifted off to sleep.

At first they scared him, so much he tried to scream to throw them away, panic didn't help his breathing problems and every other night his parents were kneeling down in his room, trying to steady him in every possible way.

At twelve, things were getting impossibly worse, because he couldn't help but comply to those musings. The first time, he found himself getting up from the small mattress, a myriad of thoughts screaming at him, so much that he preferred to stay silent, afraid that if he were to part his lips the harshness of howl-like shrieks would escape his mouth and leave him with little to no voice. The second time, he was found deadly still, bloodshot stapled open eyes, in front of the village's town hall at five in the morning by a pair of very concerned and frightened parents.

At thirteen night didn't exist anymore and the fair skin under his eyes slowly faded into a dark and purple-ish tone, he decided it was not worth to have those oniric impossible encounters in dreams or nightmares, even if his sleep deprivation did quite help making the unreal look real during his waking hours. His daylight hallucinations.

He had stopped talking at all, only considering someone when he really thought it necessary, scared they could catch him interacting with the unreal, unable to tell one from the other.

At fourteen he had visited all the doctors and magicians his family could reach, and at times their solutions were too … expensive. Out of the eight of them, there was one that stuck with Virgil, his words often played in his head as a reminder that, yes, something was definitely wrong with him. He couldn't remember his full name, something with Emile … was it? He was the only one that talked about his head. His mind; Emile's eyes had glowed, a light that made him look quite mischievous, though he truly was kind-hearted, and Virgil felt like he was piercing through his soul.

He had told him it was a mess, inside his mind. Virgil could have sworn he had heard a crack in his voice, as if he had been about to cry or needed consolation, after feeling how he did daily; but then again his reality was fake most of the time.

At fifteen the tables turned. Most of the villagers just chose to avoid him. Even if bullying didn't exist in his school, his classmates would have been too scared to approach him. A little part of him was glad he could occupy his mind with all the issues that rained down on him at once, so that he could shove his oldest problem in the deepest part of his heart and never think about it again.

It had been five years.

He couldn't say he was always successful, the best case scenario displayed a train of different thoughts that would suppress the topic he didn't want to think about. But other times … the outcome would destroy his mind.

He had never gotten angry at Roman for disappearing into the void.

He couldn't help but put the blame on himself; for god knows what reason why, he started feeling like Roman had now found better people, what if they had been friends out of pity? Sure, they were good at make-believe, and yet … Roman had never left him alone. He did feel genuine, after all.

There was too much contrast between his beliefs, but somehow he still couldn't help but crumble down in his own self-deprecation. It was none else's fault but his if he never came back. For all that he could know, by now Roman had probably already found plenty of people like him; better than him, perhaps, which wasn't that much of an impossible quest. It wasn't like he had any particular talent or was special in any way, really. Being replaced could have been just as easy even in his small little village.

He was still fifteen when he finally stepped into their forest after 5 years, for some reason he had gotten sentimental and, almost magically, his feet led him in front of the forest's entrance. He was retracing the same path they had followed the last time they were together, the sparkles caused by the sun hitting the water were already blinding his eyes as he stepped down the hill that now looked much smaller than how he remembered.

And then, the one thing that would change his life forever.

He looked at his left and that same fox from five years earlier was standing there, a cold glare piercing him through golden irises, Virgil thought he had lost his mind and the hallucinations due to lack of sleep were getting worse.

But the creature looked different, yet quite the same, he could tell it was the same one he saw, even though it seemed older.

Black fur was now added to its former colors at the base of its paws. It seemed it wanted to frighten him, but also persuade him.

Virgil held its stare, the animal didn't seem to move an inch.

« What? » he snapped, arms slightly opening in the act.

The yellow-eyed fox started pacing towards him, an elegant posture was still somehow kept in its cautious movements.

Virgil didn't take his eyes off of it, it felt like 5 years earlier: it was as if there was some sort of force tugging him in a particular direction. It was stronger than before and the lingering feeling of the animal's glare on him provoked some sort of persuasion and curiosity altogether.

The little villager just stood and watched as the creature paced forward until little to no space was left between them, then something switched in its expression after it looked around and set its focus back on Virgil with gloomy eyes.

Was it looking for Roman?

« He's not here. » Virgil wished he had said it with the most collected tone, but surprisingly found his voice cracked as if it had been smashed through a thousand palaces. It sounded rough, colliding with the ethereal aura of the place. The fox tilted its head slightly.

« What are you waiting for? It's not like he will come back. » another crash, he felt himself rapidly break down like most of the times when he listened to the thoughts screaming and raging in his head. He let his burning eyes fall to the ground and close, as the dark corners of his mind took completely over him.

« … ever. He won't- » his breath hitched and when he opened his eyes again he was on the ground, almost at eye-level with the pitying creature. He looked at his hands in terror, they were trembling visibly, his breathing grew shorter, sharp, but never like those wheezes he learnt to recognize. This was something else. How long had it been since he had last spoken to someone?

This was worse. So much worse.

His fingers brushed his cheek to find it soaking in overflowing tears already making their way on his skin; he digged his hands in his hair as to hold on for dear life. He hated when this happened. He had no control over himself, he felt hopeless, more helpless than usual, rationality flew out of his body, it was as if all of his feelings had smashed the button of “overload”, while a clutching sensation weighted down his stomach.

His mind raced between flashbacks of his childhood, belittling himself, the urge to just give up and lie down forever until someone would eventually pick him up and live his life in his place.

He was completely huddled on himself when he felt something soft trying to make its way through his limbs, as if it wanted him to relax his body and get his arms away from his face. Virgil had no choice but to comply and let the fox … help him? He felt too weak to care about what was happening anyway.

When the animal started brushing its head against Virgil's hand, he suddenly remembered about one of the doctors' suggestion; he opened his eyes and focused on his surroundings.

Five things he could see. The green blades of grass, the glimmering lake, those funny shaped clouds, the trees all around him and the fox by his side. He took another deep breath that he let out from the mouth.

Four things he could touch. The lightweight of his simple clothes, the soles of his shoes, his bangs brushing his forehead and the soft fur through his fingers. He closed his eyes.

Three things he could hear. Birds flying out of their nests to get some food for their nestlings, his rapid breath slowing down, little fishes occasionally jumping out of the lake and then back on the water.

Two things he could smell. The flowers that had started blossoming in that period, the simple essence of the forest's nature.

One thing he could taste. Oh. Had he eaten yet today?

His evened out and steady breathing had him finally relaxed, he kind of felt a smile tugging at his lips for some reason, maybe it was the comfort of the little animal, maybe because he finally got a hold of himself.

But while he pet the unusual friend, there was something he didn't notice. Someone he didn't see, but that could see him. It was somewhere Virgil had never reached. One of the deepest parts of the forest.

The man grinned in his dark room while the only source of light was a cloud of magic smoke in front of him, beaming with the picture of Virgil sitting on the grass and smiling at the fox.

The brightness touched his face with delicacy, yet you could make out the details of it with simplicity.

Like the burnt skin on the left side of his face that made it look like little scales were all over his cheek. Or the literal glowing, bright yellow eyes that slowly turned into a mild shade of white as the vision and smoke both faded away.

The man in the dark smirked.

« Perfect. »

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xxxsunnybabes · 6 years ago

Text

Gold Pt. 1 Teaser

This was the beginning. This is where it all went wrong. When you asked yourself, Why did I do the things I did? There wasn’t a good reason. And you knew it. You knew it like a mother knows her child’s cries. Your reason? ‘Love’.

Word Count: 2,113

Warnings: Mentions of planes

Rating: T/M

Pairing: underground society!OT7 x Fem! Reader

Summery: You had to go back to your hometown in South Korea due to your paternal grandmother falling ill. What you didn't know was that a childhood friend had joined a mafia and was looking for someone - you.

@kelly96q @the-spanishinquisition @dreamingmavis @superheros-and-others @xsmilebitesx @mariacorbi @leftflowerprunedonut @sweetbts1dcami

A/N: This happens before the pt. 0. COMPLETED VERSION

Thursday, December 22

You rolled off the edge your bed, hissing as your cheek connected with the cool marble floor. The sleek black marble bureau was your support as you picked yourself up off the floor.

Looking into your silver framed mirror you messed with your hair; pulling and parting it this way and that. You wiggled into your jeans up to your hips and yanked an old flannel over your head.

You looked down at your clothes and gave little tugs in areas to be comfier.

This was good, you weren’t doing anything fancy today.

Hopefully.

The bed cushioned your jump as you rolled to your nightstand. You picked up your phone to see if there were any notifications. Cross your fingers, Tumblr. There was this fanfic writer that you adored that was updating today.

And you.

Need.

Fluff.

You breathe it.

But of course, your battery percentage had to crush your tiny fangirl sole. You had forgotten to plug it in overnight... again.

“What’s done is done,” you sighed and grabbed your computer and its charger instead. The stairs’ rich maple finish looked like dark chocolate and the mocha carpet was like caramel. The rails twisted together like licorice. You hummed quietly as a stronger gust of wind caused the cotton candy blue shades to rattle slightly. The light oozed through the windows surrounding the eight ft. tall door.

You made a small squeak as an especially creaky step right at the bottom caught you off guard.

Your noise snapped you out of your trance and now everything felt like too much. The tile was bitterly cold and felt like icicles under your feet. As you walked into the living room you reached for the curtains since the morning light was now blinding. A short grunt stopped you and you turned to see your father on the twin white velvet couches. The island, which was stocked with cereals and canned goods, had been hiding him from view.

He had his eyes closed and his face forced into a scowl facing the ceiling. You immediately noticed the phone next to his ear and the way he seemed to grow more tense with each passing minute.

You two had the same habits. You both ground your teeth when you were aggravated. When nervous, you would scratch your nose. When you lied, you pinched your clothes; him at his pants and you at your shoulders. Your grew to understand people in ways no one else could when you were all they could rely on.

So when you can’t read him, like right now, your heart twisted in your chest and you just knew something was wrong.

You crawl onto the couch next to your father. Knowing better than to interrupt him you decided to listen quietly. Listen, not eavesdrop, there’s a difference.

You caught snippets of the conversation on the other side. Although not enough to piece together what was going on since the other side’s volume matched a heart monitor, high low, high low, then low, low, low.

Your dad’s mask was started to fade and it was clearer what he was feeling. His eyes were shut so tightly you were afraid he wouldn’t be able to open them again.

‘She...Hometown...South Korea...Needs to come….’ was all you could really hear on the other side. Your dad asked, ‘Why her? Couldn’t I go? Or one of her cousins?’ You could almost hear the other side shake their head, ‘No, they requested her...can’t refuse...end like...mother…’ Who was ‘they?

Clearly, your dad knew because he said, ‘But she still has her studies. They have no right to order us. They took so much already.’ The other person sighed, ‘I know, I know. But we can’t refuse them, you know that.’

Then, as suddenly as a tsunami would return to the sea, the phone call ended. Dad hadn’t even said goodbye before he hung up. He threw his phone on the circular glass coffee table at his feet.

He looked over at your confused expression and chuckled, “Did you fall off the bed again?”

He was trying to not mention that discussion.

“You shouldn’t be so amused by that, Dad. Whose bright idea was it to put the marble in a bedroom anyway?“

He raised his hand apologetically and mumbled something about how he never expected the guest room to be lived in.

You were so eager to find out what was going on that you felt like you would burst.

“Who’s going to South Korea?” you began since that’s the information you had heard clearlest.

“You are, your grandmother is,” he licked his lips nervously, buying time, “sick.vxf”

That’s not what you heard.

“Ok, but why do I have to go?” You rubbed your temple while rolling off the couch and into the open kitchen. You grabbed your favorite mug from the cabinet. It was massive, both tall and wide and said ‘The world is ending but don’t worry, you were a great friend and a better shield.’

He took a long gulp from his coffee like he was wondering if he should tell you the real reason, “She personally requested you.”

Why was he lying? He’s a terrible liar and shouldn’t even be trying.

He watched in amazement as you almost spilled the coffee all over you. You muttered a slow ‘shit’ while wiping it off the oriental rug.

After about three minutes of patting it and wiping you threw the towel on the sink in defeat, there was no way you could get the stain completely out.

You knew there wasn’t any way you could get out of this.

“I’ll go pack.”

He gave you a salute with a cocky smirk that made you want to sit on the couch and not move until someone made you. But you didn’t. He was stressed enough as it is.

You listened to ‘Hope World’ as you packed. From what you remember Seoul was extremely rainy, but isn’t too bad in December. You hadn’t brought much with you to your dad’s house and would have to stop by your dorm room before the plane trip this weekend. You zipped what you had into your suitcase with a groan.

Why couldn’t you have one normal winter break? You could almost hear your mother saying, ‘That’s life, Y/N.’

You smiled lightly. Her words could be so harsh but were normally true. A hand clenched your heart, it was comforting and suffocating at the same time. Bittersweet in its definition.

You missed her so much. You missed your fights or when you would fangirl together. But no one was right. No one could replace her. It was cheesy, but she always loved cheese, especially Swiss.

You heaved the bag downstairs and waited for your dad to finish his errands. You had to pry the new door open due to its lack of use.

If there was one thing you wouldn’t miss about here is all the dust. This house was like a pair of mismatched socks. New, old. Dirty, clean. Gross, pretty. But it would always be your ‘candy house’, sweet as home memories.

Sunday, December 27

The car ride was dreadful. Absolutely, positively, dreadful.

You and your dad had tried making small talk since you wouldn’t see each other for a while, but it wound up being awkward and forced.

“Dad, just stop. Please,” you chuckled, but it was tight.

He scrunched his nose up and real laughter bubbled up your throat. If this was a movie it would’ve been a perfect, rehearsed laugh. But who needed that when your laugh was the most natural and beautiful one to the people that knew you?

“Sorry, it’s just,” His voice trailed off at the end.

Your throat felt dry and your eyes were watery. Dust. Just dust, right? Your hand found your dad’s and you gave it a small but tight squeeze, “I know, I wanted to spend more time with you too.”

He took your hand and kissed it lightly before he stepped out of his car door and onto the asphalt. You finished your bottle of water before collecting your stuff and stepping out too.

He swiped his eyes and nose quickly but you still saw the tears.

“It feels like when I first dropped you off at college all over again,” he sniffed.

You pulled him into a tight hug but let go before you both got right back in that car and went home.

“I’ll see you a couple months, Dad,” You pat his shoulder reassuringly, for both of you, “I have to go now, love you.

You two weren’t one to say ‘I love you’, but you had this feeling in your gut like it might be the last time.

You rolled your two small suitcases into the airport and waited in line before you could look back.

Thankfully, you had picked Sunday for your departure day so there weren’t too many people. You stared at the clock and tapped your foot to Fake Love. You thought about how stressful this trip was going to be. You would have to find a new college, take care of your grandmother, brush up on your Korean, get used to Korean culture in general, find at least two jobs, and god only knows how many house projects… You left out a long heavy breath, thinking about the negatives only made you depressed so you stopped yourself.

The man weighing the bags cleared his throat and you realized that it was your turn. You placed each suitcase on the weigher and started humming Fake Love. The man raised his brow at you and it was then that you realized he had been staring at you.

Your eyes connected and it was like a light flickered on, but couldn’t stay on, in your head. He felt so- familiar. The long face, thin and pointy eyes that were always observing, the sharp nose and jawline, and even though his legs were hidden behind the counter you knew they were long and muscular. Where had you seen him before?

“Ma’am? Your bags are all good, excellent packing by the way,” and it was his voice that made it almost click.

“I’m sorry, but have I met you before?” you couldn’t stop yourself and maybe it was his lips, but they looked so honest and friendly.

His eyes darkened slightly, “I don’t believe so,” his face than twisted into a panty-dropping smile, “I would remember you.”

You tried not to blush, you were a grown ass woman for God’s sakes, "My mistake then.”

You didn’t really process the rest of the trip. You just went through the motions and somehow managed not to get lost in your daze. Everytime your mind returned to his face you couldn’t stop the heat that pooled between your legs. It was so weird and uncalled for; you had never reacted to anyone that way before.

Before you knew it, you were in your seat with your earbuds playing your favorite podcast. Someone sat next to you and you nearly jumped out of your seat. Get a hold of yourself, Y/N! You looked at them again and you nearly jumped again. It was him.

“Didn’t I just see you?”

He looked genuinely confused but there was an amused glint hiding in his eyes, “I’m sorry?”

“Didn’t you weigh my bags?” You were beginning to become frustrated, were you just bad with faces?

He shook his head and said that he was just another passenger. He pulled out a worn out journal and began to write in Korean. Your Korean was still rusty but from what you could make out they were lyrics. Lyrics, the word filled your head like a clue.

“Hoseok,” you didn’t know why, but that name filled your head.

His head snapped up and looked at you. His eyes were amber and filled with longing, he looked like a predator eyeing his prey.

You knew him, but from where? You figured it would come to you later, like the name did.

All you could do right now was sleep; so you wrapped the airport’s blanket around you and gazed out the window. It was nighttime already. You changed your playlist and turned the music to a comfortable volume before rubbing your head against the seat and drifting, drifting, drifting to sleep.

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thebifrostgiant · 6 years ago

Text

If You Know Where to Look - Part 10 (2/2)

Summary: in which culture shock is more like culture pleasant surprise. You return something, eat something you shouldn’t, and put on a grand show

Part 1 / Previous

Read on Ao3

Word Count: 2,821

Rating: T (for now)

Pairing: Loki/Reader

Chapter 10: The Whole World Blind (cont.)

His eyes flick between it and your face, no small amount of surprise on his own, and maybe he’s even a bit impressed. He takes it, fingers wrapping around it like the gesture brings him comfort, and he nods once and steps between you and the approaching figure, who you now can see is a small, frazzle-haired man with pieces of glass fixed over his eyes and a beard longer than the Allfather’s.

“You can’t just eat those without paying! I don’t know why you kids these days think you can just- Hey, easy! There’s no need to be waving that things around, mister!”

He stops, hands on his hips as he glares up at Prince Loki’s face, brashly unintimidated by the dagger held out toward his middle.

The dumbfounded look on Loki’s face would have been comical any other time, but you’re just as confounded. The man is laughably unthreatening, old and short and mortal as his is, yet still undaunted, and he’s certainly not attacking. Loki lets the arm holding the knife drop, then he puts it away entirely and grimaces apologetically.

“I’m sorry, sir. I ask you forgive my impudence. It’s just, my friend and I,” he indicates you with a flick of his hand — and you’ve really got to commend his acting skills, because his bashful contrition and entreating tone are flawless, only given away as insincere by the stark contrast to anything else you’ve seen from him — “We seem to be lost, and perhaps unduly suspicious.” He licks his lips, projecting a mien of anxiety that melts the indignant hardness from the man’s face. “We were attacked,” he admits, and the mingling of truth in the tale lends credence and the old man’s sympathy is tangible. “We had not meant to steal from you.”

“You’re not from around here, are you?” he asks softly, and for once, you’re actually grateful for your unkempt appearance, because he takes it in as a reason to be kind to you. And maybe you should feel guilty for taking advantage of that, but... well, strictly speaking, Loki had not lied.

“We... we aren’t entirely sure where here is, truth be told, sir,” you say, following Loki’s lead with a wide-eyed, frightened expression, coming forward to stand beside the prince. “Is there anything we can do to repay you for taking what belongs to you?”

The man swats the air as if batting away the question.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s just a couple of apples. You kids have obviously been through a lot, by the looks of you. Come with me, and I’ll fix you up a couple of hot ciders and you can tell me about it,” he offers, indicating with a tilt of his head that you should follow as he begins picking his way through the patches of flat, sandy ground between the rows of trees. You do follow, Prince Loki right behind, and the man continues. “We’re in northeastern Connecticut, by the way.”

“Ah,” you say, even though that means nothing to you.

“Name’s Charlie. Rude of me not to introduce myself to begin with,” he tells you, and after exchanging a brief glance, you and Loki do the same. “Where are you from, then?” he asks, and it occurs to you that your name and accent are likely just as unusual to his ear as his are to yours.

“Asgard,” Loki replies.

“‘Fraid I’ve never heard of it,” Charlie says, seeming chipper now that he’s not held at knifepoint. “Scandinavian?”

“...Yes,” says Loki haltingly, and you let him. You’ve no idea what or where Scandinavia is, but Loki at least knows enough about this realm to recognize it.

“Thought as much.”

Charlie leads you to a small cabin of unvarnished wood, flanked by round orange gourds in crates and on rows of hay bales and pots of yellow flowers scattered about. There’s a sign that says Apple Shack on the slanted roof, and as you walk through the door, you’re greeted by warmth that swells in your bones, a sweetly spicy scent, and baskets of apples in every shade imaginable set out on display. Shelves of goods line the walls, full of jars of jams and relishes, bottles of syrups, sauces, and honeys, and jugs of all sorts of apple themed beverages. Up front, where Charlie directs you, is a glass case of pastries, some domed and studded with dried fruits and nuts, others ring shaped and dusted with sugar, and some swirled golden and brown and sliced like bread.

Charlie hands you each a very strange soft white cup that squeaks as you sip from it, filled with warm amber liquid that is simply divine. He also offers you one of the ring shaped pastries, a doughnut, he calls it, because there’s “nothin’ finer to enjoy with cider.” He’s right, of course, and can’t seem to help his pleased smile as both you and Loki eat with gusto.

As you savor the apple nectar, letting its heat soak into you and chase away the chill from within, you tell him what happened, as best you can, omitting details here and there that probably are best left unsaid. Your humble charade would be dashed if Loki were to proclaim himself prince, after all. And while you and Loki relate a mostly veracious story of being in the woods, getting kidnapped and tied up — you had, after all. The exact timing of it wasn’t pertinent, was it? — and a momentary blackness that you pass off as unconsciousness — because if you don’t truly know what it was, then this mortal man must not have the words either — before waking up in the field near the Shack, Charlie procures a cloth and a bag filled with ice for Loki’s black eye and some gauze bandages for your ankles.

My friend, you contemplate as you watch Loki dab the blood from his temple. It was certainly an interesting choice of pretext. For as well as you collaborate your story, weaving little pieces together seamlessly, without the fumbling you’d expect from a fabrication being spun, he has not once looked your way through the duration of the it, in a manner that feels deliberate and far from friendly, his back rigid as he stands beside you, stiff and uncomfortable and telling of the travesty.

You notice, with a jolt, that Charlie is also paying attention to Loki with what can only be described as a knowing look on his face. You hold your breath, waiting for him to call you out, to withdraw his hospitality. But... he doesn’t seem angry. A bit frustrated, perhaps, but not unkindly so. Almost as if he thinks Loki is being ridiculous about something. You have a second to be very perplexed by that — and isn’t that a first — before Charlie sighs.

“Where does it hurt?” he asks Loki, eyes going stern as he folds his arms over his chest.

You turn your head at that, nonplussed, and Loki’s shoulders rise the slightest bit more before he assumes a confused expression, forehead bunching in the center.

“I... what?” Loki raises the ice to his head meaningfully, a rather polite way of pointing out the obvious.

Charlie, unswayed, looks at you and rolls his eyes in solidarity that goes over your head.

“Men,” he says, shaking his head in exasperation and giving you a wink that makes you crack a smile, regardless of your bewilderment. “Always with the ego.” To Loki he adds, “The lady isn't gonna think less of you for being in pain. So what is it? Back? Ribs? Side? Where does it hurt?”

Loki manages to look both indignant and sheepish, opening his mouth as if to argue before relenting with a huff. For your part, you frown at him and hope the expression comes off as concerned and disapproving. Truly, you had no idea that he was hurt beyond what you had seen. But it does distract from the fact that if it weren’t for the whole escape attempt turned realm traveling escapade, you and the prince wouldn’t even be on speaking terms with each other.

“I have some bruising on my ribs. It’s nothing major and there’s not much to be done about it.”

Tetchy, you think as you raise your eyebrows. And just to solidify the illusory friendship, you decide to pick at it. No other reason, of course.

“Nothing major, Loki?” And don't you just lay it on thick with the I can’t believe you were hiding this from me eyes and the cut the bullshit tone. “Last time you said that, you had three broken fingers.” He scowls, ostensibly sullen at not getting away with the attempt to negate the severity of his injuries, but his eyes are dark in a way that tells you he’s wise to your scheme and won’t thank you for it. “Well?” you prompt, not for a second letting your gaze fall from the prince’s as you stoke the flames a bit more. “Show me.” And oh, if looks could kill...

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” he hedges. He takes a step back and he looks distressed, enough so that you feel just the slightest twinge of guilt. But, now that you’re really paying it attention, his breathing is shallower than it should be, and his free hand is flexing like he wants to reach up and clutch at his middle. He turns to Charlie, probably imploring him to let the issue drop, but if anything, Charlie just seems more persistent.

“You heard the lady. If it’s as fine as you say it is, it shouldn’t be an issue, and if it’s worse...” He lets the rest hang.

“But,” he protests, flicking his eyes to the windows of the shop and wetting his lips, “couldn’t anyone come in?”

And yeah, there is that. You’d pretty much demanded he take off his shirt, and you can see why he might be reluctant to have just anyone walk in on that, even if you hadn’t pegged him as a particularly shy type. Clearly, he’s not even comfortable with just you and Charlie, which, also, is fair.

“One moment,” Charlie says and walks to the door, flipping around a hanging sign so it declares the place closed to the outside, and then he makes his rounds of the windows, pulling on cords that make some very clever sort of curtains made of suspended, flat rungs that obscure the view but still let light in drop over the panes of glass. “Not anymore.” He returns and offers Loki a shrug that’s understanding, but inflexible, because he knows he’s just trampled Loki’s last excuse.

If there is a way to undo buttons resentfully, Loki does it, keeping his eyes on the floor and pressing his lips together as he works to open the front of his tunic. He slides his arm out of his left sleeve, letting that half of the tunic fall behind his body, but he keeps the other side as is on the uninjured part of his chest, retaining a sliver of modesty.

As it turns out, you were right to question the sincerity of “nothing major,” because Loki’s ribs are patchy pink and red, with two very dark parallel lines of bruising at the base of his rib cage on either side of a raised stripe of swollen, yellowy flesh. Your eyes widen in realization. Those bastards had actually hit him with the staff, and pretty damn hard by the looks of it. It’s enough to make you grimace in sympathy.

“Are they broken?” Charlie asks, sounding strained.

“Yes,” you say at the same time Loki says “No.”

He glares at you, and you glare back, unapologetic.

“What makes you think I’ve never seen broken ribs before? I’ve had broken ribs before.”

“I don’t believe the bones are fractured. Just the surrounding tissue is damaged,” he grits out. “I’ve broken ribs before as well.”

You frown in thought at that, considering the injury again to try to determine the extent of the damage. But, it seems, just a quick glance isn’t enough evidence. Nothing for it.

You step up to Loki and raise a hand to give an experimental tap to one of the less busted up looking areas. He jerks away with a staggered breath that ends in painful sounding cough. For a second, he looks furious, and you wonder if he’d actually lash out at you.

“That hurts?” you ask. If even that slight a touch was so painful...

“Of course it does! What do you expect?”

You gently press on another spot instead of answering. You ignore the tiny flinches and contractions of muscle under your fingertips as you repeat the process across his chest, although you give a wide berth around the welt.

“Do you feel any grinding, anything like the bones are moving in a way they shouldn’t be?” you ask.

“I do actually know how to do this myself,” Loki snaps.

You sigh, about to repeat the question and ensure you get a definite answer, but Charlie is quicker.

“Then why haven’t you?” he challenges, and Loki stares hard at the floor again.

“It may be worse than I first thought,” he admits, and really, he makes it seem more painful than the bruising.

‘It may be’, you think sarcastically, but charitably don’t voice aloud. You sigh again and snatch the ice pack from the counter where Loki had set it aside to undress and hold it against the strike mark.

“Do you have any more of those gauze bandages?” you ask Charlie without turning toward him.

“Actually, I’ve got something better,” he says and he goes to retrieve whatever it is, footsteps fading into the room in the back of the building.

Once he’s gone, you level Loki a look with as much patience as you can manage, which isn’t a lot, since frustration may as well be running through your veins, but you suspect half of the prince’s crabbiness is due to pain, which you know from experience is no small amount.

“Are they broken?” Your tone warns him not to lie.

He hesitates, nostrils flaring and still sour-faced as ever. But he does say, eventually, more quietly than you’d expect, “I don’t think so.”

You nod, believing him, and keep the ice pack pressed against him as Charlie returns and hands you a roll of a long, elastic band of material.

“Lift your arms,” you instruct, waiting for him to comply before removing the ice to focus on unrolling the wrap. “Deep breath in, and hold it.”

Loki tries, really, but it’s clear that it causes him a lot of pain, and each time after he draws in a bit of air, he keeps coughing it back out involuntarily.

“A little at a time. Work your way up,” Charlie advises, and he tries that, arms shaking as he holds them out.

As soon as Loki manages to fill his lungs all the way, or nearly so, you set to work wrapping his chest, passing the stretchy bandage around his back and under the hanging, still damp tunic, around and around, feeling awkward as you work, and keeping your attention steadily on the bandage, and not on the surprisingly warm skin your hands brush against from time to time. Eventually, you fix the end of the wrap with the little claw-like hooks it came with to part of the strip, and step back in relief.

Loki lets out the breath he was holding, followed by prolonged coughing, which he tries to stifle.

“Don’t. Coughing is good. It keeps your lungs clear.”

“Hurts,” Loki manages through his truly awful sounding hacking.

“Which is why I brought these,” Charlie tosses a bottle at him that rattles when he catches it. “Take two.”

Loki puzzles out the cap and eventually tips two of the tablets from the bottle into his palm and swallows them dry.

You pick the ice back up and hand it to Loki once he’s done setting his tunic back to rights.

“Thank you, Charlie, for the generosity you’ve bestowed on us and the aid you’ve given. We will not impose on your goodwill any further, but if you could point us in the direction of the nearest inn, we’d be much obliged.” Loki dip his head deeply to the old man and his impeccable manners and respect are far less simulate than they had been at first.

You, too, bow lightly to Charlie and thank him, and he returns your warm smile.

“No need for all that, you two. I’m just glad I can help. There’s an inn just up the road, in fact, within walking distance, even for you,” he nods at Loki.

He points you in the right direction, and slips you each an apple “for the road” and with a last farewell, you head out toward the inn.

Part 11

#loki fic #loki fanfic #loki/reader #loki/you #loki x reader #loki x you #loki odinson x reader #loki odinson x you #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki imagine #loki fandom #if you know where to look #bifrostgiant writes

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straykidsscribbles · 6 years ago

Text

Slowly, Suddenly, and then All at Once

So, it’s here. The elusive CEO AU has made an appearance, after quite a lot of waiting. I’m so sorry it took so long, and thank you for waiting so patiently.

See my masterlist for my other work!

Special thanks to @kim-squishmin for proofreading, especially seeing as I have yet to learn the meaning of the word concise.

Word count: 6840

This vlive had such CEO Chan vibes I can’t

You pulled your knees up to your chest, snuggling into the blanket in front of you and the person next to you.

“You lot are way too nosy aren’t you? Well, if you must know, I’ll tell you the story of how we stopped hating each other and became your unofficial parents. But I’m warning you, no interruptions, otherwise the story ends.”

Eight heads nodded at you, and you began your tale. “It all started back when we were in college.”

---

I pulled my bag closer to myself and craned my neck to see through the crowd. I just want to see the test scores, and then I can go home and sleep. Slowly, I managed to get close enough to read the list posted on the classroom door.

Where am I… I scanned the page, going up from the bottom. Not here, no, not even by the tenth score. Wait. Is that my ID? I let out a small gasp, as I saw my ID code at the top of the list.

I’d set the curve for our first midterm. Well, that just means a lot to live up to now.

“Hey, Chan, you almost set the curve for this test. Pity you didn’t make it!” A tall boy with blond hair nudged his friend.

“Yeah, it sucks. But I mean, with the curve and all I still did okay. I wonder which crazy nerd managed such a high score.”

I felt a small needle of rage prick my insides. I had worked hard for that grade, I’d studied for three days, made study guides, and even done about half the practice problems the professor had given out. I had earned that grade through effort. Who was that upstart little twat who thought just because he got beaten by a few points?

“Excuse me.” My voice was as icy as I could make it. “Instead of complaining about people who got better scores than you, maybe you could actually try studying a little harder next time.”

“No one asked you.” The boy sounded defensive. “Unless you’re the one who managed that score? What did you do, live in the library?”

“Fuck. You.” I twisted on my heel and stormed away, feet tapping out an irate staccato on the pavement. He wants to play that game? Fine. I’m never letting him beat me on anything.

Unfortunately, that didn’t exactly work out for me. Bang Chan, as I soon learned, was about as brilliant as I was, and pretty hard working as well. We fought for top class rank, top test scores, valedictorian, you name it.

And if you think I let any of those go easily, well, you don’t know me.

Suffice it to say, Bang Chan and I were enemies. We hated each other, and that would never change. We hated each other through our masters degrees, and then even as we worked our way up the ranks of the same company. That chip on my shoulder would always be there.

I am not one to just give in and lose.

---

This is it! I bet the board will finally tell us who’s going to be the next CEO! I slipped inside the board room and went to my normal seat, throwing the usual glare at Chan, who was seated opposite me. If he ends up as CEO, I think I might quit.

“Alright, Ms. _____, Mr. Bang. We, the board of directors, have finally come to a decision. Seeing as our company has been growing at such an astronomical rate, we have to acknowledge that both of you have brought unprecedented success to this company. In light of that, we will be declaring both of you as joint CEOs of the company, effective immediately.”

My jaw dropped. “I’m sorry, sir, did you just say joint CEOs?”

“Joint? No one has joint CEOs now!” Chan’s indignance was clearly audible.

“Both of you, control yourselves! There are plenty of companies with more than one CEO, just look at Oracle or Samsung! Now then. You will be moving to the offices on the chief executive floor, and you’ll be working together to make this company even more successful. You’re both dismissed!” The board representative was clearly very irritated. Best not push it.

“Yes sir.” The two of us chorused in unison. We then glared at each other as we moved towards the door. Chan got there first, and held it for the board members as they exited the room.

I made it a point to go through the other door. I'm not being petty… okay maybe I sort of am.

Just outside my own office, Chan stopped me with a hand on my elbow. “Wait. Look. If we want this whole thing to work, all we have to do is split up the work between us. That way we don’t have to talk, and any interaction between us can be limited.”

“Fine by me. The less I have to spend with a blundering baboon, the better.”

“Oh like you’re much better with your holier-than-thou attitude and your-”

“Come in then. Let’s get this over with.” I shoved my door open, taking out my remaining frustration on the slab of wood. I sat down in my chair, and Chan loomed behind my shoulder. Pulling out a pad, I began listing duties, and we argued for the next hour over who would be doing what.

Still, I think I came out slightly on the upper hand. I got most of the things I wanted, and Chan has to deal with the lawyers, which is definitely a good thing.

Now all I had to do was do my job so well that I’d get another promotion, and Chan would get demoted to an underling’s position.

Oh, and move offices.

---

“Oh wow, this place looks so much more open without those awful dark curtains!” I exclaimed, balancing the box of files on my hip as I entered the main office area.

“Wait, will we have to share the floor? How long would it take to set up walls in here so I don’t have to see her irritating face all the time?” He’s right. We’d be sharing the huge office space. I mean I get that this would work, with CEOs who actually tolerated each other, but us? No. Thank. You.

“We will not be setting up walls, you’ll just have to work like this. We need to present a united front to any potential investors.” The board executive’s secretary, a bored looking young man, rolled his eyes. “Just have your desks facing away from each other and it’ll work.”

“Fine.” “Fine.”

I dumped the files on one desk, pulling out the chair and flopping onto it. This is going to be exhausting. Why do we have to be joint CEOs?

Chan flopped into the other chair, throwing his legs up on the desk. “You know what. We’re now CEOs, we just got promoted. I am taking the day off to celebrate. Bye Ms. ____, Mr. Kim.” He waved and got up, throwing his suit jacket over one shoulder.

Can he even do that? I wondered as I tucked the last set of files into the cabinet next to my desk. “Have someone finish alphabetizing these. I have personal business I need to attend to as well.” I grabbed my own coat and headed towards the elevator. If he gets the day off, so do I.

---

“Can you believe his nerve? The bastard actually had the nerve to go and just walk out of our office!” I yelled through the phone at my brother, Hyunjin. “He literally walked in, dumped his stuff on the table, and waltzed out the door.”

“And so you just left too?”

“Well yeah, I wasn’t going to stay and do work when he wasn’t. It’s not fair and also as CEO, I now have underlings to do that sort of stuff for me.”

“Don’t come and complain to me then if you end up with all of your stuff misplaced and your papers not organized the way you like them.”

“Hyunjin no one asked you for this kind of slander.”

“It’s not slander you’re the pickiest person ever! You literally alphabetize your bookshelves.”

“IN OTHER NEWS, how is your latest interior design project going?” I rolled my eyes. He has plenty of quirks himself, I don’t need to listen to this.

“Pretty well actually. I found this photographer the other day, and his night photos look so beautiful. They’ll be perfect for the new apartment buildings. He’s actually a photographer for one of the newspapers but he dabbles in artsy photos and so I’m glad I discovered him.” I smiled to myself as I poured myself a cup of tea. Jinnie might be a little crazy and annoying, but I love listening to him talk about his work. It’s nice to see him happy.

Settling into my chair with tea in hand and a stack of books nearby, I left the phone on speaker. Hyunjin would ramble, I would read, and we could enjoy our time together even if we weren’t in the same city. After all, that’s what siblings were for.

---

The next morning, I quickly got ready and headed downtown towards the office buildings. Even the prospect of dealing with Chan could dampen my spirits; a cinnamon roll and coffee for breakfast had already begun the day on a high note. After all, how could a day with cinnamon rolls be sad?

I entered the lobby of the building, heels making sharp clicking noises on the hardwood floor, bag swinging from my fingertips despite its weight. There was something to be said about nice shoes on a good day. They just made things better. I waved to the receptionist and headed towards the elevator, rolling my eyes at the two or three interns huddled in a corner who were giggling at- who else -Chan.

The elevator doors closed, and we slowly headed up, stopping every so often to let other people get off. There were about ten floors to go, and now it was just Chan and me in the elevator. Ugh this is so awkward. Is this how it’s going to be all the time in our office? He’s annoying and a brat but I don’t want work to always be this awkward. Still, I’m not making the first overtures. He started this, he can apologize first.

Then, a loud creak came from outside the elevator. Scrchhhhhhhhhhhhh, went the mechanism pulling us up.

And then, the elevator stopped.

Another slightly ominous creak emanated from right outside the doors, and then- silence. Utter silence.

Chan pressed the buttons on the elevator panel, trying to get the elevator to start working.

Nothing happened.

“Let me see.” I came over to the panel and pressed a few buttons too.

Dead silence.

“Okay, let me try the fire alarm? Maybe the speaker thing works?” He pressed the red button and again, nothing happened.

I took out my phone, only to find a lovely ‘NO SERVICE’ staring up at me from the top of the screen. “I don’t have service, do you?”

“Nope. Wait. Today they had scheduled maintenance for the elevators! We’re stuck here.”

“Why today of all days?” I leaned against one of the walls. And getting stuck with him? Fantastic.

“Great.” Chan rolled his eyes and dropped his laptop bag on the floor before sitting down himself. “This is just wonderful.”

“You’re telling me? Our first day as CEOs and we get stuck in the blasted elevator.” I’m not standing here, in these shoes, for who knows how long. Might as well sit down too. I thumped down next to him, stretching my legs out and crossing my ankles.

“Of all the people really, I had to get stuck with you? Why is my luck always this bad?” Chan seemed to be talking to himself, but I couldn’t let such an insult pass unchallenged.

“Okay, seriously what is your issue?” I snapped, turning to face him. “Literally from the second we met you’ve been nothing but insulting. At best you’ve been passive at times; but you aren’t even civil. Why do you hate me so much?”

“I don’t hate you exactly… It’s just…” he looked down. Could I have somehow managed to reduce the irrepressible Bang Chan to speechlessness?

“Just. What.” I demanded flatly. We’re going to be trapped here for the next few hours, why shouldn’t we get this out of the way now.

“You’re intimidating? And I put my foot in my mouth the first day we met and that was sort of bad. And then you clearly hated me after that so it was just easier to hate you too.” The words came spilling out, seemingly against his will. I’m intimidating? Really?

“Well, I was hurt afterwards, but I should have given you a chance to apologize. And I shouldn’t have been so mean afterwards… Besides you're more intimidating than me! I'm tiny, I don't know how you think I'm scary. I mean- You can’t say I’m blameless in this I’ve been pretty rude to you over the years too.”

“Yeah. I guess we both were hurt and we took it out on each other.”

“Your insults are pretty creative you know Chan. I don’t think anyone else has called me a jellyfish flavored popsicle.”

“I think your best one was ‘I’d rather get stuck in an elevator for four hours than spend another minute in your presence.’”

“That certainly played out well. Way to tempt fate, past me.” I sighed and leaned my head against the wall. “How long do you think we’ll be stuck here?”

“Depends? I mean I heard someone say that it took five hours once, but we’re the CEOs, people should miss us right?” He scratched the back of his head. “It’s been what, five minutes? I’m borreeeedddddddd, _____.”

I think that’s the first time he’s called me by my name without any sort of secondary inflection behind it. It’s… sort of nice actually. He has a nice voice. “Wait, do you have your laptop?” I asked suddenly.

“Yeah? I have it with me. But it won’t last very long, I was working late last night and I forgot to charge it afterwards.”

“Darn. I guess we could share mine then? We could watch a movie or something on Netflix?” I reached over to my bag and slid the thin silver laptop out. “Any preferences?”

“Wow, you’re letting me choose? Really?” His voice was higher pitched when he was excited.

“Don’t get too happy, it’s a one time thing. But yeah, go ahead.” I opened Netflix, moving the cursor to the search bar.

“Actually, could we just watch Daredevil? You have it on your recently watched, what episode are you on?” He leaned closer to me and pointed to the icon.

“Oh, I only just finished the first season. Is that okay?” He nodded, and so we settled in with the laptop in my lap, shoulders just touching.

About two and half episodes later, there was a sudden crank and the elevator started to move upward once more. The doors slid open and our secretaries slowly peered around the edge of the door. Are they trying to see if we killed each other? I wondered. Chan stood up and held out his hand to help me up as well.

“Wait… are they touching? And not in a passive aggressive annoying poking or death by handshake way?” My secretary whispered.

“I think they are… this is so weird. Quick pinch me, maybe I’m just dreaming,” muttered Chan’s secretary.

Chan rolled his eyes and stepped into our office. “Honestly, we weren’t going to kill each other. We just talked for a little while.”

I smirked over at the two gaping secretaries. “When you think about it, we really do have a lot in common you know.” We walked towards our desks, sitting down and beginning our work.

“I think we broke them.” Chan whispered as he wheeled his chair a little closer to me.

“There’s no think about it Chan, we definitely did.” Maybe things will be better now.

I think I’ll quite like being friends with him.

---

“_____, I’m boreeeeeeedddddddddddd.” Chan whined as he rolled his office chair towards my side of the room. He slid next to me and caught sight of my computer screen before I could close the window I had open.

“Wait. Are you playing card games online? Really. Card games? Online? When you have a perfectly good me to play with?” He grabbed my hand and yanked my chair towards him. Pulling out a deck of cards, he quickly dealt for a game of Go Fish.

Which turned into three games. Which turned into five. Which turned into us taking a half day to deal with the stress.

We played Go Fish, War, Rummy, and even attempted a round of online poker… which we lost.

We couldn’t be good at everything after all.

But at the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but wonder why on earth we hadn’t done this before. Why hadn’t we tried to get along before? We could have had years of just messing around together.

Almost as if he could hear my thoughts, Chan spoke as he was shuffling the cards. “I’m glad we decided to make up. Better late than never, right?”

“Yeah. Better late than never.”

---

“You look nice sis!” came Hyunjin’s voice from the phone speaker. I was trying to frantically get ready for the annual corporate party and I had called Hyunjin for some moral support as I prepared. This year would be the first where I would be giving a speech, and I was both excited and terribly nervous.

I adjusted the curls that were falling out of my up-do and fixed my skirt. Company colors… is that too much of an overkill? But they do look nice…. Blue looks good no matter what, and it ‘ll be good to match the branding.

“Okay, I’m ready. I’ll text you when I get back home okay? Don’t stay up too late!” I called into the phone as I reached for my shoes.

“Don’t mind me, I have color palettes to look at anyways. Are we still on for the movie next weekend?”

“Yup! I’ll arrive on Friday night hopefully. Bye!” I hung up, grabbed my purse and keys, and headed out the door. Show time. Better get used to this speaking business, it’s your new lot in life as CEO _____.

The drive passed in a flash, and soon I was pulling up to the hotel doors, where the party was being held. I handed the car keys to the valet and clicked nervously up the steps to the doorway. Breathe, in, out, this is just another party. You’ve done plenty of these, all you have to do differently is speak at this one.

Straightening my spine, I walked in the double doors. Almost immediately I was swept away by one of the board members.

“____, this lovely lady is the head of the regional bank! Mrs. Lee was just telling me how they were considering investing in the company, do you mind giving her more details? I must go find my wife, she wanted to bid on one of the charity auction items.” He walked off, leaving me in the company of an older woman with steel gray hair and a sharp smile. Her eyes were hard but intelligent; clearly, this was a woman who’d worked her way up in the bank as well.

“How can I help you Mrs. Lee?” I asked, turning fully towards her. A new banking partner would be wonderful for the company, especially as we were dealing with a great deal of financial expansion. Let’s hope this works…

As we were talking, I heard soft giggles coming from behind me. There were a few interns, probably here for their first corporate party, standing in the corner and staring openly at Chan, who was talking to an older gentleman with a cane in one hand. I rolled my eyes. Some things never change. Those look like the same idiots that were giggling in the lobby earlier. Honestly why are people such idiots?

I finished up the conversation and handed Mrs. Lee a business card, asking her to stop by my office any time. Now then, to deal with those imbeciles. They’re ridiculously loud and they are being completely unprofessional.

As I walked over to their corner, I noticed Chan approaching them too, from the other side. Good. If both of us tell them off, they can’t do anything.

“Excuse me, do you three mind? This is a corporate occasion, and you should be acting with a little more decorum than you are currently.” My voice was scathingly cold.

“We were just admiring Mr. Bang. That’s not a crime, is it?” One of them blinked innocently at me, but I was having none of it.

“I don’t care what you were doing. You were all loud enough to be heard a good twenty feet away, and this is not the time for you to be behaving in such an unprofessional manner. You may be young and inexperienced, but that’s no excuse at all.”

Just then, Chan came up behind me, sliding an arm around my waist. What is he doing? We’re barely friends at the moment WHAT DOES HE THINK HE’S PLAYING AT?” I turned to look at him, eyes already narrowed sharply.

“If you all could just please keep it down?” He asked, smiling at them. “You’re being terribly disruptive to everyone here.”

One of the girls, the most brazen of the lot, opened her mouth. “Oh, Mr. Bang, is she your date? You guys are matching.” Fuck he’s wearing company colors too. We had to have the same outfit ideas great this is wonderful.

I was just about to protest, but Chan cut in. “Yes actually, she is. So… if you could excuse us?” He maneuvered me away from them, and shook his head when I turned towards him, ready to ask just what he was playing at.

Behind us, I could just make out the tail end of their conversation. “Well, I wonder if the other CEO is here too? Maybe we could get them to go out with us.”

Chan took me into a side room, and immediately dropped his arm from around my waist. “Okay before you say anything, those interns have been basically following me around for the past three days. They’re all freakishly persistent, and I just needed an out please help me? Please, ____ I’ll buy you expensive chocolate too.”

“You do realize they’ll notice when we’re back at work right?”

“But tonight they’re being especially persistent. They were following me ____. Following me.” He pouted sadly at me, and I figured I had to take pity on him. He looked miserable.

“Okay then. Come on. As it is, we were supposed to sit together for the dinner anyways. Are you speaking before or after me?” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Also, we should probably look into getting them assigned to the mail room or have them sorting through databases or just something mind numbingly boring as punishment for making both of us uncomfortable.”

“I’m speaking right before you. And thank you. Really. I was so sick of them… Hopefully this works.”

We wandered for the next hour or so, making small talk and just generally networking. All the while I could feel my nerves getting worse and worse. I’m going to talk in front of so many people what if I mess up what if I forget what if I just stand there and blank. My mind just kept running a loop of bad scenarios- the worst things that could happen.

Then. Show time.

I slipped into my chair as Chan walked up onto the small raised stage at one end. He spoke for a good five minutes, yet I heard absolutely none of it. See, he’d done a speech last year, as his pet project was one of the main expansions of the company at the time. He had at least some experience.

Oh. He’s waving me up. Okay. Let’s go. I slowly left my seat, focusing on just getting up there and not tripping over any of the speaker cables on the floor.

Five minutes of insane courage. Five minutes. You can do this. I shuffled the index cards I’d hidden in my clutch and gripped them tightly. “Good evening everyone, thank you so much for coming out here. It’s my pleasure to be welcoming you as one of your new CEOs. Chan and I have great plans for the company, and we hope we’ll be able to take the company to new heights.” I steadied myself with another deep breath and continued on, discussing the vision I had for the company and what new ideas we would be trying to implement for the next few years.

All too soon, it was done. I smiled, introduced the board president, and left the stage, tottering back to my seat on wobbly yet satisfied legs.

“You were fine, well done love.” Chan whispered into my ear as I sat down next to him.

“You did well too, thanks Chan. I’m just glad its over and done with.”

It didn’t register until I got home that he’d called me love. And I’d liked it quite a bit.

---

“So. Chan asked you to fake being his date, and called you love, and you matched, however accidentally, and you didn’t collapse after your first speech in front of the whole company. Well done ____ you’re alive!” Hyunjin threw a pillow at me. “Why are you so good at overthinking stuff?”

“Jinnie shut up you’re being mean! It was scary and there were loads of people and you know I’m still not used to it. I guess the only thing that was funny was seeing those interns’ faces when they saw I was the other CEO. One of them actually had his mouth wide open in shock it was glorious.”

“You know what _____ you seem to be enjoying yourself aren't you? And things seem to be better now that you and Chan are getting along.”

“True.” I pushed a lock of hair behind my ear. “Work is definitely a lot more fun. Last week we actually were both so sick of finance reports that we ended up just playing cards the entire afternoon.”

“Did you win?” Hyunjin’s eyes were wide with humor. “If you lost you better have milked it for all it was worth.”

“I lost a couple games… and maybe Chan owes me expensive chocolate now… maybe. But I'm admitting to nothing.” I smiled into my tea cup.

“Look at you you're actually smiling like an idiot just thinking about him. You know I had no idea I was getting a new brother in law so soon. You're still having me as your man of honor right?” He winked at me cockily, referencing our childhood agreement. As tiny children we had decided that if we ever got married we would be each other's best maid/ man of honor. I should have known that would come back to bite me. Why did he automatically jump to marriage I don't even like him like that. We're friends. That's all. Though… I mean Chan is sort of handsome. And smart. And clever. And he has a great sense of humor.

“Shut up Jinnie I don't like him like that. We are barely friends.”

“Last year you said that if you had to choose between kissing a frog and shaking hands with Chan you'd kiss the frog. And now you're blushing just thinking about him.”

“Drink your tea before I throw it in your face.” Hyunjin just rolled his eyes and got up, picking up a sofa pillow.

“You have three seconds to run before this turns into a pillow war.” His voice was completely deadpan but the grin on his face said otherwise. I just reached for a pillow of my own and attacked back in turn.

Sometimes all you needed was a pillow fight with your brother to get rid of annoying, hallucinatory, and clearly false thoughts about a certain CEO.

That night though, I slept fitfully. All I could picture were chocolatey eyes and dark hair that curled softly in the heat of the banquet hall and a soft voice comforting me.

Okay so maybe Hyunjin wasn't totally wrong. Maybe there is something going on here. It's just a crush though. I'll get over it soon. Bet it'll be gone in a week, I told myself.

---

Two weeks later, I was clearly rethinking said earlier idea. My little crush hadn't abated; in fact it had just gotten stronger. I spent most of my time burying myself in paperwork so that I would be able to avoid Chan’s friendly overtures.

It wasn’t working.

He. was. just. so. persistent. He brought me coffee one night when we both stayed at the office until 2 am, he wouldn’t stop thanking me the day I got takeout sandwiches for both of us at lunch.

How on earth was anyone to get a grip if there was literally no respite from his charm?

I was in the middle of looking over the latest deal with a new company that was trying to expand into a more international area when Chan’s voice broke into my thoughts.

“Hey, _____, do you like rap?” The question was a bit out of the blue. That’s an… odd question to ask?

“I mean, I do like it I suppose? Why do you ask?” I turned in my swivel chair to face him.

“Well… you see, a couple of my friends and I sometimes have little rap gigs at this one club near by? I was wondering if you’d be interested in coming to watch us perform.” His voice was a little higher than normal, almost as though he was… nervous?

“I- I’d love to come! When is it? Should I bring anything with me?” I hope I don’t sound like some sort of idiotic ditz.

“Our next show is this weekend actually, on Saturday. I’ll text you the address later, yeah?”

I nodded softly, and we both turned back to our desks. But at the back of my mind I couldn’t stop thinking about this new information.

Chan raps? Since when? I had no idea! Does he mean this as a date thing? Or is it just a “hi, let’s be friends” thing? I’m overthinking it, he’s just being friendly and trying to get to know me outside of work.

Enough wishful thinking, _____. Get a grip.

---

That Saturday, in the back of the club, Changbin and Jisung were treated to a very interesting spectacle.

The Irrepressible Bang Chan, CB97, CEO of a major company and a respected musician and producer, was pacing their dressing room with one of the worst cases of pre-performance stage fright nerves ever.

Pacing. Wringing his hands. Frowning. Mumbling to himself. Turning right before he hit the wall only to almost trip over a chair and wipe out on the floor.

“Channie-hyung, this is weird. Normally Jisungie is the one freaking out like this?” Changbin raised one eyebrow at Chan. “What’s going on?”

Jisung just smirked happily. “I know why he’s panicking~” he said in a very smug, singsong tone.

“Jisung you will keep your mouth shut if you want me to buy you cheesecake any time in the next week.” Chan’s voice was tight with nerves.

“I’ll buy you cheesecake every day for the next two weeks.”

“Done. Channie-hyung’s flustered because _____ is coming tonight.”

“Ohhh that makes sense don’t worry we’ll put on a great show for your girlfriend!” Changbin waggled his eyebrows at Chan, who just flopped into a chair and thumped his head on the table.

“She’s not my girlfriend, she’s the other CEO at work, and we literally started getting along like a month ago so you can shut it.”

“Wait isn’t she the one you used to complain about to Woojin basically every day when we were in college?”

“You know what Jisung? Your cheesecake privileges and your Jeongin privileges are gone. You aren’t allowed to talk to my son anymore.”

“I thought we were your sons too!”

The room devolved into chaos, and a makeup brush and some cords were thrown back and forth. But somehow Chan’s heart felt a little lighter after his friends’ gentle teasing.

They’d always be there for him. Even if he managed to completely ruin this. Which was looking more and more likely by the second.

---

I slipped inside the club after showing my ID to the bouncer. It looks pretty packed. Oh, yay, corner table! I sat down and ordered Coca Cola, not wanting to risk getting anything strong.

A few minutes passed and I was well settled in, facing the stage.

A spotlight turned on, and three boys stood, clustered in the middle of the stage. Chan stood in the middle, wearing baggy sweats and a t-shirt, his hair tousled lightly. The other two boys were dressed similarly as well.

The music began, and they started whispering amongst themselves. “Hey look over there, she’s pretty!”

“Where? Where?”

“In the gray, over there.” To my surprise, one of the boys next to Chan pointed right at me.

The boy who had pointed looked oddly familiar. Is he one of Hyunjin’s friends? I think he is. He began rapping, sticking to a soft slow rhythm. He had on a flannel and what appeared to be oversized boots with the laces wrapped multiple times around his ankles. His voice was sweet and sort of lazy sounding, like he was trying to lure you in with his words.

The music changed, and all three spoke at once. “Wow, oh man, she’s hot.” I raised both eyebrows, shocked a little at the directness of the song. Well, they certainly weren’t messing around were they?

The first boy continued for a little longer, then the one on the other side of the stage continued. “With a smirk I suddenly enter / I’m sorry sorry you’re already hit on and deflated.” His rap was more nasal sounding and faster, clearly distinct from the first boy’s style. He wore all black and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes; he held his mic close to his lips with one finger over his lips. “There’s nothing to be envious about” he finished, and they began the chorus again. This time the audience laughed along with them and sang a few of the words with them. Clearly, this was a pretty popular song for them.

Then, Chan started rapping. His voice was softer than the previous boy’s, and it sounded incredibly good. I can’t believe he never said anything about this! He should have mentioned something, he’s amazing. I let the words wash over me, just listening to the music.

Suddenly, his voice broke into my thoughts. “I’m just a nice guy with a lot of money”

My head snapped up, eyes widening. Did he just say he has a lot of money? Who writes these lyrics? Wow Chan I get that you’re a CEO and all, but this is a touch blunt.

His eyes swept over the crowd, meeting mine just as he said “Let me take you to a restaurant.”

I couldn’t stop the blush that erupted across my face.

He kept going, and my blush just got darker and darker. I had to fight the urge to hide my face in my hands. His eyes were locked with mine as he rapped.

I barely heard the end of the song.

As the applause began, the three of them bowed to the crowd.

“Hey guys, we’re 3RACHA! I’m CB97, this is J.One, and this is SpearB.” The other two bowed and waved in turn. “We hope you guys enjoy the show! This next song is called Hoodie Season.”

This time a drum beat opened the song and I could stop myself from nodding along to it. This is really catchy. They’re so good, I wish I’d heard them before! But are they actually talking about their love for a hoodie? Can’t say I blame them.

The night went on for a while like that. They performed a few more songs and then bowed their way off the stage to thunderous applause and cheering from a few somewhat crazy looking boys in one corner of the club.

I swirled my Coca Cola in its bottle, staring into the brown whirlpool it formed. What on earth did Chan mean by inviting me and then literally staring at me when saying things like “Hey baby I’ll make you my lover / I’m thankful that I’m warm in the fall / I’ll hug you wherever I go.” Is he just going along with the lyrics?

Just then, Chan slid into the chair opposite me. “So. _____. How was it?” To my surprise, he actually looked a little nervous, as though he was unsure of my response.

“You were amazing! I can’t believe you’ve been hiding that skill for so long! You’re a really good rapper and your vocals are so smooth.” I couldn’t stop myself from gushing after seeing the enormous grin that spread across his face as I spoke.

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“How could I not? I’m only sad I didn’t get to hear you sooner. Though you have no idea what you’ve unleashed, now I’ll be asking you to sing all the time at the office.”

“Well, with such a lovely audience, how could I ever refuse?” He winked at me, and I felt my cheeks heating up again.

A small gurgle sounded, and to my surprise, Chan’s ears got a little red as well. “Ah… after a performance we normally get pretty hungry.”

“Well, CB97, how about I take you to a restaurant?” Where is this confidence coming from ABORT ABORT.

“After you then, my lady.” He held out his hand for me and I took it, wrapping my fingers around his.

We stepped outside, a wall of cold air hitting us as we left the warm club. Turning down a couple of sidestreets, we entered a chicken shop that was open late on weekends.

“Order what you want, I said I was treating you!” I mock glared at him as he tried to pull out his wallet. He complained but ordered anyways, and we settled into a booth to eat the chicken happily.

We didn’t speak much while we ate; Chan was clearly quite hungry. After our meal Chan insisted on walking me back home before heading to his apartment.

I invited him in to warm up for a bit before heading back home, and he came in willingly. I made green tea for us both and was just about to turn off the kettle when Chan came into the kitchenette.

“_____, I sort of have a confession to make. I invited you to see our performance because I really wanted to impress you.” He took a deep breath and, forestalling anything I could say in return, spoke. “I like you. A lot. I understand if you don’t really like me in that way, I mean we only just became friends recently, but I would like to be more.”

My mouth dropped open. “You- you actually like me? I thought you were just trying to be friendly this whole time. I like you too Chan, I mean how could I not? You’re really sweet, talented, and I mean… after tonight’s thing I’m not entirely sure I’m worthy of you.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” He moved closer and pulled me into a hug, wrapping his arms around my waist.

The kettle puffed away behind us, forgotten.

Chan went home that night a little bit giddy. I lay awake in bed going over the night’s events in my head.

Who would have thought after the worst first impression in history we would end up… dating I guess?

---

“And that’s how we got together. Happy now? Curiosity sated?” you asked as you finished your tale, sipping water from the glass in front of you. After that long story, your throat was dry from talking so much.

Chan poked you in the ribs gently. “So you started to fall for me at the party? I was way before you I was crushing on you by the time we were trapped in the elevator together.” He leaned over and hugged you tightly, nuzzling into your neck.

“Ewwwwww! Affection! That’s it, I’m out!” yelled Jeongin and Seungmin as they jumped up from the floor where they had been listening to your story.

You rolled your eyes. They did ask for the story didn’t they? Whatever.

And you snuggled closer into Chan’s arms.

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