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dee-brief · 7 years ago

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I thought I’d already hit my low of being a bad friend on this site. Apparently not. @littlefandomheaven sent in this prompt close to a full year ago, and I’m only getting off my ass right now. I’m… I don’t think sorry quite cuts it. And I know that the few Stitchers readers who were around probably aren’t any more. But I will fulfil my promise to write this prompt, so help me.

This is part one of two, and it is 100% canon compliant. Part two is me taking the prompt for the team to be protective of Cameron as an endorsement to write the AU of 2.0 that has been in my head since I first saw the episode. Please note, however, that although part one is compliant with canon, my adoration for Cameron Goodkin has not diminished in a year. So this fic is littered with me making him all kinds of awesome. And lots of headcanons of his relationship with Ayo, Linus, Camille and Maggie. Because I can =P

Prompt: The whole team must have found out about Cameron's heart condition at some point, like Kirsten found out about it on screen, but what about the others? Maggie must have known beforehand, but what about Camille, Fisher, Linus and the rest? They must have all seen the scar in the season 1 finale and figured out what it implies. There is this line in the episode from Camille: "Who says your heart can take that?". So did she already know? How did she find out? Or was that just a figure of speech and when she sees the scar, she's like "Oh, crap." And what about Fisher when somebody tells him about Cameron's actions while he's in the hospital, because somebody definitely had to. He probably asked (Camille? Linus?) how Cameron is when he woke up, because he probably wants to know that Cameron's fine as he pushed him out of the way. And they have to tell him what happened. And then they could be all very overprotective. They can't go on like nothing happened, right?

The first person to find out was Maggie.

Well. No. If one wanted to be incredibly accurate about it, the first people to find out about his heart surgery were his parents, as they’d been at his bedside as soon as he was rolled out of the operating theatre. And after them came a slew of nurses and doctors, some friends of the family and some people they employed to look after him or to stop him from going up the wall in frustration while his mom kept him as locked up as she could.

But the first person to find out post his eighteenth birthday and final escape into independence was Maggie, and as far as Cameron was concerned she may as well have been the first. Everybody else had been told about him; over his head and despite his protests. And their reactions to knowing had been various shades of the same constricting cloth. And Maggie…

Maggie had appeared out of the crowd of people at the MIT table at the science conference as though she’d materialised only a second before, back straight and eyes piercing and set of her mouth decidedly no-nonsense. She hadn’t bothered even glancing at the other exhibits; had marched directly up to his and had started firing questions at him like the frontline artillery of a war. He answered, a little bewildered, a little caught off guard, a lot intimidated, until the niggling suspicion got loud enough that he blurted it out loud.

“You’re not… really interested in this, are you?”

“What makes you think that?” Her gaze was a dark glacier.

“You…” He remembered squashing the model of the brain he’d been holding because his nervousness caused his fingers to twist it too many times. “There’s too much… detachment, there.”

Not everybody was passionate and excited about the mind, he knew, but everybody who asked beyond the usual checklist of questions had a… a spark. A connection to the thing that reflected in their eyes. He learned rather quickly that this was her way with almost everything, and learned just as quickly that his own bias toward warmth and passion and true connection would halt any real relationship forming between them, to the point where she would, many years later, accuse him of disliking her. But at that first meeting, without many interactions to show him how to read the signs, all he saw was the wall of precision that juxtaposed so spectacularly with the questions of interest she sent his way.

“No,” she said, after a beat. “I’m not interested. Not in this particular presentation, anyway. I am, however, interested in you, Doctor Goodkin. In your work. And in your mind.” Cameron squirmed under the calculating look she sent him, twenty-two and still trying to get used to the doctor before his name being literal and not just teasing. “I’ve spent a lot of time researching you.”

His tongue used the time where his filter was shut down by his surprise to blurt, “Are you going to tell me to choose between a red and blue pill, next?”

Maggie stared at him in blank, reproachful silence for a moment and just as he began feeling mortified she replied, “Maybe. That depends on how you see my offer.” She put a business card down on the table in front of him. “Call me, and we’ll set up a time when you can meet alone. Without any…” She glanced to the right, and Cameron saw his supervisor returning from his bathroom break. “…interference.”

And then she’d melted back into the crowd, back straight, eyes forward, and he’d wondered if one of the other guys was playing a prank on him. It took a while to call the number on the card, and even when they met up again the desire to ask whether he was having his chain yanked burned strong on the tip of his tongue. Maggie introduced herself then – the casually added NSA to her name and surname had the intended effect on him, he was sure – and instead of giving him answers she gave him more questions. Thirty-four of them, to be exact – hypothetical situations she wanted to see if he could solve and how long it would take him to do so. None of it made any sense, but he was waiting for people to email him back so he got started on the problems. And then he got sucked in. And then he was making a ten pm decision to screw sleep and the actual work he had to do, because the hypothetical situations were both completely science-fiction but also, strangely, excitingly, impossibly real.

Three days later he shoved a stack of documents – hand-written, because he’d been told not to trust any printers – at Maggie, and spending some of the tensest moments of his life watching her flick through things. When she looked at him next, there was almost a smile of approval on her face. She, in turn, shoved a thick stack of documents towards him. An algorithm. An algorithm that, apparently, made the ludicrously science-fiction things he’d been working on neither science-fiction, only hypothetical or ludicrous.

“Is this for real?” He finally couldn’t help but blurt the question out, leafing through an impossibility. He was a scientist, for heaven’s sake. But also… But also. “Can this… does it work?”

“It could,” Maggie told him, still straight-faced. “If your designed tools and adjustments are good enough.”

Cameron must have laughed, but he could never quite remember how he’d reacted to that knowledge. Probably like a gibbering idiot, some sober part of him liked to hypothesise when he thought back. In any case, Maggie didn’t change her mind. Instead, she explained that they had a location for a lab, and an opening as head of that lab that he could fit into. She explained the utmost secrecy the job would entail. She explained unnecessary things like how many people they’d be able to help if the algorithm on the paper managed to be turned into actual, working science. She explained that she had names of many others that he would help her interview for his lab once some of the hypothetical things he’d created for her had been tweaked now that he knew they were not-so-hypothetical. She explained that the list of others were all the best in the country and even in the world; that the team under their leadership would be brilliant and passionate and able to break ground and innovate in ways even his most passionate, secret dreams had never dared hope.

And his only response, other than slack-jawed shock and gibbering idiocy, was, “Why me?”

“We’ve approached others over many years,” Maggie admitted, calmly. “Some of them got further along in our interview process than you are right now. But they couldn’t take it to the point where the theory was made a reality. You were just next on the list of people to approach.”

And, somehow, that made Cameron feel better instead of stung; made it more realistic and more attainable and less like something that was going to be proven to be a hoax. If he didn’t get this fantasy lab with the brightest in the country, if he didn’t get to make and update already existing technology that would look into dead people’s brains, then it would simply be because he was not smart enough to cut it. Not because the possibility was not a realistic one.

And then Maggie put another pile of papers – how big their filing room must be – bunched in a folder onto the desk between them. It had his name on the corner, and Cameron eyed it warily before looking at Maggie. She was watching him even more intently than before, the promise of some sort of test in her eyes.

“As I said before; we’ve been researching you. I have information on you from when you were ten years old.”

The way she said it made Cameron know instantly that she knew. And he hated it – he hated that this woman who was offering him the potential at everything was the first to find out since he clawed his way to freedom. He hated that she looked at him with the power that knowing gave everybody, and how his words dried up under her gaze, leaving him unable to give a defence. Maggie Baptiste, scary government lady and potentially his boss, was the first to find out.

And Maggie was the first to ask him. “Will any of this be a problem?”

She meant his mother and her expectations and her not being able to know why he was quitting MIT. She meant James Miller. She meant that he was twenty-two years old and under the thumb of an old family friend who was only an old family friend because he was wearing brand clothing and driving a car worth more than some people’s apartment buildings. She meant the scarred tissue on his chest, and everything it implied.

And for the first time, Cameron was able to reply instead of having the decision made for him. “No. It won’t be a problem at all.”

Maggie watched him for another moment and then nodded. And because of that nod, Cameron put a halt to all of his current research and threw himself at the stitching possibility. So much so, that it only took four days before he was presenting what would become the first draft of the corpse cassette and a simulation that had stolen sleep and some sanity from him. But it gained him his first half-smile from Maggie Baptiste, and her telling him to show up for work on Monday. He, Cameron Goodkin, had done what all of the others she’d approached had never managed to. In four days.

He grinned back and handed in his resignation to MIT within the hour.

Ayo was the second to find out.

Maggie and Cameron had been at a hospital doing a covert interview for some doctor Cameron didn’t remember any more – they’d barely spent five minutes with him before brilliant but no became very apparent where he was concerned – when they ran into her by chance. Their interviewee was walking them down a hallway, nattering on and being generally irritating, when there had been a commotion in a nearby room that distracted them all. The door burst open, and another doctor dragged Ayo out by her arm, already reaming into her. And Ayo stood, back straight and face fierce, and took every comment thrown her way – everything from the possibly warranted right down to the derogatory. And then she fought back with quiet, firm dignity, proving her knowledge and backing up her decisions, ploughing through the anger and the spit and the disgust thrown her way.

“Do it again,” the doctor seethed, “and you’ll be without a job. I don’t care how much you think you know. This is my department. And you’ll never work for anybody if I say you won’t.”

Their interviewee said some half-calming words to Ayo that basically implied that although the other doctor was known for being a big-headed jerk she must have screwed up in some way, and she’d shaken her head but said nothing. Their interviewee went inside the room to smooth ruffled feathers, leaving her standing alone and suddenly slumped in the hallway.

And something about that response of hers – or maybe it was something about her eyes – had Cameron undermining Maggie for the first time so he could blurt, without consulting his boss first, “You could work for us.” Ayo blinked at him, uncomprehending, and Cameron saw Maggie cross her arms out of the corner of his eye. But Cameron didn’t care. He wanted this one for their lab; something in his gut told him so. “I mean it,” he said, looking at Ayo and ignoring Maggie. “I don’t care what that guy said. We’d hire you.”

“For what, exactly?” Ayo said, sounding more tired than interested.

Cameron glanced at Maggie, who shot him a narrow-eyed look and didn’t move. For a moment, he feared he’d have to take back his offer, but then Maggie unfolded her arms, strode closer to Ayo, and started talking. And the interested quickly grew on Ayo’s face.

Ayo had been employed by the NSA for three weeks – and still slipped up and called him Doctor Goodkin despite the others having settled happily into the first-name-basis of the lab – when she called him into the medical room she’d rearranged until it somehow reminded him of her. He was still faintly wary of doctors’ rooms for various reasons, and he’d planned to give her the help she needed quickly and then disappear, leaving the more friendly banter for when he was in a space that didn’t smell like memories he’d rather forget.

“I’m doing a full medical on everybody in the lab,” Ayo told him and dashed every plan of a quick and painless escape in one violent blow. “It’s your turn.”

“You’re here to watch the vitals of our stitchers,” Cameron protested, standing rooted to the spot. “Not the rest of us. Besides – I’m sure Maggie’s hacked all our medical records.” He’d prefer her not to know at all, but reading it in black and white was far better than her finding out while poking and prodding at him.

“This whole lab is my responsibility, medically,” Ayo replied, readying tools and charts. “And I’d rather get clean data that I can add to with medical files, if necessary. It’s not exactly like I have a lot of work at the moment, anyway.”

“Maggie wants me to – ”

“Maggie gave me permission to do this, Cameron.” Ayo narrowed her eyes at him, suddenly calculating. “She wants the head of her lab in the best hands.”

“Cut off one head and two more shall take its place.” Cameron was starting to wonder if this was Maggie’s covert way of getting back at him for undermining her with his offer to Ayo. It had all worked out in the end, of course – Ayo was brilliant and a wonderful fit and a wonderful person, besides – but he wouldn’t put it past Maggie to make sure he’d never forget who was really calling the shots again.

“You’re stalling,” Ayo said, and her voice was suddenly a lot gentler. “I promise, I’m not going to do anything that will make you uncomfortable. It’s just some general check-ups. Okay?”

It wasn’t okay, but he was backed into a corner. And so he clenched his jaw and let her poke and prod around and tried not to cold-shoulder her as he tersely replied to questions about his contacts, his lack of smoking, his exercise and diet habits and the like. And then the stethoscope came out and she asked him to unbutton his shirt and he sat there for a long, long minute, staring at nothing and trying to tell himself not to whimp out about this. She prompted him with his name, and he did as she asked, and he wasn’t looking at her but he could feel the moment she saw and started putting pieces together.

“Ah.” Ayo said, succinctly. There was a long, loaded pause, and then she took a deep breath. “I’m pretty sure you’re aware about the concept of doctor-patient confidentiality?”

It was not where Cameron had expected her to go, so he found himself glancing at her, puzzled. “Yeah,” he replied, slowly. “But that’s not…” He sighed. “And that gets overridden by Maggie, doesn’t it? Who already knows, by the way. Those hacked medical records, and all.”

“It gets overridden by Maggie only in the absolute extreme circumstances – when it affects this lab to an extent that I cannot keep silent. Most of the other times? Maggie won’t need to know anything.” She waited until Cameron, still puzzled, met her gaze. “And I’ll make those calls the way I always have, Cameron – by giving sensitivity and the benefit of the doubt to my patient, not an organisation as a whole. But.” She paused for a moment to let it sink in. “But then it has to go both ways – you have to tell me everything. And I mean everything – even the things those hacked medical files don’t say.”

Cameron scoffed. “What makes you think my files aren’t comprehensive? The doctors who repeatedly scanned every last hair follicle on my body would be offended, Doctor.”

Ayo raised an eyebrow at him in a very mom-ish way, putting her hands on her hips. “Uh-huh. I did my residency in a hospital where everybody and their mama was hiding something. I know what trying to hide things looks like. And you, I’m afraid, are terrible at it.” Cameron tried to splutter, but Ayo shook her head. “That’s the deal I’m offering. I’m on your side, but you have to tell me everything you want to hide from everybody else. Deal?”

“You really don’t need to – You’re employed here to make sure the stitchers are okay.”

“I’m here to make sure you don’t get dead,” Ayo shot back at him, and he couldn’t help but crack a smile at her words.

He repeated those same words back to her three years later when Kirsten first appeared in their lab, and she laughed at him, bright and understanding and amused; solidified in their quiet understanding of one another. She’d kept her word and had been on his side – and by his side – through the exciting and the terrible. And so he couldn’t even really be mad at her the first time ever she broke their agreement in order to tell Maggie about 5ccs of Potassium methochloride. Especially not when she kept all his secrets through his explanation of the plan to stop his heart. And especially not when she was the second face he saw when he woke up in a haze, and her relief was tear-stained and tight-gripped and a word in a language he did not know that he was pretty sure was her cussing him out.

“If you ever do that again our agreement is off,” she snarled at him, her hands on his face and her face still relieved.

“W’sn’t I g’nna fire you?” Cameron slurred at her, mouth twitching.

She shook her head at him with a scoff, and squeezed his hand tight.

Linus sort-of found out next, which was surprising. Surprising, because Cameron hadn’t expected to make actual friends with those in the lab, let alone good friends and let alone so quickly. ‘Friends’ had always been a concept he’d mostly left behind in memories before age ten, to the point where meeting and befriending people as an adult was not actually half as doable as he yearned for it to be. He’d had a few years of actual practise by then, and as such he’d managed to make friendly acquaintances with a number at MIT, especially those in research with him. But he’d never really managed to make them friends rather than just friendly colleagues, and he’d subconsciously assumed that the stitchers lab occupants would follow the same pattern. He gelled with the people in the stitchers lab very quickly, and in the quiet moments in his head he wondered whether it was because they shared a secret and a grand purpose, whether it was circumstance, or whether he’d helped pick them not only based on their skills and brainpower that he frequently fanboyed over but also because some part of him knew they would connect with him personally, and he was just that sad, lonely, desperate little boy he used to be that would allow his own issues to influence something as important as his new work. But it was hard to let those thoughts run too rampant, because regardless of his own bias the members were brilliant, and did fit in spectacularly, and although they got friendly quickly, they all stayed on the friendly-colleagues level without moving into plain ‘friends’ or showing any real potential of heading that way.

But then Linus came on the scene. And he had that same… aura about him that Cameron had miserably conceded existed around himself – that something that made them half a beat out of time with the rest of the world. And instead of making it more difficult for them to get along – instead of it making Cameron irritated at Linus’ naïveté or jerk-ness at times – it somehow just made them slip into friendly a lot quicker. And, before Cameron could even realise it was happening to try and analyse things, Linus and he were hanging out after work. For non-work-related things. And somehow, spontaneously, Linus became a friend. A real, flawed-annoying-exasperating-awesome friend with two PhDs, brain and personality similarities, great taste in fandoms and an appreciation for good food and loyalty in equal measures.

Still – Cameron had certainly not intended for Linus to ever pick up that anything at all was amiss. But they’d been standing in line to watch the premiere of Star Trek: Into Darkness, surrounded by a throng of similarly-excited people, and two in the crowd had begun a very lively debate that turned into a bit of a brawl. Their antics had knocked into the people standing in front of Linus and Cameron, and the two men had received sticky, freezing slushies to the chest. They waved off the apologies, and set about the seemingly impossible task of getting slightly less sticky and wet (“Man, now I know why the Glee guys hate these so much.” “You watch Glee?”).

Cameron started peeling off the Kirk Tshirt he wore, intending to wad it up and just walk around in the plain long-sleeved he’d worn underneath it that was comparatively unscathed. But the Tshirt stuck to the shirt underneath, and when he pulled the top layer up, the bottom went with it. He was quick in yanking the long-sleeved down, but apparently not quick enough: Linus was blinking in the vicinity of his chest, frozen in his mopping movements, looking slightly bewildered.

“Woah. Dude -?”

“Eh. Old childhood thing,” Cameron dismissed, quickly. “Looks a lot worse than it was. You got any napkins left?”

Linus let the conversation be changed, and Cameron breathed a sigh of relief. It was only much later, when Linus was sliding into his car after they’d spent hours excitedly talking about the movie and theorising about what was to come and nitpicking at the changes, that he turned to Cameron with an unsure, serious look on his face.

“So… Uh… Earlier on…” Cameron let him squirm in embarrassment, hoping it would keep him from bringing it up again. “You said… childhood, right? As in… in the past?”

“Yeah,” Cameron said. “Yeah, you know how things just happen when you’re little.”

And that had been the end of it; Linus had been completely put at ease until years later, when he found out what the scar meant for certain after Cameron had been brought back and he overheard Ayo explaining the bare minimum to the doctors as Cameron was admitted to hospital. In his defence, he took the deception well – Cameron half-awoke to Linus threatening to kill him, but when he managed to fully peel his eyes open, Linus greeted him with gentle warmth and relief instead of true anger. After some of the chaos of the next few days died down, Linus came over to his house and started citing various episodes, books, movies and comic volumes that warned against team members, friends or family members keeping important information from others.

“Trust goes both ways, Cameron,” Linus said, seriously, and that cut Cameron deeper than anything else.

Linus accepted his apology easily, and Cameron was relieved to find that Linus didn’t pick up hovering as a habit. His friend was a lot more hesitant about suggesting and going through with certain things than he had been, but he still trusted Cameron to know his limits, and trusted himself to be able to have Cameron’s back when the need arose. He did, however, join Kirsten and Camille in limiting his amount of daily caffeine intake, the traitor.

Kirsten found out fourth, also in stages. Honestly, Cameron should have thought to lock his bedroom door. But he’d never had to before, and had thought the line of personal boundary he drew around himself was obvious enough to keep the three in his livingroom at bay. He’d let them in further than almost anybody else, and even they subconsciously toed the boundaries he’d spent years putting in place in the desperate hope that he could have friends that still left him to hold a piece of himself without them feeling they could reach out and take it from him.

But he’d forgotten Kirsten wasn’t very good with boundaries. And he’d glanced up and found her in his doorway, startled by her blinking at the sight of him in a towel. And then he’d watched her eyes flick down to his chest and linger before purposefully following the scar back up to his face. He kept waiting for her to say something as he moved closer, but she did not and he found some relief in being able to shut the door in her face. Even she could understand that obvious gesture of keep out; too close.

Kirsten was a master of not mentioning things, so he didn’t mention it, either. Just like that kiss. Just like how he felt about her – how every bit of him was gravitating toward her day by day like something being sucked into a vortex. He found himself wondering what she’d been thinking as she looked at him that night, and how she saw him every other time.

And then he stops wondering for a while, because his crush before her ends in a hailstorm of bullets just feet away from where he’s crouching behind her closed front door.

Kirsten was the fourth to find out, but the first he ever tells. He didn’t necessarily want to; she knew too much already, a large part of him argued. But, hell, he was pretty sure he was stupidly in love with her, and they were both dying, and she just didn’t want to accept that his very real version of the monster under the bed that he’d been carrying around with him since age ten was attaching itself to her, too. She didn’t seem to understand what it meant to have a life that was close friends with death. She didn’t seem to understand how you didn’t care when you died, but everybody else sure did, and being the cause of that much pain was enough of an incentive to live if nothing else was. And if she couldn’t – if the monster won – then, damnit, she had to minimise the damage she left in her wake. He didn’t particularly like Liam at all, but he could guess at how much Kirsten meant to the guy. And every human being deserved whatever balm to the pain of losing somebody as amazing, breath-taking, unique, lovely as Kirsten that they could get.

He forgot that Kirsten tended to slay scary monsters on a daily basis. And if he loved her just a little bit more because she caused his constant, lurking companion to back a few more feet away from him. Well…

He certainly loved her a bit more when the inevitable coddling didn’t come. She treated him exactly the same as she always had, even with the knowledge in her head, and the relief was a warm, tingly, gratifying rush every time she proved herself unconcerned with managing his life for him. And by the time the fretting did come – thanks to a damn fake psychic, of all things – he was too in love with her for her protectiveness to make him back a hasty retreat. Thankfully, Kirsten was also incredibly practical, and he could brush off her concerns without much effort at all. She trusted him to have her back; to come along and do his bit. To help.

Kirsten was the fourth person to find out, the first person he told, and the first he’d willingly gamble his game of keep-away with the lurking monster on his back for. Because he trusted her with one of the deepest parts of himself and she still let him keep his freedom. And he’d be damned if he didn’t do everything in his power to let her see she could trust him, back.

Camille found out fifth, in a process that was half Ayo, half Kirsten, and fittingly so. Fittingly, because he trusted her as much as Ayo and loved her as warmly as he did Kristen, just with a completely different kind of love.

Cameron had slotted into place with her faster and easier than he had even with Linus. He had no real words to explain their relationship, and neither did she. So they simply shared a lot of looks and comfort in the language they both spoke so well and let whatever it was between them just be without poking at it with a stick and a magnifying glass. If she was some sort of undeserved gift from the universe to make up for lonely years then he was going to buy the gift horse an entire damn stable instead of looking anywhere near its mouth.

So when, during one of her random visits to his apartment that had become frequent after their stakeout of the store across the road and his attached mi casa es su casa statement, Camille opened the wrong kitchen cupboard, he wasn’t as defensive or panicked or upset as he would have been had it been anybody else.

“Uh… Cameron? Why do you have rat poison in your grocery cupboard?”

“Hmm?” he said, distracted by the laptop in front of him.

“There’s a bottle labelled ‘Warfarin’ in your handwriting in here.”

That got his attention. And sunk his insides to the bottom of his shoes. “Oh, no, it won’t be in that cupboard,” he said, hurriedly, twisting around to find her standing in front of the tiny closet door in his kitchen cabinets that most people thought was just for show. She’d been distracted by the Warfarin, and hadn’t yet explored the other incriminating evidence in the tiny space. And he hoped to keep it that way. “It’s probably above the sink, Doll,” he added in his most nonchalant voice. “Did you look there?”

But Camille would not be deterred. She smirked at him, amused and waiting for the funny story she thought she could smell, rattling the bottles of pills at him questioningly.

“I got them when you started coming over,” he tried. “So your nemeses the mutant rats ever arrive we can poison them off quickly.”

She gave him an unimpressed look, her lips twitching. “Har har.”

For a moment, it looked like his gamble worked and he’d gotten away with it. But then he watched her put the Warfarin back and freeze as her eyes took in the other bottles and packets of pills stacked and neatly labelled by his hand in the tiny closet. He saw her shoulders clench, and assumed her hesitation was because her mind was whirling with questions and alarm and curiosity and worry and the war between asking and forcing herself to not stick her nose in his business. She took a deep breath, half turned to him, then seemed to change her mind and closed the cabinet slowly.

Cameron sighed. How the hell was he supposed to work for a secret government agency if he couldn’t even keep one tiny, personal secret from a handful of people? He sucked at being a spy. But that didn’t mean he had to suck at being a friend. Taking a deep breath himself, Cameron set aside the laptop and made his way into the kitchen, nervousness and embarrassment churning bitter in his gut. But he couldn’t not give her answers; not somebody who fit that damn, sappy Bronte quote about souls with him so well. Not somebody who was like Ayo – full of compassion and warmth and heart for the world that made her see too much.

He didn’t exactly have a script for that sort of thing, and so he simply buttoned down his shirt. She turned around, face hooded as she struggled with not asking about what she’d seen, and her eyes immediately popped in shock.

“I had heart surgery when I was ten,” he said, and she swore a little breathlessly. He loved her a little bit when she tried not to stare. “Mostly sorted. Still need some meds, though.”

“Cameron…” She searched his face, at a loss, the most complicated range of emotions in her eyes. And then she put one hand on his arm and squeezed and he found himself able to smile a little. “I…” He shook his head at her, pleading a little with his expression, and she huffed. “Why in your kitchen like that?”

“More people tend to look in the bathroom cabinet,” he answered, honestly. “They’re much better hidden in an obvious place everybody thinks is just false panelling.”

She eyed him for that, but didn’t say anything more. Not only that evening, but ever again; never brought it up even in passing or by a super obvious reference. But he was attuned enough to her to notice the way she looked at him a little harder, and stood a little closer at times, and seemed to count the number of coffees he had in a day. But those were little things, and he couldn’t begrudge Camille for caring because without that she wouldn’t be Camille. And when she did cross a line about it in his head, blurting for all the world the doubt that his heart could take being brought back – he was too busy to begrudge her for it. And he sort of got her back by dying on her a few moments later, so he couldn’t claim they were anything but even, really.

(“I’m learning krav maga, now,” she told him out of the blue, weeks later.

“I heard – that’s awesome.” The question was in his tone.

“Yeah. Some of us possess this thing called self-preservation.” Her glare was somehow loving and angry and threatening all at once. “You pull a stunt anywhere near what you did in that lab that day ever again, Goodkin, and I will kick your ass. And then I’ll hack you so hard you’ll feel it for the rest of your life. Got me?”

“Careful there, Agent. You’re almost getting scarier than Maggie.”

“Good,” she said with a predator’s smile.)

The rest of the lab found out as a collective not long after Camille. He knew they couldn’t have all found out at once, but he wasn’t exactly conscious (alive) to keep track of who noticed what when and who put the pieces together and who confirmed it for whom. He was very sure they couldn’t have missed the scar or the way it took too many tries to get his heart started again.

He felt a little bad for making them run around in a flat panic because their boss and usual stitch pilot had decided to off himself. But only a little bad. His whole world was being threatened – his life’s work, the potential to help and save so many, the colleagues that were his responsibility, the people he loved like family. You have to protect it, Jessica had told him of his heart. And he’d be damned if he didn’t do everything in his power to keep his heart safe and able to continue on. Even if it meant stopping his physical heart. Even if it meant he’d never get to see their shared dream for the programme take its first breath. Even if it meant giving up Kirsten.

It all turned out fine, though, because they couldn’t really use the knowledge against him. For one, he was their boss, and not a close enough friend for them to have a say. For another, he’d come back fine. The monster had finally caught up with him, and Cameron had beaten it back. And how could he let anybody have a say on that area of his life when the thing he’d been taught to be terrified of almost all his life finally happened and… it didn’t kill him. Not forever. The apocalypse it had been painted to be turned into a mild inconvenience. And it didn’t matter who found out because Cameron was the one with the true knowledge, now. And he’d never be boxed in again.

Without him knowing, Fisher was the last person to find out. While Kirsten sat at his hospital bedside, watching him sleep, Camille had stayed at Fisher’s side. And she was there when he woke up a few times during the night, and when he finally truly woke up the next morning, groggy but coherent. She gave him a vague sketch of events, but Fisher wasn’t a detective only in title.

“What about Cameron? Did I get him out the way in time?”

“Oh, you totally saved his ass,” Camille agreed. “He got knocked in the noggin a bit, but he didn’t even stay in here for a day.”

They turned to other topics, and she’d almost gotten away with keeping Fisher in the dark about things that could potentially stress him out when Linus popped in and mentioned about stopping by Cameron’s room. Fisher turned on Camille with narrowed eyes.

“Explain,” he said, tone booking no nonsense.

And once she started, Camille couldn’t seem to stop. Yes, she’d held Cameron’s hand and seen him smile wonkily at her and heard his teasing and assurances. But she couldn’t stop seeing him, eyes wide and face grey, keeling into Kirsten. She couldn’t stop seeing the blurred outline of his still body while Ayo choked to Chelsea to call time of death. They’d nearly lost Fisher, but they’d come that much closer to losing Cameron. And her very heart rattled and moaned in her in exhausted horror at the very idea.

Fisher waited until she was finished, his mouth a grim line. Linus asked if he was in pain; if he should get the nurse, and Fisher shook his head jerkily.

“That damn…” He exhaled sharply. “This is why we don’t let civilians…” He broke off again, jaw clenched. “’Protect my kids’, Maggie says,” he muttered, darkly, after a pause. “It would help if she told me I was also meant to protect them from themselves.”

“He’s okay, though,” Linus tried desperately to reassure.

Fisher just gave him a stony look. “My dad had one of those ops,” he said, quietly. “I know what sorts of long-term things go along with the cure. Specifically, I know how easily those people bleed. And don’t stop bleeding because of blood thinners. And that damn kid has been in all sorts of shit. Without a damn vest.”

Camille slipped her hand into Fisher’s. “Hey, there. You’re not supposed to get worked up.” She squeezed gently. “Besides; I thought he wasn’t your friend?” she teased, gently.

Fisher snorted, closed his eyes for a minute and sighed. “Hey, do me a favour and call Kirsten here,” he said to Linus. “I need to talk to her – before something else happens.”

Linus nodded and patted Fisher’s feet. “Take it easy, man, okay? You gotta get better. And stop me from killing Cameron, which I now want to do all over again.”

Fisher snorted. “I’ll start a protocol,” he said, and it didn’t even sound much like he was joking.

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teacup-tai · 3 years ago

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Tai recs: a *HP rare pair* list

So, I decided to do a Rarepairs rec list with some of my favourite miscelaneous pairings. I hope you enjoy it and discover new horizons. lol Be responsible and mind the tags. There's no order in the list, sorry.

Your Left Life - orphan - 28k, E - Seamus/Dean

Dean can see himself doing it, pushing the duvet to the bottom of the bed and rolling over, feeling the warm line of Seamus’ body beside him, kissing him. He knows he’s going to eventually, he can hear the start of it in his head. You fought in a war, this should be nothing.

Electric Light - orphan - 18k, E - Neville/Draco, Neville/Draco/Harry

His gloves are from last year and the left one has a small tear in the charmed leather that he has to keep out of sight of Professor Sprout, who would go into a whole lecture on health and safety if she saw it, and then insist he wore a pair from the lost and found bucket in the corner of her mouldy old office.

Burned Silk, Buckled Leather - @ruinsplume - 12k, E - Sirius/Draco

When Sirius discovers a down-and-out Draco Malfoy lurking around the edges of a Muggle kink club, he thinks he knows just what Draco needs. He isn't expecting to run into some long-buried needs of his own.

The Meaning of Mistletoe - @llendrinall - 30k, M - Severus/Remus

“Just… tell me. Tell me what is going on, Snape.” What was going on was that Severus Snape had no trouble tracking down one Petunia Evans, now Dursley, to a little town in Surrey where he saw how exactly she was treating her nephew. Which somehow led to last night and Severus knocking on Lupin’s door with a toddler half-asleep in his arms.

Make Me Smile (come up and see me) - by busaikko -26k, E - Severus/Remus/Sirius

AU. In the aftermath of October 31st, 1981, Severus Snape, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black try to set their differences aside to keep Harry safe.

Modern Romance - @olivieblake - 280k, E - multiship brilliance

Witch Weekly's 'Modern Romance' series asks anonymous witches and wizards to record a week in their sex lives—with comic, tragic, provocative, and patently revealing results. Each week, a new episode unfolds in the lives of the Wizarding World's elite.

Don't Stop Me Now (A Tragedy in Three Acts) - @writcraft - 6k, E - Sirius/James

Being gay in the seventies isn't easy, coming out is hard to do and love is complicated, messy and unexpected. When Sirius Black comes out to James Potter it serves to fuel the embers of a fire that's been burning between them for years.

How We Were Warriors - @writcraft - 51k, E - Severus/Harry

A homophobic attack in London’s Soho brings Harry to New York City to discover more about the past. Still haunted by love and loss in the eighties, Severus just wants to forget. In Manhattan’s Greenwich Village, past and present collide, and in one another Severus and Harry find hope for the future.

Aim for My Heart - @tackytigerfic - 3k, M - Ron/Harry/Draco

Harry's in love, Ron's in control, and Draco just wants a nice lunch. They say three's a crowd, but Harry doesn't always agree. Not when he gets to be in the middle, anyway. - In which Harry's in love with Ron, and Harry's in love with Draco, but they're not in love with each other. Not yet, anyway.

The Taste of Țuică - @fluxweeed - 14k, E - Ron/Harry/Draco

It’s quite one thing for your best mate to casually tell you about all the sex his boyfriend wants to have. It’s altogether another to have him bring up the time you snogged him in a shitty Central London park.

Misfortune's Bitter Storms - @onbeinganangel - 5k, E - Bill/Fleur/Tonks

A ginger, a Metamorphmagus and a Veela walk into a room... (they fuck, that’s the punchline)

Petrichor, Pineapple and Pomegranate - @onbeinganangel - 6k, E - Sirius/Remus/James

If you’re not using your enhanced werewolf sense of smell to find out that your friends have got the hots for you, what are you even doing?

Talk To Me - by amaliaIR - 21k, E - Sirius/Remus/James

James' love life hasn't been going well lately, so he turns to his best friends for advice and receives so much more.

The Secretary - @pacific-rimbaud - 45k, E - Percy/Pansy

Threatened with the loss of her trust fund allowance, wild child Pansy Parkinson takes her mother up on an offer she can't refuse: a job at the Ministry of Magic as personal secretary to tightly wound bureaucrat Percy Weasley. The job is demanding, and so is her boss, in ways that Pansy never could have imagined. When their mutual desires begin to spin out of control, how will Pansy convince her boss that sometimes, the only rules you need to follow are your own?

A Dress With Pockets - @pacific-rimbaud - 24k, E - Neville/Pansy

Pansy Parkinson needed a drink. And a shag. She didn't care in which order. Enter: Neville fucking Longbottom and his rolled up sleeves.

---you may realise E is my thing, so again: mind the tags!---

And that's a wrap! I'm saving the femslash ones for another day ^^ Hope you enjoy the readings, darlings! Love, Tai <3

#hp rare pairs #rare pair network #fic rec #tai recs #reclist #rare pairs rec list

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chaoticneutralwriter · 4 years ago

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Star-Crossed

“ A phrase describing a pair of lovers whose relationship is often thwarted by outside forces. The term encompasses other meanings, but originally means the pairing is being “thwarted by a malign star” or that the stars are working against the relationship. ”

guardian demon!jimin x reader

genre: supernatural, romance, fluff, angst, comedy, slow-burn

word count: 12.9k (once again, back in that 12k territory i didn’t mean for this)

related works: see Masterlist under guardian demon!jimin au

Continuation of Fifth Act: Diligence

A/N: WOW, SO I DIDN’T MEAN FOR THIS TO HAPPEN. THIS WAS HARD BUT I DID IT. WOW. I should’ve known it would take long T^T but here it is finally!! Thank you all so much for your support once again!! <3 I hope this chapter won’t disappoint! T^T

@cherryjiminiee @kokobaekkie @breathebangtan @itsadoozie @thatshylatina @chiminieboi @azulamakesmeblank @sectumsemptae @awkwardwookie @aduky @poisonseashell @shortannoyingginger @caramelmac-chiato @sana-b @jiminstinct @beautifulparisiangirl @taelieninvader @ggukjitaejin @xakemi-chiix @vantaenims @atulipandarose @moments-of-melancholy @xclo02 @cherub-kookie @gottadreamitallaway

Your mind goes completely blank for what felt like a good ten minutes, reacting purely out of the baser, instinctive need to survive – body thrashing wildly like an antelope fighting to get out of a lion’s hold, kicking and screaming. It’s not until you sink your teeth into the soft flesh of your attacker’s hand are you finally released along with a pained shout of surprise.

“Bloody HELL poppet that fucking HURT!”

The force in which you were flung sends you toppling over onto the pavement, unceremoniously landing on your side. Your own groans of pain join in with the male nursing his injured palm and getting over your heart attack, you’re finally able to process who it is; raven hair that falls in long waves, tall, muscular figure and decked out from head to toe in black, complete with combat boots. You sit up if only to yell indignantly, “Well maybe you shouldn’t go around jumping people out of nowhere like that you weirdo!”

Jungkook straightens himself up from being bent over, giving his hand one last massage before he shoots you with a pointed look, “Well I’m not the one who was running around in the open like a headless chicken while an entity from Hell was out trying to kill you.”

His retort makes your mind screech to a halt, “…What?”

At your wide, clueless doe-eyed look, Jungkook’s mouth snaps shut just as he was about berate you some more. Turning his head away, he takes a deep breath in before exhaling through his nose, mussing his dark locks a bit with a furrowed brow as if he’s deep in thought. Then he turns back to you, offering a hand and gestures for you to take it.

“C'mon get up, let’s go somewhere else to talk.”

Your eyes dart from his proffered hand to his obsidian eyes, face set into a neutral expression but you already understand that this is of serious matters. Not like you’re going to refuse him anyways, Jungkook appearing like this was the saving grace you wanted – the key to potentially all of your answers.

So you reach up, enough to clasp your own hand into his larger ones and as soon as he gets a good grip, you’re being tugged by more than the immense strength of a demon; your stomach unintentionally does a flip at the sensation, a familiar whirlwind of colours and images passing by too quickly to be discerned before they abruptly stop altogether and you’re on wobbly knees again from the aftermath.

“Jungkook I swear….” You seethed in disdain, even though you’re holding onto his hand like it’s your lifeline. And again, you hear his snickering that he always seems to fail at hiding. At least this time around, it doesn’t last as long.

“You can’t deny me my simple joys in life. Besides, what’s a little apparating in comparison to nearly dying at the hands of another dark creature, am I right?” He jabs, pulling you until you’re standing upright by yourself and then walking off. It’s only then that you notice you’re back on the garden rooftop again, the stretch of the city skyline before you as you’re surrounded by the shrubberies and wispy grass. This time however, the garden’s greens have significantly yellowed in most places and what little floral that was here had begun to wilt, their blooming cycle coming to an end. You wonder briefly if the rain fall just now would be enough to help revitalize the place. The dark rain clouds from before have since dissolved and migrated further south, away from the city to shower onto some other area, yet the sun still struggles to peek through the denseness they leave behind, the skies remaining a gloomy overcast.

“About that,” You start, following after Jungkook’s long strides down the gravel path. “what do you mean by ��another dark creature’? As far as I know, I only know two demons and I swear I haven’t done anything to offend any other spawn of satan.”

Jungkook shoots a disbelieving look over his shoulder, actually stops in his tracks so that you can get the full impact of it; arms crossed, one eyebrow raised, head cocked and lips pressed into a hard line. He screams, ’oh really?’ without having to say it.

“You know poppet, sometimes I think you’re either really ballsy, or just plain stupid. But I do suppose that’s what makes you entertaining to watch.” Scoffing, he mutters as if to himself with a shake of his head, “Maybe you two really are meant for each other.”

You don’t get a chance to ask what he meant by that, cutting you off the same time he continues walking again, forcing you to tail after him. “Anyways, it’s just what it sounds like; you went and gotten yourself a new 'friend’ when you decided it was a smart idea to try your hands at summoning a demon for the first time.”

Your steps falter, suddenly feeling lightheaded at the shock overtaking you, “W-Wait – that…I thought it didn’t work…I mean…I didn’t see anything when I was done?”

“Or so you thought. You might not have gotten the demon you wanted but it did the job getting some other lesser creature of darkness for you.”

A chill runs down your spine unintentionally at the thought, memories flitting back to those near misses, now with some twisted, shadowy monster being the cause, lurking around each corner you had turned, stalking and waiting for that perfect moment to kill you off. You had stepped so close to death’s grasp, all because you had so blindly messed with something you had absolutely no understanding of. If it weren’t for Jimin showing up…. You shake away the thought, not wanting to even think about it but….

“So then how did….Jimin and you find me? Is that why you’re here?”

He turns his head, a lopsided smile pulling at his mouth. “Yeah, when you’re a 'spawn of satan’ it’s kind of hard to miss that ominous amount of dark energy that came with the summoning. I’m surprised that you didn’t attract more than just three in a ten kilometre radius so when you think about it, you got what you wanted – congrats.”

In hindsight, Jungkook is right; though it was unconventional, you did indeed manage to somehow get Jimin to show himself finally after days of being missing. But, successful as it is, by no means had it been the way you wanted and thus, the praise came out too back-handed for it to feel anything remotely celebratory.

“And that’s the curious thing,” Abruptly, Jungkook stops walking and it nearly has you crashing into him. Luckily, you catch yourself in time, at the expense of stepping on your toes and nearly falling back on your ass again.

“Your little handy work might’ve been amateurish at most, but… evidently that’s quite some potent things you used there.” He pauses for a second, and then he’s facing you, staring down from his full height that makes you feel infinitely much smaller than you should as he almost accusingly says with narrowed eyes, “Including that thing in your pocket.”

You’re left blinking, pupils shifting left and right like you’re a criminal caught in the act for a good minute before you give yourself a pat down, instinctively going to your pants pocket, feeling nothing but then realizing your tote bag is still clinging onto your shoulder, barely holding on by one strap. You’re actually in disbelief that it made it this far. Grabbing a hold of it, you dig through until you pull out the one possession that the demon could possibly be talking about.

The little black velvet pouch remains unassuming as the day you had received it, so you had thought nothing when you opened it again, expecting to see the same stone crystal inside. To your utter shock however, the stone falls out in broken pieces, chunks split in half as if you had taken a hammer and smashed it. Along with that, the once whole stone had visibly lost its lustre, the natural glow dulled into something much more clouded and opaque. You don’t know what had caused this, racking your brain for an explanation; perhaps this was the only damage resulted from the whole accident fiasco you went through, but considering the forces at work here, you won’t necessarily rule out any other more supernatural possibilities.

“Where did you get that?”

Your confirmation is given by Jungkook’s question, his eyes trained on the remnants of the crystal and tone tinged too much on being apprehensive and wary that you can’t simply brush it off as overthinking this time.

Carefully, you reply, “….From the shop that I got all the other things from. Why?”

He goes eerily quiet, dark brows furrowing into a troubled look that mars his youthful face, and he chews his lips in deep thought. Just when you think he would say something, he schools his face once again, turning away.

“Nothing.”

Your face contorts into a bewildered expression because that sure doesn’t sound like nothing. But you’re not here for that. Huffing through your nose, you stuff the broken stone back into your bag, hand shooting out to grab Jungkook’s wrist to stop him from walking off.

“Look, I know you know something is wrong with Jimin and I wouldn’t have done what I did if he just told me what’s going on. He’s been gone for….I don’t know how many days now, wouldn’t even answer any of my texts or calls, but then still manage to show up when I’m in serious danger yet the first thing he does when he sees me is run?” You let go when you see Jungkook’s attention is back on you except the way he’s hiding any sort of emotion right now is just reigniting the same frustration and anxiety you’ve had bottled up for so long, too long.

Jaw clenching, your gaze hardens as you take in a fortifying breath if only as a last ditch effort to not explode right then and there.

“I need you to tell me everything. No more secrets.”

The words still come out with barely restrained anger.

Jungkook remains unfazed, eyes unwavering as he studies you. He sees the fiery temper waiting to be unleashed through the burning of your irises on him, the strain in which you clench your hands into fists until the whites appear in your knuckles, a tremor that rumbles through you like a volcano just before it erupts – no doubt anyone who valued their well-being would know best to avoid being on the receiving end of your wrath now that it has reached such a peak (he almost feels sorry for Jimin, almost). But amongst the flames, he sees the fan that stokes it; desperation, fear, and….

His lips twitch, bemused.

Jungkook finds you very commendable, maybe even to a fault and perhaps it’s why with one last sigh, he relents.

“All right, relax – don’t bite the hand that’s going to feed you.”

Your heart picks up in pace, anticipation pulsing through you in tandem as you brace yourself. Silently, Jungkook gestures with his chin for you to follow him over to the open space and towards the bench under the tree.

“Has Jimin ever told you how he ended up being your guardian before?” Jungkook asks mid-stride, hands shoved into his pockets casually. His sudden question pulls you away from burning a hole into the back of his head.

“Uh….Maybe once? Something about trying to worm his way out of doing dirty grunt work in the lowest levels of hell after causing trouble.”

“Did he say what he did?”

“…Only that it was quote, 'complicated’.” You respond after some thought. Your answer elicits a snort from the demon in front of you, along with some rueful muttering. Before you can ask, you both have reached the tree and the sight of it surprises you. The branches were now covered fully in bright emerald green leaves, providing the proper amount of shade to the bench that situated below it compared to the first time you’ve seen it but more than that, its even sprouted fruits. Round in shape and about the size of your palm, its colour grades from a yellow-green into rosy reds along the skin and its then you realize they were apples.

Jungkook stops just underneath the tree, side stepping in order to clear a path for you to the bench.

“Get comfortable poppet, it’s a bit of a story.”

Tentatively, you make your way over to sit down, gaze never leaving Jungkook’s and evidently the tension is still running high for you – you’re quite literally sitting on the very edge of your seat. Seeing as how that’s as comfortable as you’re going to get, Jungkook releases another deep sigh, rolling his neck as he begins a tale he loathed to repeat.

“That 'complicated’ thing that your guardian did? That was tempting an actual guardian angel to fall from grace.”

The words took a minute to process for you, not knowing what to expect but when they do, the impact hits you head on like a speeding train. For a split second, you’re trapped in a frozen world that’s numbed you of all your senses; you’re left stunned, speechless, jaw actually dropping and you wonder if you’re breathing still. After your mind was done tripping over on itself do you manage to stutter, “He – I mean how….?”

Jungkook crosses his arms, leaning back on the trunk of the tree as a far off look takes over his gaze.

“Trust me when I say if you knew Jimin like I did, you wouldn’t be half as surprised as you are that he would manage to do something like this. Heaven is only blissful to those who are complacent and live by their rules. There’s no room for doubts because to doubt is to question in your beliefs, and in turn, His beliefs which to angels is blasphemy. And angels, above all, are representatives of that. It is their duty to carry out His will, to be the shepherd to guide the lost sheeps because only you can lead them to salvation, even the most wayward ones; for His love is always gracious, accepting and forgiving. They’re really good at selling that righteous fantasy – makes you feel all high and mighty.”

He exhales deeply, the barest hints of an underlying bitterness carries out with the breath, made more obvious when he says, “But even that in itself was a test of faith. How cruel is it to tell you that your sole purpose is to protect and guide a soul that’s supposedly so precious when they prove to you time and time again to be so undeserving of that love? It makes you start to question a lot of things, like whether all your effort is worth it in the end or….” A sharp inhale. “Maybe you’re simply not good enough.”

You listen quietly, not wanting to interrupt Jungkook but immersed in your own thoughts too. Even though you’re not terribly religious, you’re still somewhat familiar with the concepts. So long as you live your life honestly, commit no sins and do no wrong unto others, you’re more likely not to end up going to hell and be tortured for all eternity. And even if you do, you have the chance to repent and thus be forgiven.

Of course, people twist the words they read to suit their own philosophies but in the end, there’s still that clear line between evil and good. It’s all….very black and white to you. So it should be no surprise to you that beings who serve God would have that followed to a tee, only there’s no room for second-guessing or evidently, second-chances.

You see the unfairness in that; to be expected as someone who’s so devout and pious yet not be given that same mercy as humans.

You think….it’s quite sad.

“Nevertheless, those are thoughts no angel should have. Not unless you want to attract the attention of a demon.” He sneaks a glance at you and you catch the mischievous twinkle peering through the long bangs before he averts his eyes to the horizon in front of him again. “And that’s where your little guard dog comes in.”

You don’t deny the way you perk up a little more at that, pulled from your previously more sombre reveries.

“'Jimin’….He was everything you humans thought demons would be – conniving, heartless, and selfish creatures who takes pleasure in causing misery and suffering on others while indulging in all forms of obscenities as a pass time. He, like many demons, saw the world as his little sandbox and everyone in it his own personal plaything; doesn’t bat an eye to even the most heinous of crimes.”

You find the comparison jarring when you think of the demon you know now as being the very same one who did all those morally skewed things. It’s like talking about two different beings altogether. But the more you ruminate on it, the more you saw the plausibility; for one, Jimin is a demon, his entire existence is to be the devil’s advocate so how can you, a human no less, judge him for doing his job? And secondly, Jimin always did have that cockiness about him, like he knows he’s better than everyone else and he’s not afraid to let everyone know they’re beneath him – you included. It was very prominent when you first met, but now it’s tamed to a cheeky sassiness he uses to lightly tease you with (an impressive feat if you’re going to be honest; safe to say that was quite the learning curve for both of you).

However, it just proves to you that even someone like him could change for the better.

“But unlike many demons, Jimin was…remarkably ambitious, uncharacteristically so because while others are satisfied with living that otherwise lawless, cesspit lifestyle, he grew bored of the monotony – had a need to conquer new challenges, push boundaries, always a hunger for more. And it worked in his favour too.” He pauses to let out a short scoff, a humourless chortle under his breath as his voice lowers to an almost melancholic tone. “Maybe that’s what made him so dangerous; being so good at finding even your most darkest secrets and enticing you with sweet words that it makes it hard for anyone to resist.”

Again, there was something in the way Jungkook is telling you all this, the way his voice would inflect with a deep-rooted emotion without meaning to and you can’t shake off this feeling. It’s almost like….he’s recounting, reliving memories from a different time.

Dark eyes slide to yours and you find yourself locked in an endless abyss, one that you’ve seen before in Jimin’s – swimming behind centuries worth of history, you’ll catch glimpses of a long lifetime of loneliness and bitter sorrow that are much too alien to belong on such youthful faces. “So imagine how easy it was to get to a guardian angel who deep down, knew he wasn’t cut out for the job anyways.”

…. And suddenly there’s meaning to the familiarity in which he speaks of everything; of Heaven, of angels, of this guardian angel….

Cocking his head, Jungkook smiles at you but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “Don’t start crying for me now poppet, you should save those tears for something more worthwhile.”

You hadn’t even realized the way you were staring, practically gaping at him with unadulterated shock. Overwhelmed is an understatement to what your mind is going through; so many thoughts racing a mile a minute yet feeling completely empty of any at the same time. You wouldn’t have imagined that this was Jungkook’s story.

At your prolonged silence, he tears his gaze away from you, not wanting to admit how he can’t stand seeing the sad look you’re giving him any longer. Pity was not necessary here.

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t regret it. Jimin might’ve done it out of boredom and as his way to fulfill his self-gratification but it was the first time in so long that I felt like someone was listening to me and didn’t judge me right away for my 'impure’ thoughts.”

You can almost hear him rolling his eyes as he says that.

“Before him, I really thought that I was going to live a miserable life being stuck watching over this poor excuse of a human being who does nothing but just….rot away; self-entitled, greedy, stepping on others for their own selfish gains, never to redeem themselves in the eyes of God. Jimin understood me – offered me an out, something I didn’t have when I was made into a guardian angel and never thought I would get even afterwards.”

“So I took it; in exchange for one insignificant soul, I got my freedom.” Jungkook tilts his head upwards, as if he means to burn a hole right through the clouds themselves, or maybe the place that lies far beyond them. Instead, he reaches out to pluck a shiny red apple from its branch, one of the few you think that are early to ripe. “But to willingly hand over a soul to a demon under your watch was an unspeakable act, one of the surest ways to get you thrown out those golden gates.”

He tosses the fruit up in the air once, catching it smoothly and shooting you a roguish grin. The way his lips curl back gives you a more full view of his canines – you swear they look a lot more sharper than what they were supposed to be on his human visage.

“And yes, it did hurt like a bitch when I fell from Heaven, in case you wanted to know.”

A throaty giggle comes out unintentionally along with the huff of air you release through your nose, one which you try to cover up by clearing your throat.

That was a good reference.

Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind though, actually looks proud of the jab he made before his grin starts to slip away, expression turning into something a little more morose as his eyes drift to the apple in his hand.

“The rest was pretty much history; as punishment, Jimin was made to take responsibilities for intervening with the duties of a guardian angel – quite lenient I might add – and once he gets his stamp of approval, he would go back and take me under his wing.”

“So imagine my surprise….” The grip on the apple tightens a fraction, the words are enunciated slowly, deliberately, like its taking all of his self-control to not completely crush it. You would’ve been convinced he was doing a pretty good job, if it weren’t for the flickers of a deep golden glow that begins to burn behind his once onyx irises and the air around him resonates with a charged energy that had goosebumps appearing on your arms. “When half-way through, he asks me if there was a way for demons to become a guardian angel.”

Right before your eyes, the red apple starts to decompose as if it were in a time-lapse, browning and shrivelling in on itself until all that’s left is a dried husk in Jungkook’s hand. You swear you feel the colour drain from your face along with it, a cold sweat breaking out at the back of your neck. Unsparing of the way your mind is hanging by a thread, the demon turns so that you see the twisted smile stretching across thin lips and he sneers, “The irony of it all, am I right?”

You don’t answer because you physically can’t. It’s like your body is going into shock, eyes unfocused and head spinning to the point where you’re thankful that you’re actually sitting or else you think you might tip over and pass out. Your heart is pounding rapidly in your chest, each beat hammering against your ribcage. You try to take in deep breaths to calm yourself but every inhale and exhale comes out short and shaky, every swallow leaving your throat drier.

“Deny it all you want poppet, but this is the truth you wanted – your little guardian demon wants to become a guardian angel.” You wouldn’t have realized you were shaking your head to yourself if Jungkook hadn’t spoken up, voice too nonchalant after dropping a bomb like that on you. He’s dusting his hands off on his sweatpants, picking and inspecting his nails now that the remains of the rotten apple had dropped onto the ground beneath him. By that time, you finally begin to stumble through your words, more or less thinking aloud in hopes of trying to make sense of this extreme turn of events.

“T-That’s….that can’t be, I don’t – why would he do that?”

Jungkook’s gaze whips to you with a quickness, the gold of topaz so piercing that it startles you and just when you thought you could be any less prepared at receiving bombshell news, Jungkook proves you wrong by hitting you with another one more devastating than the last.

“Do you really not know?” He asks, the question nothing more than a hushed tone filled with disbelief, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s you. You’re the reason.”

You.

The reason is you.

It’s like you’re hit by a physical blow that knocks the wind out of you and you brace your hands on your knees, letting out a sharp exhale. All of your questions are getting answered yet the answers you get are only producing more questions; questions that you don’t even know if you want answers to because you’re terrified of what you might hear. You don’t know if you can take much more of it. But you’ve made it so far. With this, you’ve come closer than ever before to finding Jimin and be able to help him. It’s a huge jump than what you had thought possible in accomplishing. So you take a deep breath in, mustering all of your courage to continue forward.

“Is it even possible?” Your voice comes out in a quiver, hoarse as you try to push past the lump that’s formed in your throat, your confidence left much to be desired. Jungkook offers you a half-shrug.

“It’s the same way I became a guardian angel myself once upon a time ago, only you’re more likely to die attempting it as a demon; as they say, it’s easier to fall than it is to redeem yourself.”

That has you jumping to your feet, so fast that the blood rushes to your head and you momentarily feel lightheaded but you’re more alarmed by what Jungkook had informed you.

“That’s just insane, he can’t – I can’t let him do this!”

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that, poppet.” Jungkook shakes his head firmly, arms crossing and halting any sort of protests that were about to spill from your mouth. “He’s already evoked the process, and now it’s only a matter of time before he fully succumbs to its effects.”

“Wait, what do you mean…?” You ask, full of apprehension, eyes never leaving Jungkook’s.

“Becoming a guardian angel involves being imbued with holy magic over a period of time; the process is slow, but otherwise painless….if you’re talking about an ordinary soul that is.” He pushes himself off of the tree to stroll forward a few steps, “With a demon? Even I don’t know what will happen to him. As you can imagine, to have both holy magic and demonic powers inhabiting one body is dangerous because they’re two conflicting forces; it leaves you unstable and vulnerable until one rejects the other, or your body gives out and you simply perish.”

A horrified gasp rushes past your dry lips, and you’re once again short of breath as an acute surge of panic overtakes your entire body. You’re moving before you realize what you’re doing, latching onto Jungkook’s sleeves with trembling hands like you’re afraid at any moment, he would vanish and abandon you to suffer this cruel twist of fate. Jungkook stumbles back, caught off guard by the strength of your grip, nails digging into his arms and how frantic you look – wide eyed and pupils shaking.

“Where is he?! I need to find him! Tell me where he is Jungkook!”

His larger hands grab ahold of your wrists to stop you jostling him for answers. “I don’t know that poppet. And even if I do, what does it matter? He’s doing this so he can be with you. Is this not something you wanted?”

Your eyes shut in anguish, head lowering as you can only muster a weak shake. “Not like this…” Never like this…

You hear a soft scoff from above you, and you don’t notice the way Jungkook has yet to let you go nor the way he can’t seem to bear looking at you, gaze set out on the horizon in front of him, the unnatural golden glow long since receded as he thinks bitterly to himself, 'That makes the two of us.’

He doesn’t want to admit that the sight of you like this, devastated and conflicted at what you had learned, stirs up his own complex cocktail of emotions – things he has kept buried in the recesses of his mind. When Jungkook had told Jimin of how he could possibly become a guardian angel, he felt like he had owed him some kind of debt, something to repay for allowing him to break free of his own miserable life – only to be the one who leads someone else back to the same place he was in. Maybe this is why he still hasn’t let go of how resentful he is of Jimin’s choice.

Jimin was a fool – a fool in love. Does he truly understand the consequences of what entails afterwards? He thought Jimin would see just how folly it is to pursue this pipe dream, give up the longer he’s subjected to the gruelling effects of completing the acts but Jimin is not Jimin without that stubborn, ambitious streak.

Worse of all, Jungkook resented himself too because deep down, he dares to envy Jimin for his tenacity, for finding a purpose in a life he saw no worth in and to have someone who is willing to fight for him as much as he is for them.

Maybe through this odd sense of kinship with you….. this is the closure he needed.

It takes a few good minutes for you to gather yourself again, minutes of holding yourself back from breaking down completely because you can’t afford to, not now. Not when its suddenly a matter of life or death. The cogs are turning double time in an effort to come up with something, anything to fix this. And that’s when –

“What if there was another way?”

Jungkook pauses to look at you before letting out a short incredulous laugh at the very idea, “Don’t be ridiculous poppet, as if Heaven – “

“I’m saying what if there was another way Jimin can stay without becoming a guardian angel?” You cut him off and the brief moment of silent questioning allows you to blurt out perhaps the second craziest thing you’ve thought of in your life, “What if I give my soul to him?”

Another long silence drags on, only because Jungkook is practically gaping at you like a fish now; jaw dropped, eyes wider than you’ve ever seen before. You both spend minutes that feel like an eternity just standing there, staring at each other as if to see who would break away first. It makes your nervously racing heart seem ten times louder in your ears and you grow self-conscious. Just when you go to explain yourself, defend your case, Jungkook lets out a wheezing laugh. At first they were short and breathy sounds but as they continue, the volume grows until it’s a full blown cackle as does the almost crazed grin on the demon’s face.

You’re frozen in your spot at the sight, even when Jungkook steps back from you to turn away and pace around, hands on his hips and occasionally running through his hair. You hear him choke out jumbled words to himself, phrases that start but drown out by more incredulous bouts of laughing. When it seems he’s finally able to calm himself, Jungkook whirls back around, eyes locking onto you intensely. “You’re serious? You’re actually serious?”

You sputter at the sudden accusation, “Wh – Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because it’s crazy?” Jungkook shoots back, “You do know that most of the time when someone wants to give up their soul to a demon it never ends well – and I’m saying this from one demon to a mortal.”

“Well I imagine if that wasn’t the case then more people would do it right?” You scowl, rolling your eyes. “And besides, it’s not like I haven’t thought about doing it before this….”

Jungkook reels a bit again at the additional confession, scoffing lightly. You can see the thoughts play out across his face as his gaze fixates on a point past the buildings and trees surrounding you and after seemingly reaching a conclusion, you see him subtly shake his head.

“At most, you might be able to remain bound to him.”

“That’s more than enough.” You say, “He shouldn’t have to risk his life for me like this, not when he’s done so much already.”

“Heavy emphasis on the might poppet.” The tall demon holds up a hand as if it means to stop you from flying off to tear the whole city apart to find Jimin in this instance (which, he’s not wrong given if you had that ability). “And even if you do, I can’t guarantee what will happen to Jimin, whether this will stop the process or not.”

“Then help me find him Jungkook.”

He groans, throwing his head back like a child who’s been asked to wash the dishes and you’re flabbergasted at the response.

“You’re really going to leave your friend to die just like that?” You ask aghast.

“It was his choice.” Jungkook replies apathetically. “I warned him that if he were to go through with it, I won’t be able to help him with what would happen afterwards and he did it anyways. Now it’s out of my hands and I’m starting to regret saying anything because of the headache this is causing me.”

“All the more reason!” The rush of urgency threatens to overwhelm you as you step towards Jungkook, “We won’t know if this will work unless I try!”

Yet still, he remains unmoving and it only serves to freak you out even more. It’s like you can already see this last chance slipping away, right in front of you the more Jungkook becomes reluctant.

“This is because of me isn’t it? So let me fix it.” You beg, grabbing ahold of him. “Please Jungkook, this is the last thing I need from you.”

The weight of your pleas hang heavily in the air around you, almost to the point where you felt suffocated yourself. You hate how everything is riding on whether Jungkook would agree to help or not, is literally what would make or break this. You watch with bated breath, hyper-focused on every small movement Jungkook makes; the way he breaks away from your gaze to look off into the distance, jawline tensing as he clenches them and a deep furrow pinching his brows.

Jungkook watches with unseeing eyes the way the first rays of the setting sun breaks through, the streaks of orange so vibrant that they cut through like a knife and set aflame the dense clouds surrounding them. More and more the sky parts to reveal this fiery blaze until the light is burning into his eyes, even long after he eventually slips them shut.

There’s no doubt that once Jimin gets wind of this, he’ll miraculously summon enough strength to slam him through all seven levels of hell and then some. He’s already overstepped by even telling you what Jimin’s really been up to but it’s not his damn fault that the elder demon really dropped the ball on this one.

… Agh fuck it, he’s already in deep now, so what’s a little more help gonna do? Especially when the blazing desperation in your eyes currently rivals that of the departing sun, still clinging onto the last few minutes it has left before the oncoming night swallows it whole. It’s in the last bit of dying light that Jungkook lets out one long, drawn out sigh through his nose and you see him turning back to face you, eyes softly aglow once more and a meaningful look. You gulp, trying hard not to make it so obvious on how nervous you’re feeling but who were you trying to fool? At this point, you’re ready to drop down on your knees and grovel.

You’re actually a split second away from doing that when Jungkook rolls his head back and with another begrudging sigh, so heavy that his shoulders slump inward, says, “Alright fine! I’ll try to track him down.”

Jungkook settles by telling himself the only reason why he agreed to do this tedious task is because: 1) He’d already come this far in telling you basically everything that’s been going on with your guardian demon, might as well go the full nine-yards, 2) your daring plan of action and commitment was something that undoubtedly piqued his interest once more, enticed him into new territories of what-ifs. Again, commendable, he thinks frustratingly so; it’s like a force of its own getting him to root for you. As well, what kind of demon would he be if he didn’t play the part of being the shoulder devil that eggs you on to do stupid, reckless things?

And 3) ultimately, this isn’t his mess so however way it ends is none of his business and though yes he’s helping you track down your missing demon, he doesn’t have any control on what you intend to do after confronting Jimin. He’s essentially just the messenger, and once he’s done with this ’last favour’, he can dust his hands off and continue on his merry way.

As entertaining as this all had been, you had proven to be more of handful than he had imagined. His first impressions of you was that of a strange human who wasn’t totally obsessed with the idea that a demon had decided to take on the appearance of her favourite idol. In fact, you had even seemed highly unamused by it. But you had rolled with the punches and made do with your equally strange circumstance.

And then things took a turn for the stranger; the two of you end up developing an unlikely friendship but more than that, it bloomed into something more. That was when Jungkook had dropped his metaphorical popcorn. The thought is still unfathomable because…what kind of demon falls in love with a human?! And on top of that, what kind of human falls in love with a demon?! That’s just something someone who’s had a few too many screws loose in their head would do and neither you nor Jimin had strike him as one such person.

Apparently, he’s sorely mistaken.

As it turns out, both of your knuckle-headedness knows no bounds, having expected most of it to come from Jimin (given his track record) but you’ve proven yourself to be in equal competition with him, not one to be left out.

If he had thought you were reckless with trying to do a demon summoning ritual on your own before, you’ve blown his expectations out of the water (once again) by declaring you would willingly give up your soul to a demon – in order to save him no less! What an absolute mad lass!

He lets out a snort, kicking at the remnants of your handy work, finding himself back at the scene of the crime in search for a lead. Initially, Jungkook had arrived to the spot out of curiousity on what was causing such a concentration of dark energy to appear and after poking around, had found traces of your aura still lingering about – that was how he had managed to eventually find you. The discovery however made him do a major double-take; for one, not having expecting you of all people to be the cause of this supernatural phenomena but most importantly, how you even managed to come into possession of the materials to make it happen.

That was perhaps the most troubling bit Jungkook finds about this conundrum.

Not just anyone can get their hands on some of the things required to do a summoning ritual, let alone anything remotely authentic. People just kind of fill in the blanks on what they think they need but somehow you almost end up getting it down pat.

This ’shop’ you supposedly went to apparently has the good shit.

And that’s not all.

Along with the ingredients to a demon summoning ritual, you had also walked out of there with something he had thought he would never see in his new lifetime again.

Angelus Tactus.

Or better known as Angel’s Touch – a stone made of pure starlight, said to be plucked from the Heaven’s themselves which imbued them with magical properties that offer protection from much more malicious entities and energies.

So by every means, it was not something some little shop just has lying around as a trinket for sale no matter how niche they supposedly are.

Jungkook unconsciously gnaws at his bottom lip, mulling over this tidbit of information. None of this sits well with him and he had half the mind to hunt down the identity of the shop owner himself, if only to satisfy his curiousities.

….No, he shouldn’t. If he does then he’s only digging his own grave instead of getting out of it like he’s supposed to be doing right now.

With a shake of his head, he banishes the thought (…for now) to focus back on his surroundings. Eyes scanning, Jungkook notices that the rain had washed away what remains of the chalk pentagram that was etched into the asphalt and whatever dried herbs or salt left over has sunken into the soil where they have been pushed. They soak up the natural energy that’s provided by the earth, enough to give off a low pulse. It’s very weak but as he carefully steps around, it’s enough for him to use in order to help him sift through and amplify other aura signatures that might’ve passed the area.

Yours and the creature you summoned were prominent, and given Jimin’s state of limbo, it takes a little bit of 'feeling’ around before he begins to pick up another faint trace of someone else’s. He closes his eyes, honing in on it and lets his feet guide him until he comes upon a spot where it emanates the strongest. He lets it wash over him, familiarizing it with his senses before his eyes slip open, the topaz glow taking over his irises.

Bingo.

Logically speaking, tracking down a demon would take some time, you figured maybe two or three days because demons are discreet creatures by nature; doesn’t help that the wanted demon in question most likely doesn’t want to be found either. So it makes perfect sense that your only option right now is to wait and use this time to go through exactly how you’re going to give your idiot guardian demon a piece of your mind.

Well, at least try to.

You’re a bit of mess right now, to put lightly. After Jungkook spilled the secret on basically everything and you begging him to find Jimin, swearing that this will be the last he’ll ever hear from you, you find yourself strapped into this Tower of Terror of emotions – going from one extreme to another in what feels like split second intervals. You’d arrived home feeling numb and exhausted, heading straight to the safe confines of your room to sit on your bed in darkness and total silence. You felt like a zombie in which your mind and body were not connected, simply breathing and staring off into nothingness.

There was a distinct tightness in your chest, suffocating in its weight that it has you struggle to properly breathe. You don’t know how long you remain like that, but after what felt like an eternity, the strongest desire to scream had overcome you. It’s a rather delayed reaction, you think, moments after you had snatched the closest pillow to you to let out your pent up anger into. You throw your bag violently in the direction of your closet for good measures, the resounding thud pacifying you slightly.

Heaving, you push away the fallen strands of hair out of your face, eyes squeezed shut. You feel your throat closing up in a tell-tale sign of angry tears but you stubbornly keep them at bay. You won’t cry for Jimin, as much as you want to. Though hurt, you’re also livid with what he’s done, is doing…

You shake your head to yourself; you still can’t process the fact that he’s so willingly risking his life for you like this, all at the chance to stay with you as your official guardian angel. But to also not tell you anything about it – just makes you think when would he tell you then? Or was he even planning to tell you at all? The thought of him quietly erasing himself from your life if things went wrong, with you knowing no better and him just….accepting that?

And assuming you would be okay?!

The audacity reignites the flames of your fury.

You’d fallen into a restless sleep in the early hours of the morning, or rather closed your eyes for a long period of time because you don’t think you actually slept. You had tossed and turned, too riled up for any sort of fitful rest. Before you knew it, pale morning light had seeped through your blinds.

Yet you continue to lay there in bed, still as drained as you were the day before, only you’d fallen into a pit of listlessness. The amount of strength you mustered up after a while was to grab your phone, remembering the shift you had later that day and though you hate to be that person, you know there’s no way you’ll be able to work through it. At least, not that day.

But much of your time passes that way, mulling on your thoughts over and over again until you’re giving yourself a headache, the same questions repeating like a broken record in your mind; when did it all start? How could you not have noticed any of this and for so long? How did you let it get this bad?

How long do you have now? Or are you too late?

It has you scrambling to bring forth memories, searching for any kind of answers lost in the past. You dissect each and every one of them, and more and more you begin to uncover the signs; a flicker of melancholy that slipped through before quickly being masked by indifference and teasing, feather-like touches, so light they made you think you’d dreamt it, and…

That night.

The biggest kicker of them all was that night. In a spectacular combination of Jimin’s deflective skills and your tendencies to not be confrontational, you had assumed that it was just as he suggested; some unfortunate, rotten timing on his part that he’d ran into something vicious – another demon, an angel, a hunter, a witch…

Who would’ve thought it was him going through the process of becoming a guardian angel.

Fuck, it all made so much more sense.

As all the puzzle pieces fall into place, it made you realize that the signs had been there all along, just hidden away so well by Jimin.

And every time, you hesitated, faltering on taking action when given the chance.

The regret of not having done more when you could’ve begins to grow inside you and soon, it’s what ate at you the most.

Waiting becomes tortuous. You’re going through the routine of living on autopilot, scatterbrained and anxiously watching for Jungkook to show up at any day, hour, minute, second with news that he’s found a lead. You’re hoping and actually praying to whatever God up there that would listen to give you this one chance to make things right.

So on edge you were that when you came home from what you think was the biggest struggle you had to getting through work to a cryptic message smeared across your mirror, like you’d walked straight into 'The Shining’, you nearly blacked out right then and there.

The yelp you let out was embarrassingly loud, enough to alert Jaehee who came rushing to you, stumbling with shoes half-off from surprising you with an afterwork dinner date. Amidst her frantic questioning and the blood pumping loudly in your ears from your heart that’s ready to bail on you, you come to the realization that while you saw the beginnings of your own paranormal activities movie, Jaehee only saw a plain, ordinary full-length mirror.

It took a lot of nervous laughing and some very poor half-ass excuses to eventually pry your friend off, ushering her out of your room with the promise of properly resting. Once you shut the door, you take deep breaths before turning to look at the offending message that’s ruined your mirror. Now that the instinctual fear wasn’t clouding your judgement, you see clearly that – thankfully – the substance staining the surface of the glass is not blood but something akin to black ink. As for the message itself, it simply states:

’The Whiskey Serpent,

Tomorrow. Midnight.

JK.’

A beat passes and when you fill in the blanks to give context for this obscure set of instructions, your eyes close in exasperation as you heavily inhale.

You’re going to strangle him.

Tomorrow midnight doesn’t come nearly as fast as you wanted it to and your body and mind seems to resent that fact by compromising your sleep (again) and making you feel so jittery you can barely stand still for five seconds. You leave your afternoon shift all nerves and with still too much time on your hands for your liking, even after doing a trial run to the appointed place with the directions you found. You find it easy enough. To no surprise, it’s located in the more luxurious part of the city’s districts, surrounded by sleek sky-rises that hosts either penthouse apartments or five star hotels, streets littered with more expensive cars than you’re used to seeing, upscale boutiques and of course, private lounges and clubs.

The Whiskey Serpent was amongst them, a minimalistic looking building with sleek, black granite stone cladding that gives off the slightest hints of sparkles in the bright sunlight, accented by its polished, dark cherry wood double doors and large, stainless steel handles stretching nearly top to bottom. Atop the entrance sits a metallic amber snake, rearing up and curling around the outline of a slender arm holding a crystal glass, jaws agape and fangs bearing as if ready to strike. It’s all people would need in order to know the name of this establishment.

It’s currently closed; opening hours start once the sun begins to set. So you flounder a bit, not knowing whether you should hang around at a cafe until you have to meet Jungkook or head home. Either way, you know you’re going to fail at any attempts of trying to be prepared for whatever Jungkook is going to say. Perhaps its with that in mind that you choose to go home – if you’re going to be stewing in your anticipation and nerves, you might as well do it in the comforts of your own room.

Your stewing consisted a lot of breathing exercises, fiddling around things on your desk and shelves, standing in one place waiting for a command like a Sim, and pacing. Lots of pacing. You tried stress eating but realize you have no appetite for anything in such a state, a mild inconvenience you know will come back to haunt you later as dinner quickly comes and goes without you so much as consuming a single bite of anything.

As soon as the clock hits half past eleven, you jump on the opportunity to head out, no longer able to wait. You fire off a hasty text to Jaehee the same time you’re speeding to get your shoes on and you’re out the door in record timing. You’re breathless by the time you arrive, breaking out into a half-sprint in your haste. Catching your breath, your eyes take in the way the exterior of the lounge has been illuminated by the little well lights that beam upwards along the walls with a golden glow, now that the skies has darkened. The snake as well has been lit up with its own spotlight, giving it a menacing look as it seems to bore down on you, daring you to enter its domain.

You swallow thickly, squaring your shoulders and with an exhale, mutter to yourself, “Okay, let’s do this.”

Pulling open the doors, you’re greeted by a dimly lit waiting area; black marble floor, an upholstered seating bench on one side and a hostess desk perpendicular to it. Behind the desk was a beautiful dark stone and granite wall fountain, the water cascading down in a steady stream, shimmering against the rough edges as its lit by spotlights lining along the bottom and top and giving off an almost rippling effect. Fixed to the surface were brass vines that crawled from either side, intertwined amongst them were two large snakes that seem to undulate from where they are stuck to, their bodies subtly lifting higher in some places, one head tilted outwards more than the other, as if to give the illusion that they were alive and at any moment, would slither off the wall they were on.

You stand awkwardly, not sure how to approach the elegant looking hostess; a tall woman dressed sharply in an all black suit with hair tied up in a high ponytail, face painted immaculately with well-blended eyeshadows, complimentary lip colour and crisp liner. But you need to if you want to get into the lounge. You’re made painfully aware of how out of place you must look, no where near looking like the type of person to be visiting places like this and the fact makes you freeze up a little.

God, why did Jungkook have to pick a place that screams in your face that you’re poor? Why can’t he just meet you at a cafe or – ?!

“Hello miss? Can I help you with something?”

Your loathing inner ranting is interrupted by the woman behind the desk, who peers at you questioningly, long lashes fluttering as she blinks.

“Uhh…” You stutter, shifting nervously and hugging your bag closer to you in an attempt to comfort yourself before meekly replying, “I’m uhh – here to meet with someone…?”

“Oh,” She sounds surprised and you’re not offended by it. The woman begins to tap on the tablet she’s holding. “Do you a have a name for the reservation?”

You feel like your going to choke on air, mouth opening and closing like a fish as you scramble for an answer until –

“Don’t worry about it, Xenia. This one’s with me.” You jump at the sudden feeling of a large hand clamping down over one of your shoulder and the sound of a timbre voice above you. Whipping your head up, your face contorts into a scowl at seeing none other than Jungkook who, upon feeling your heated gaze on him, shoots you a side-eyed, shit-eating smirk, thick wavy bangs falling over one eye and giving him a wolfish appeal.

Immediately, memories of his little stunt with your mirror resurface and you hold up an accusing finger, scowl deepening further. “You – !!”

Xenia, the pretty hostess, recovers quickly, interrupting you as she smiles and holds out a hand towards the direction of the short hallway that must lead off to the actual lounge.

“Please, go right ahead then. Would you like me to have the usual ready for you?”

“Yes, please and thank you.” Jungkook waves casually, then you feel him nudge you forward and you have no choice but to go. He leads you to round the corner and you finally get to see that the lounge is just like the rest of the building; all dark colours, dimly lit and refined with a luxurious elegance that you’re both in awe and intimidated by.

Around the perimeters of the large room, there are alcoves with black leather sofas, decorated with lavish throw pillows and low tables, each booth separated by corinthian style columns outlined in gold that matches the designs running along the ceiling moulding while much of the middle space is taken up by velvet ornate chairs gathered around tables with tall cylindrical lamps emitting a soft warm glow to serve as lights. There wasn’t much in terms of decor, other than the sleek black grand piano situated in the farthest corner of the room, currently empty with no pianist.

You don’t see many people here, only a few couples interspersed in some of the booths and chairs and the occasional individuals having a quiet drink to themselves. Despite the abundant of open tables, Jungkook doesn’t lead you to any of them, instead directs you to the only other place of sitting which was a long bar taking up most of one side. He takes a seat in one of the bar stool and the bartender wordlessly places down two cozier, crystal glasses and a bottle onto the brown marble counter in front of him, the liquid inside a deep russet colour, before leaving.

“Are you going to keep standing there or are you gonna come sit?” Jungkook gestures to the empty seat beside him. His voice snaps you from your momentary gaping and you kiss your teeth in frustration, annoyed that you keep getting distracted.

“You have some explaining to do. What the hell were you thinking when you decided to vandalize my mirror like that?!” You hiss as you take your seat carefully, acutely self-conscious of not wanting to draw any attention to your presence here – silly considering there’s hardly anyone here.

Still, this is such a new place for you that you can’t help feeling like you’re in over your head being here. Sure you’ve been to a few bars and pubs but the places you go to don’t have mini crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and their liquor selection is equivalent to what you find in your local liquor and beer store; you don’t think you recognize any of the bottles lining the vast glass shelf in front of you.

Jungkook ignores you by choosing to down his glass in one shot and lets out a loud noise of satisfaction, smacking his lips.

“That’s some good shit.” He seems to say so more to himself.

“Jungkook.” You say with warning. The patience you would have had to humour him tonight was long gone, spent on the time waiting to hear any news from him.

“Don’t be so upset, I didn’t have any way to contact you. Plus, you were out with your friend so I highly doubt you would appreciate me just waltzing up to you with her there.” He pushes the extra glass of liquor towards you. “Also would be too suspicious because I don’t think you’re someone who knows that many good-looking people.”

Glaring, you push the glass back stubbornly, crossing your arm. “If you think I’m here to drink with you, then you’re wrong in inviting me out.”

The demon lets out a long breath, flipping his hair. “So serious….” You hear him mutter flippantly before he addresses you again. “Fine, fine…” He takes the bottle and pops the cork off, filling his glass generously. “It took a while, only because his signature aura was so convoluted given the state he’s in. So I lost his trail a couple of times.”

“But you found him right?” It comes out in one rushed breath. You’re leaning expectantly towards him and the pressure of your gaze is so heavy that it makes Jungkook shift a little. He clears his throat, taking a sip from his drink again and then goes digging into his pocket. From it, he produces a folded slip of paper, holding it between two fingers to show you before sliding it across the smooth marble towards your direction.

“Lucky you, he didn’t stray very far – turns out he’s got a place not far from here; one of those fancy new penthouse apartments.” You hear him scoffing in bemusement, “He can be on his death bed and the bastard still won’t let go of his expensive taste.”

The slip reveals an address when you unfold it, messily scrawled in blue ink. You stare at it, not believing that the whereabouts of Jimin is now sitting in the palm of your hand. It makes seeing him tangible again instead of the hopeful prayer you’ve been clinging onto for the past days. For once, you feel confident that you have a fighting chance now.

“….Thank you.” You whisper to Jungkook, clutching at the piece of paper, afraid that it would vanish at any moment. “You have no idea how much this means to me, I really owe you with this one.”

The sincerity and reverence in your voice catches Jungkook off guard, so much so that he doesn’t know what to do with himself for a short second, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck as he avoids meeting your eyes. He settles to grab a hold of his glass.

“Yeah, well you better 'cus I had my work cut out for me.” He mumbles around the rim before taking a hearty sip. You bite down a small smile, catching a glimpse of redness tinging the tips of his ears, made more noticeable thanks to having his hair pulled up into a bun. After swallowing his drink, Jungkook speaks up, shifting the topic back to you as he asks, “So what’s your plan?”

“I’m going to confront him.” You reply assertively.

“Like, right now?”

“Well, yes. At this point, I’m done waiting.”

The demon barks out a laugh, head thrown back at your sheer determination. He nods along, agreeing with you as he gestures to your still untouched glass.

“Then drink up poppet, you’re probably gonna need the extra boost.”

You eye the glass of expensive whiskey uncertainly, having wanted to keep a clear head when you see Jimin in order to get across everything you have pent up inside you but at the same time, you’re shaking with so much anxiety that you can barely think, let alone hope to articulate your feelings properly.

Maybe just a sip or two, you decide, reaching out to take the glass which seems to satisfy Jungkook. He holds his up in cheers, a playful smirk playing on his lips.

“To love, which conquers all.”

The groan slips out loudly and you bury your face in your hands, embarrassment taking over every part of your being. “Oh my God no….”

Jungkook’s cackling doesn’t help, much too deafening in the quiet atmosphere of the lounge that you just want to leave as soon as possible. You get in three sips before you can’t take the burning anymore and promptly ask for a glass of water.

Though it was just three sips, you feel the liquor coursing through your body, warming your veins with the liquid courage you need as you watch the numbers climb on the elevator. After making a quick exit from the lounge, Jungkook had so graciously offered to walk you to the high-rise apartment, getting you past security with ease (must be a demon charm thing) and leaving you at the mirrored elevators.

“As much as I would love to see you drag him through the dirt, it’s never a good idea to be caught in the crossfire of a lover’s quarrel.”

He’d said before walking off, throwing you a two fingered salute over his shoulder.

And now here you are, alone and with sweaty palms as the elevator finally chimes, letting you know that you’ve reached your destination; PH58.

You step out into the hallway, peering around and taking in the deep mahogany walls that perfectly accents the white marble floors and neutral beige and brown decor, giving a very chic, modern look. There are only two doors located on either ends of the hallway, both the same deep wooden colour as the hallway – the one you’re looking for is to the farthest left; PH58A.

Your heart is racing as your eyes lock onto the gold plated number and you feel like you had to force your legs to move, steps heavy the closer you get. You can’t believe this is it, after so much chasing and wondering, the person you’ve been looking for all this time is just behind this door.You close your eyes, steeling your nerves, then raising your fist, you give three firm raps.

You wait with baited breath.

But after a minute and a half, the door remains unopened.

You try again, and wait once more.

….

Yet still, nothing.

Brows furrowed, you begin to question whether or not this was the right address but a quick glance at the slip of paper Jungkook handed to you proves that you are. Was he out at the moment? You take out your phone and dial his number, pressing your ear close to the door and listen. It’s a long shot but you’re willing to try anything at this point.

It rings once on your end, then twice…

And that’s when you hear it, the unmistakeable rumble of a phone set onto a table. The buzzing lasts for a short second, however, it’s all that’s needed to have you straighten up with a renewed zeal.

“I know you’re in there.” You say loud and clear, not caring if you might potentially disturb the only other tenant in the vicinity. “So there’s no point in hiding from me anymore because I know everything.”

Silence.

It rings louder than your words and slowly, your temper flares to life, rearing its ugly head.

“Listen, I don’t care what you were thinking, I deserve an explanation in all of this from you and if you’re just going to be a… a self-sacrificing jerk about this! Then – !” Your voice steadily grows louder, all sense of maintaining some semblance of level-headedness thrown out the window and pushed to the brink of your wit’s end, you shout mindlessly, “I’m never talking to you again!”

The door suddenly snaps open and you nearly choke on the gasp the rushes out, startled. Your eyes dart to the figure standing in between the gap and immediately they widen upon seeing who it is.

Jimin’s shock mirrors your own, obsidian eyes boring into you as if not believing you were there standing in front of him either and for a moment you get lost taking each other in.

He is still breathtaking in every sense; dark raven locks swept off his forehead, slightly damp as if he had just showered, the ends of his fringes grazing delicately over his eyes – longer than what you had remembered. He’s dressed in a simple white t-shirt that’s distractingly thin with the neckline dipping so dangerously low that you can’t help but let your eyes trace over the smooth expanse of his clavicle and sternum exposed to you as well as black jeans that never fail to hug his thighs in all the right places with cuts just above the knees, revealing more skin than you can handle right now.

But as you drag your eyes away and to his face, you notice the pallor of his skin has significantly lost its glow, the paleness turning his flawless complexion lifeless, almost cold. Dead. The ashen bruises under his eyes are more noticeable now and the more you look, the more you’re convinced that he might’ve lost weight too; his face slimmer and jawline more prominent to you. An ache blooms in your chest then, muting the resentment briefly.

He looks exhausted, more than you’ve ever seen him before.

And your heart is breaking seeing him like this.

“Cherub…” Jimin breathes in disbelief, the tiredness reflecting even in his voice. “How…”

Like a spell being broken, you break from the trance that’s taken over you and you surge forward.

“You – !”

Caught off guard, Jimin steps back into the foyer of his apartment but you follow after him with a fierceness, driven by the storm of emotion tearing through you right now.

“You fucking asshole!” You continue to lash out, hands flying at him and you land a push that forces him back again. You’re relentless in your pursuit, hate that you’re reduced to pushing and shoving because the words come out in broken pieces, barely formulated enough express the fraction of the hurt you feel because of him. He catches your wrists as you go in for another hit.

“Y/N – ”

You rip away from his grasp easily, flinging your bag to the ground in the process but that’s the least of your concerns as your eyes are trained on him.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?!” You shout, shoulders heaving. “Were you ever going to tell me truth?!”

“Y/N, what are you – ” Jimin struggles, confused at having not expected you to find him.

“Were you ever going to tell me that you’re trying to become a guardian angel?!”

He freezes, like a deer caught in the headlights but as your words finally sink in, his eyes slip shut and he brings a hand to run through his hair, sighing.

“Was it Jungkook?”

“Does it matter?” You spit back. “What matters is that you hid this from me!”

“I was going to tell you once I transitioned.”

“And what if you didn’t?!”

“Wow, I love the amount of faith you have in me….”

“That’s not what this is about!” You yell, body heating up and trembling from the intensity, “Do you not see yourself?! How can you risk your life doing this and not tell me anything?!”

“And performing a demon summoning ritual isn’t putting your life at risk?” He argues with a hard gaze. “If I hadn’t found you on time, you would’ve been killed!”

“I wouldn’t have done it if you had just told me what the fuck was going on!” You snap back just as quick.

“I was trying to protect you!” He finally confesses, voice rising to match yours in volume, his own distress peaking. “I wasn’t going to risk anything more than I need to. If I have to put my life on the line in order to guarantee your safety then I don’t care.”

“BUT I DO!”

Your words resonate loudly throughout the room, reaching to a pitch that has it ringing in your own ears. It felt like time itself had come to a stand still with the way Jimin is frozen in stunned silence. You’ve never been one to scream during a confrontation, hadn’t counted yourself as the type but you suppose this is your first time being pushed to the extremes of your limit. When neither of you speak, you take in a ragged breath.

“Did you think I wasn’t going to notice that something was wrong?” You ask, voice hoarse and breaking from the emotional and physical stress. “That I was going to sit around and do nothing?”

Jimin swallows thickly, suddenly unable to meet your eyes and you see his jaw tick. After a pause, he admits quietly. “….I can’t protect you, Y/N. Not the way an angel can because demons aren’t meant for it – I’d only end up hurting you if I try.”

“Hurting me?” You scoff at the audacity. “You thought avoiding me, ignoring my calls and texts with no explanation wasn’t going to hurt me? You didn’t think that if you – ” You choke, and you had to fight to get the next few words out. “If you died because of me, I wouldn’t be hurt?”

He says nothing in response, can’t hope to because any words die on his tongue at the sight of you. He thinks this is the second time he’s seen you like this – distraught with glassy eyes wet with unshed tears – the first being that night when he had showed up bleeding on your bedroom floor. It makes him want to reach out, to hold you and brush away those tears before they fall but the guilt keeps him where he is, away from you.

Yet despite how close you are to breaking, there’s a quiet determination that’s ignited in you and it’s what dares you to take a step closer to him.

You’re not going to run. Not from this, not from him.

“You might look like Jimin, might sound like him and I might’ve watched hundreds of videos of him…..But I don’t know him….” You say, shaking your head. “I don’t know Jimin.” And your next words you say with a softness so tender that it’s heartbreaking to hear. “But I know you.”

The way you’re so sure of every step you’re taking makes him withdraw back. His mind is at war with itself; he knows he shouldn’t let you come this close, afraid of what he might end up doing when he feels what little self-control he has left slipping away, like sand between his fingers. It was so much easier with you hitting and screaming at him.

Jimin feels the sofa hit the back of his thighs. You keep going.

“I know you won’t hurt me without meaning to.”

“Y/N…Don’t –”

It’s a feeble attempt; he knows it’s no use, not when there was no meaning put behind those words. He can smell you now, your scent overwhelming and tempting, and it further empowers his traitorous heart. When he swallows, he swears he can taste you.

He’s losing focus, his senses being filled with nothing but you.

“If you think you can scare me by saying that, you’re wrong.”

You tentatively reach out, waiting to see if he’ll turn you away but all he does is watch you entranced, to see what you’ll do next. Gently, you place your palm against his cheek.

Jimin inhales sharply at the touch, melting at the warmth against his chilled, clammy skin. He can feel himself come alive again, the dull constant ache of his body soothed for the first time, and his eyes flutter shut. He looks so serene this way and your heart squeezes, wanting to offer more solace. To let him know that he has you. You lean in until your foreheads touch and you feel the light caress of his breath brush against your cheeks and lashes.

“So I don’t need you to be a guardian angel. All I need is for you to stay beside me just as you are, like you always have.”

Muted crimson eyes are suddenly peering at you through a half-lidded gaze, the colour dulled but they bore into you intensely. There’s a flurry of emotions flitting through them as they flicker over your face, searching for any traces of hesitation yet finding none. Your willingness astounds him, and he’s almost afraid that it’s all a delusion conjured up from his carnal desires. But you mean to prove him wrong the moment you catch his eyes lingering on your lips.

The first brush was as light as a butterfly’s wing, chaste and soft, but it’s enough to subdue him completely, bring him to his knees and have him craving you like a starved man in the middle of a dessert. The moment seems to last too shortly for him. Even when you barely part away, Jimin mourns at the lost of contact.

“Stay with me?” You whisper.

He answers by closing the gap between you again, pressing firmly this time and sealing the words against your lips. You sigh out and he swallows the sweet sound, finally getting to savour the taste of you. Like taking the first bite of the forbidden fruit, the newfound hunger takes over, consuming him.

And he gives into the lust, leaving him wanting more.

#guardian demon!jimin #jimin x reader #jimin x you #jimin reader insert #jimin fanfic #jimin fic #jimin scenario #jimin scenarios #jimin fanfics #bts supernatural au #jimin fics #jimin fluff #bts jimin fanfic #bts jimin imagines #jimin imagines #jimin x mc

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closer-stars · 4 years ago

Text

Gut Feeling (4)

Member: San Genre: Angst???? Just a lot of discomfort and tension tbh Word Count: 12k (what the actual--) Requested: Yes Content: Like what I said, lots of discomfort in this. Anyways yay tension. Food mention bec people need to eat. Idol life is messy as heck. :flashes a peace sign through the stress: Also roughly around last few weeks of inception going thanxx promotions lmao Note: One month later, Part 4 is here. Apologies for the late delivery, my mental health really took a dive with everything happening lately. Things are kind of looking up but not entirely. Also this idea really marinated in my head that’s why it’s so long... So much you could do with this prompt tbh. TY to @hwaberrykiwi @yeocult @yeochikin and @barsformars for dealing with out of the blue messages regarding this fic when I was writing-- disregarding the weeks long silence from me.... hahah ily i’ll link the previous parts after a day just so this could appear in the tags lol

Part 3

The past few days have been quiet. Nothing came up between the two of you since that night. Nothing came up but things have quieted down. You can only suppose that it’s because of how exhausting it has been. At least that’s what you think when you try to rationalize it to the strained schedules getting to him now. That’s the only way you’ve been able to keep yourself together in front of everyone, by rationalizing everything that feels off with exhaustion.

It works to a degree. The makeup covers up the lack of sleep beneath their eyes but it can’t add to the needed sparkle in their eyes. That’s where the ring lights come in. Everything physical can be fixed with makeup and lighting, that’s what the industry does. But emotional? That’s another thing altogether.

Things were technically smooth sailing despite the chaos. You still go home late, just not for the usual reasons. You still go home late when the members stay late in the studio but that isn’t often at this point. They’re still human, they need rest. On the other hand, Hongjoong still goes to the studio though not to the point where Seonghwa has to pester him to go home. You bring Hongjoong home often now. During this leg of promotions, it’s Yoon who brings them to the first half of their schedules, Bae brings them to the second half-- it’s not easy waking up at 4am just to bring eight boys to their schedules. You’re in charge when it comes to the late night schedules. At least this way, you don’t have to talk to them since they’re too worn from the day’s activities.

Hongjoong sits on the passenger seat next to you, busy eating the dinner you had bought for him. The ride home is quiet, just him munching on his much needed meal and the ice cubes in your respective drinks.

“Manager-nim?” He speaks up carefully.

You hum in response, still not tearing your eyes away from the road.

“Has San been okay?”

That catches you off guard for a moment. “As far as I know, yes? Did something happen?” Something that didn’t revolve around _that_.

He sips on his coffee for a moment, mulling over your words. “He’s just been in his head more often nowadays, I thought he might have talked to you about what’s on his mind.” He reasons softly against the lid of his cup. Now he’s not the type to force his members to talk to him about their issues, they do have a day where they gather and talk about concerns from the past week and the upcoming week. Despite that, there are some worries that can’t wait for the weekly session.

You hum in thought. That’s not good. “He hasn’t told me anything.” You return. How can he? He’s often at the farthest end of the car, slumped over catching up on rest. “Is there something I need to be aware of, Hongjoong?”

Your words cause him to laugh thoughtfully. “You’d think because I’m the leader, I’d know what’s on their minds…” He starts. “I don’t know what’s on his mind, much less know what could have happened. If he does tell you something that I might need to know...” He trails off, but you understand where he’s trying to get.

“I know.” You return gently. You had your doubts that he’d talk about it, especially to you. “Don’t push yourself too hard on it regardless. Though, I do think he talks to Seonghwa or Wooyoung about these kinds of stuff doesn’t he?”

“That’s true.” You can tell that the air in the car has eased a little and with that the rest of the drive has turned quiet.

Upon arriving home, Hongjoong slides off his seat, rearranging his things. Considering the two of you lived in the same building, it was still the two of you on the way up. Perhaps San learned this habit from his hyungs?

Now that you think of it, you wonder how San has been. You know how tired he is when there’s no cameras around but still he gives so much for the team.

“Manager-nim?” He says carefully while the two of you wait for the elevator to bring you to your designated floors. You respond with a soft hum. “If the boys start to act up, please tell me. I know you’re the manager but sometimes they get too much to handle, I can keep them in line too.” His words cause the corner of your lips to quirk upwards, touched by his worry.

“It’s okay, Hongjoong. I can still handle you boys.” You tease lightly as you shake off his concern lightly. When the elevator alerts the two of you that you had arrived at his floor, that’s when he realizes that you didn’t press your floor number.

“Hey--!” It’s moments like this that remind you that they’re the youngest in their families. At his complaint, you shoo him off.

“Come on, Hongjoong. You need your rest more than I do.” You wave him off, chuckling at his shocked expression. Maybe being someone who works behind the scenes had its perks even outside the work environment. He pouts at you, unable to argue and he bids you good night, thanking you for the safe trip.

--------

He arrives at the dorm, which was mostly peaceful save for the frantic clicking of the mouse and keyboard tapping. At least there wasn’t much yelling but he didn’t need to peek into their rooms to know that the guys were playing an intense League match. When he gets to his room, he’s greeted by Seonghwa doing his usual home training. At least he had a shirt on this time.

“I thought today was your rest day.” He said as he hangs his bag on the corner of his bed.

The other, still in the middle of a plank, manages to rasp out. “Habits. Hold on.”

Hongjoong lets him finish his set as he changes into something more fitting for sleep. From the way his hair sticks to his skin, Hongjoong could only guess that this was probably his last set for the night. “Go shower first stinky. We can talk after.”

Seonghwa looks at his roommate in a mix of fake insult and annoyance. “Say that to me after you do your laundry.”

He looks at his laundry that seems to agree with Seonghwa. He carries the basket to their washing machine. “Now go stinky.” He repeats much to the other’s dismay, already loading it into the machine.

After Seonghwa has done his usual lengthy shower-- seriously what does he even do? The two fill the other on how the past few hours went. Particularly, the talks with San and you.

Seonghwa starts it as he dries his hair with his towel. “San didn’t really say much. He was pretty vague about it, something about feelings and something about wanting a re-do.” It’s usually like that at the start for San, he noticed. Always at a loss for words until he lets himself be alone. Regardless, if there’s something he and Hongjoong have, it’s the sixth sense when it comes to the members.

The leader hums in response. It was a bit of an expected move from the younger one to keep to himself, he does see a little of himself in that kid. He wasn’t that successful in his conversation with you either. “Yeah, they didn’t really say anything with me either.” He does recount to the best of his memory the entire conversation.

The two of them sit in silence, both concerned over how this could affect the group. Seonghwa then sits up, eyes shining with alarm. “I think he confessed to them.”

Hongjoong stares at him, dumbfounded by how he reached that conclusion until he remembers how the members often tease him when you’re not around-- he didn’t really join in on it. How he seems to show off a little more whenever you’re around. It’s to the point he even waits for you after you park the car, none of them even do that. He buries his face in his hands, he knows how San takes rejection so harshly. It’s one of the reasons that propelled that boy to dance like his life depended on it. “And I’m guessing, they didn’t accept the confession.”

The words make the oldest wince. “Choi San….” Seonghwa groans, dropping his body onto his bed. The two of them realize that there’s a situation on hand and they’re not really sure if the other boys know. Some of them could, some of them might not. “We should probably ask Yunho or Wooyoung if he has said anything in the near future.”

Hongjoong nods at the suggestion, suddenly too exhausted to say anything else. “Let’s just get some sleep for now. We still have one more leg of Inception promotions this coming week.”

Seonghwa switches the lights off, knowing full well that once Hongjoong’s in bed, there’s no getting him out of it unless it’s the next day. “Sleep well stinky.”

“Whatever.”

-------- The Inception promotions end without a hitch… well as smoothly as it can. Considering that there’s now a quiet lull in between the promotions, the boys have been using the time to clean the choreography and eat. It’s not ATEEZ if there’s no food. You only entered the studio towards the end of their practice, slipping quietly to sit next to their stylist and Manager Bae as they fixed the last changes for their performances. The rest of the members are walking around the studio, breathing heavily after what was probably their nth run of their next promotions.

“You’re bringing them home?” You ask him as the stylists show you the plans for their clothes. You’ve seen some of these fits during the photoshoots and music video shoots but some of these were a first. You were sure the boys would look good in these. You take note of the changes, taking a few photos of the sets to transfer to your laptop.

He hums in affirmation, too busy keeping note of the changes they discussed while you were gone. You notice San’s the only one on the floor, everyone else already packing up their things.

“Are you going to stay late tonight?” You ask him, as he’s still on the floor, too exhausted to pull himself up.

“Probably not, I promised Yunho I’d play a few matches of League with him.” Silence falls on the two of you, either one unsure of how to continue the conversation, much less on how to end it. Why did you expect him to stay? For more, why did that make you feel a little heavy?

“Ah.” It was the only thing you could think of at that moment.

Your reply causes a pit in his stomach to sink. Without thinking, he returns the question for the sake of conversation, even though there was no point in it. He doesn’t know why he still wants to talk to you, knowing that talking to you only puts more strain to him. “Are you?”

At his question, you nod. A flash of confusion on your eyes that are immediately pushed aside for the sake of professionalism. “Yeah, I have to assist in the deals with the externals team. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You don’t give him another word, opting to end the conversation with a polite bow before making your way to the office. It wasn’t the whole truth, nor was it a whole lie. Regardless, you tear your eyes away from him.

Silence trails behind you and keeps San company for the next few moments. He winces to himself, not liking how things are going between the two of you. He pulls himself up when Yunho calls for him.

On the way out, you’re greeted by Seonghwa’s figure waiting for the rest of the boys. “Oh, hello Seonghwa.” You say out of surprise. “Not grabbing something to drink from 7/11?”

His eyebrows raise, not expecting someone to greet him at this time of the night. “Manager-nim!” He greets you with a tired smile. “Are you going home soon?” He asks, standing a little straighter this time. “And, I think we have enough drinks at home…” he mumbles though it doesn’t sound that convincing to you.

His question makes you smile a bit, but you shake your head at his question. “Unfortunately no. I have to do additional work to do with the externals.”

His eyes widen at your words. “Did we get more offers?”

His words make you mull over your thoughts. You know of one offer that’s already confirmed but you doubt they’ve been informed. “Let’s just say, you’re really staying true to the whole Back to Zero hint you’ve pulled during your Crescent Party.” You say with a chuckle.

He doesn’t get enough time to understand the hint you give him-- a taste of their own medicine towards ATINYs when they ask for hints. Wooyoung’s already calling him annoying nicknames to get him moving and you chuckle at the pained expression on his features. “Go home, Seonghwa. Don’t want Wooyoung to annoy you more. You’ll know this once the deals are finalized.” You bid him goodbye, sparing the boys a wave before retreating to your office.

--------

It’s already the middle of the second leg of promotions and you’re already at your last leg of energy. You probably need around two to three days to recover properly, at this rate. For now, you try to continue forward, the finish line is oh so near. You slip into the studio, not surprised to see the lights still on, but surprised to still hear ATEEZ at this hour. It’s a familiar sight in front of you: eight tired boys on the floor or slumped against the wall. Those with enough energy throw any apprehension out the window and change their tops in the studio.

“Are you staying late in the studio tonight?” You ask San as you check the time. The boys are already getting ready to head home, San on the other hand hasn’t moved an inch. He’s in his thoughts as he stares at his bag. Your question, though, brings him out of his head and he picks up himself up. It was a question out of habit, months of having done it over and over, it was still a challenge to curb such actions.

“Yeah. I need to clean my levels.” It only made sense that you’d bring home since you practically live under the same roof. Were you expecting him to say otherwise? Slightly. He doesn’t look at you but he makes his way to the computer again.

“San! You’re still staying?!” Yunho exclaims, he’s the last out the door to which San acts as if it was a normal thing.

He laughs at the shock on his member’s face. “Relax, I didn’t like my levels in the last run so I’m doing it again. Go ahead though, Manager-nim’s bringing me home.”

“Heyy, we all know that means you’re spending another three hours.” The taller returns with a whine.

You watch the two banter, a small hint of amusement quirking at your lips but you immediately squash that. You tip your head to quietly bring the attention back to what’s at hand. “Just tell me when you’re done, San. I’ll be at the office.” Without missing a beat, you excuse yourself out of the studio. Two pairs of eyes following your retreating figure until you disappear from their sight.

Once you leave, Yunho looks back at the male with a raised brow. “San.”

The other makes a disgruntled sound at the tone of his voice. He knows what that means but he just can’t get himself to talk to you still. The taller male leaves him be and his shoulders fall once he’s left alone. No matter how many times he runs the choreography does he find himself satisfied with his performance. He can’t put his 100% into this when a part of him still lingers in thoughts of you. The song still plays on loop but he stops dancing for a moment, trying to bring himself into slowly going through each count to focus on what needs to be addressed. It goes well for the most part but in moments where he needs to catch his breath, to ease his parched throat, his mind stumbles to you. He looks at the clock on the computer screen.

At least he didn’t hit the three hour mark that Yunho betted on.

He changes into something less uncomfortable than a sweaty shirt before stepping out of the now dark studio in search of you. He sees the office not too far from where he is; he takes a deep breath, one that he associates with exhaustion rather than apprehension as he walks to where you said you’d be.

He peeks into the office, seeing you with your fingers threaded to your hair as you write and pause for a moment to shift to your laptop. He stays there for a moment, watching you work in your own zone. He watches you work from time to time, but rarely does he see you scowl at your work. The way your eyebrows furrow at what’s in front of you makes him ponder over what could be giving you a hard time. Maybe he should’ve asked you about yourself as well instead of having your interactions be centered around him. You’ve had a few talks with him though mostly centered around his experience and you occasionally have to reign him in when he’s too caught in his emotions. He wonders if this is why you fell for Seonghwa. He shakes his head to shoo these thoughts before he starts looking like a stalker outside the office, so he knocks twice to get your attention. “Hey,” he trails off, clearing his throat. “Are you ready?” He asks softly, standing awkwardly by the door once you look at him.

You look at the clock. It hasn’t been three hours, well it’s nearly three hours but not quite. “You finished early. Give me ten minutes.” You note as you pack all your things.

He stays in his spot, eyes roaming the room, seeing small things that differentiate your space from the others. You had small post-its color coded over some sheets of paper that were unreadable from his spot, typical work essentials along with a small corgi plush the size of his palm resting next to a few pens. The small thing makes him smile for a moment, once he sees that you’re ready to get moving, it disappears. He lets you lead the way to the car, popping his earphones in for the long ride home.

It’s quiet for the entire ride home, except for the radio playing whatever the public has been into. You don’t look over at San to know that he has his earphones in, neither of you try to start a conversation. Maybe it was better that way anyways.

Once you parked the car, you shake his shoulder gently to wake him up. “We’re here.” He wakes up almost immediately unlike the past times where he makes it near impossible to wake him up. He raises his head, slightly disoriented with the scattered lights in the parking lot, he looks to the driver’s seat and you’re already out of the car. He hops out of the car, running his hand through his hair as he tries to wake himself up. The car beeps and you pull at the door to make sure it’s locked. Once satisfied, you walk around and find him already by the elevator. This surprises you but at the same time were you expecting anything else?

You put on your earphones as well, as you wait for the elevator to arrive. As much as he wants to get on the elevator first, he wasn’t going to let you be on your own at this hour. The doors slide open and the two of you get on, staying on two opposite ends. Your finger presses his floor, out of habit, then you quickly follow it with your floor number. The cool metal shows a hazy image of your reflection, nonetheless you take the chance to look at yourself. Even against this material, your exhaustion is clear. Your eyes linger to the blurry image of San through the walls and his slumped figure as he looks at his phone. Thoughts of how to mend the relationship bubble in your consciousness only to be popped by the elevator arriving at your floor. “Good night.” You say, out of respect.

“Good night.” He returns under his breath, and he waits for the doors to close behind you before he lets out the breath he’s been holding. Now that it’s just him, he lets out a long frustrated groan. Why couldn’t he get himself to talk to you? To clear things out? He never gave you the chance to explain yourself or himself. He just took your lack of answer as a no and admitted defeat. Would trying to get you and Seonghwa together mend his damn heart? He’s also selfish. He wants you. He doesn’t want to lose to his hyung but Seonghwa is also his hyung. He’s someone he respects and loves like an actual brother. Another turmoil in his head as he watches the number on the screen reach his floor.

He arrives at his room, greeted by the sight of Yunho playing League without him. “Damn, look at you. You don’t need me to hard carry you through a match.” San muses as he tosses his bag somewhere in the room. He doesn’t know if Yunho even heard him over the constant comments that the game makes over each kill. Regardless, he needs a shower.

---------

He comes back from his shower and Yunho’s headset rests on his shoulders, scrolling through the internet mindlessly. “Did you get to talk to them?” Yunho asks, his eyes haven’t left the screen-- probably watching someone’s gameplay.

San lets out a disgruntled sound as he dries his hair. “I didn’t get to, they had their earphones on.” Even to him, this explanation sounds weak.

Yunho pauses the video then looks at the male, clearly not buying his words. “San.”

“I’m serious.” San interjects, his face crumpling in discomfort. “Even in the hours of my practice, they were in the office the entire time.”

“You know, if you just said you weren’t ready to talk to them, that works too.” Leave it to Yunho to cut to the chase.

His bottom lip juts out at such a strong statement from his peer. “T-that’s one reason too…” He mumbles as he climbs onto his bed, defeated by how quick it was for Yunho to see through him.

The other male stays on his seat, leaning against the backrest as he watches the other. “There’s no rush, honestly but bro, you really need to talk to them soon. Your own good is for the good of the group too.”

His words make the younger look at him weirdly. He’s aware of how his heart is on his sleeve since birth but his words make him wonder just how evident his heart is. The look on his face makes Yunho laugh softly, as much as San does his best to look after everyone, Yunho still had the upper hand of being an actual older brother. It felt like he was talking to his younger brother with how confused San was. “It was kind of obvious that you couldn’t put yourself into the practice earlier San. None of us just commented on it because we know you.”

San falls onto his pillow, half his face covered by the soft material as he shoots rainclouds at the male who is clearly unaffected by his attitude. How can he? Yunho’s right. It’s obvious when he isn’t putting his heart into it. It’s obvious when he’s got something in his mind while he practices or performs. He didn’t want to affect the boys with his personal issues. While he isn’t ready to talk to you, he needs to find a way to separate his personal life with his work life.

His roommate looks at the bothered male with a sympathetic smile. “Let’s figure this out some other time, it’s 3AM we need sleep.” He shuts off his monitor, already making his way to the lights. In a few days time, their THANXX promotions would start. San’s going to need to separate his emotions soon. Maybe those acting classes would actually help.

--------

It’s D-2 before THANXX promotions and the staff had made sure the boys were eating right. You were grateful for the existence of yogurt and fruits, otherwise having the boys eat their vegetables would be a headache. They’ve been eating enough while making sure to leave room for their rehearsals. Today’s the last day of practicing in their outfits for the future stages. Thankfully, the clothes for the first stage were already ready.

You and the rest of the staff had marked the studio with colored tape, while those who were in charge of production already rehearsed how the cameras would move. Truth be told, you haven’t kept up with the news but with how the production team was moving, you could only assume that the cases were rising then dropping. The boys do one run in their stage outfits with little to no issues-- save for San having to pin his pants. Once that was all over, the boys talked with the stylists for any minor changes and reviews for this set while you and the others removed the tape from the flooring.

The same thing happens for the rest of the night: managers eating ahead, switching around to keep an eye on their rehearsals, the boys eating later on then back dancing and singing. Perfectionists but it is expected, this song was more in their comfort zone after all. You’re the last in the office again, Manager Bae bringing them home this time. Brand deals were your worst enemy but they were a high risk, high reward if done right.

You peek into the studio, seeing the boys already packing up. Manager Bae is off to the side stretching his back after hours of moving around. You toss the keys to him to which he catches with grace, much to the group’s entertainment.

San catches your eye and you glance over at him. Something in you hardens but you try to keep it subtle. “Heading home early?”

He’s caught off guard by the question. “Y-yeah, I’m heading home with them tonight. You don’t have to wait for me.” He answers after recovering his composure. He shifts his face to your direction but you don’t meet his eyes. Silence falls over the two of you for a moment. With that, you nod at his words.

“Is that so? Then, get lots of rest tonight. I’ll see you guys in the morning.” With that, you tip your head to bid him goodbye, shuffling away from him and into your office. You don’t give him time to ask if you were going home as well.

His eyes follow your figure as you quickly leave the room and something in him causes him to let out a sigh. He doesn’t have the heart to stop you, wanting nothing but to relieve his stress with a match or two against Yunho. Hell, even just sleeping doesn’t sound like a bad idea. He lets out another sigh, shoulders dropping lower than usual before he steps out of the studio as well, greeted by the sight of his fellow members, bustling about by the elevator.

Sometimes being quick on your feet had its perks, for example, you slipped away from the boys before they could see you scurry away to your office. Once you had arrived, you let out the breath you’ve been holding in since you left the studio. Now that you don’t wait for San in the studio anymore, your schedule has gotten a lot freer than expected. While this should be a good thing, your body isn’t used to it and ends up restless. You sink into your chair, looking through your to-do list. You should be accustomed to rapid changes, but this was a change you had trouble getting used to. For months, you did your work in the studio, while San practiced his dancing and singing. It was to the point where you gave up using earphones to focus and let San perfect his technique until it became white noise to your ears. Now, the silence was deafening. Earphones are popped into your ears, putting your music on shuffle.

[ Manager Bae to Manager Chat ] Bringing the kids home today! You guys want anything on the way back?

You bring your phone up to your eyes, a frown on your lips as you think of what to reply.

[ You to Manager Chat ] Sweet Cream Cold Brew and chicken sandwich please? I’m staying in the office for overtime lol

[ Manager Bae to Manager Chat ] Call.

You look at the time. It’s 9PM. He won’t be back until 10 or 11 depending on the rush. Hell, you realized that it’s been a while since you managed to catch a breather in the office. You could barely keep your focus so you end up looking through your phone, doing the routine clean up for the sake of your phone memory.

For the sake of your sanity, for once, you don’t push yourself to work at least until your (late) dinner comes in. You decide to call your best friend, in need of an ear that would listen because shit your thoughts are just a jumbled mess now. Her phone rings on and on, until you reach the familiar beep of a call untouched. You try again but you receive the same flat note. You tap the red icon on your phone and opt to send them a message.

[ You to Jiwoo ] Need to talk to you about some personal stuff. Nothing life threatening, just super stressed.

You put your phone away and stare at your emails and paperwork. If you can’t write something up, at least you can organize something right? It’s mindless work until Manager Yoon comes back. Jiwoo replies after a while.

[ Jiwoo to You ] Good that you said it’s not life threatening. I just finished watching a zombie movie. I’m free Sunday night/Monday.

Her life choices barely faze you at this point.

[ You to Jiwoo ] Smart choice to watch a zombie movie at night. I’ll be free by like… past midnight?

[ Jiwoo to You ] I’ll buy the soju. Bring mixers and some food.

You break into a fit of giggles at her words. A serious heart-to-heart talk was always capped off with a chill drinking session at her place.

You continue to organize your files, moving some of the files to a hard drive, especially now that some of these files were for the duration of Inception promotion. As you go through your files, you’re greeted by various selfies from the boys, some expected from twenty something boys, some looking very much boyfriend-dol of them. Most of them coming from Seonghwa and San, though San beating the older by a few more. You remember how the conversations always went; San would always ask which one was better, you always doubted the legitimacy of your decisions as usually the social media staff were in charge of that. He would pester you still for which one was better until you chose something. Now that you look at them with the current situation in hand, things slowly made sense.

A heavy sigh slips through your tired lips as you watch the bar fill up, waiting for all these documents and photos to be in your hard drive. You know some of these photos were going to be needed for their birthday videos and other special events so it was best to not delete anything. Somehow your need to organize everything overpowers the small part in you that wants to process and understand everything that happened between you and San.

“I’m back!” Manager Bae declares much to your surprise. You jolt up in your seat, surprised by his sudden presence and you look at the time. 10:15PM.

“No traffic?” You ask and your eyes trail to the food in his hand. He catches how your eyes look at the bag of food instead of at him to which he laughs, like manager, like idol after all. The older male places your food on your table before he settles down by his space.

“Surprisingly none,” he starts, while you rummage through the bag for your sandwich first. “The boys fell asleep fast in the car too so things went smoother than expected.”

“They’ve been constantly on the move since September, haven’t they? It’s bound to catch up to them.” You say before taking a bite. With your free hand, you skim through your documents and emails. “After this round of promotions, they have a show with Kakao plus acting offers already. It’s almost still full speed ahead for them, still. You told the boys of the acting offers already didn’t you?”

“Yeah, Yunho and Jongho are the most excited for it. Expected since they’re the most vocal about wanting to venture into acting.” You could already picture the looks on their face when their wish came true and it brings a small smile to your face. It’s moments like that that makes you think your work is worth it. A few minutes pass as you get halfway through your sandwich and Manager Bae stands up again, ready to call it a day. “Are you still working overtime?” He asks as he glances at the time.

You take a sip of your coffee, feeling a little awake from the gradual caffeine fix. “Yeah, probably just two hours more. I just want to finish all of these deals and stuff.” He looks at you with a hint of concern but nods. You were a stubborn one, not wanting to stop when the finish line is so close.

“Don’t forget you got the car keys for tomorrow’s schedule.”

That makes you pause to do the math of your travel time plus sleep. You have enough time if you keep to your schedule. With that set, you flash him a reassuring grin. “Duly noted with thanks. Get some sleep already, you’ve been on your feet since early morning.” You say as you wave him goodbye. He laughs at your choice of words but lets it be. With that, you’re alone again. Alone with your thoughts and your work.

Maybe silence wasn’t the best way to deal with this.

---------

[ You to Jiwoo ] Fuck it. I’m gonna send you voice notes of everything that has happened. Cause I swear if I don’t get this out of my system, I might just lose it.

You look at the text you composed for a few moments, you’re in bed now, drying your still damp hair. You remove everything and write everything down in your notes app instead. There were things that were better mulled about first instead of being spoken about recklessly. The blank message box taunts you to say something but you don’t. Instead, you put your phone away and ready yourself for sleep.

---------

You wake up to your phone buzzing reminding you of the new day. The last you remember of your hazy dream was San. [dream dialogue?] You’re not sure if that was a good dream or not, details fade before you could make more sense of what it was. Regardless, it leaves a bad taste in your mouth about today.

[ You to ATEEZ ] I’ll wait for you boys at the parking lot. Be there by an hour latest.

[ Seonghwa to ATEEZ ] frodo_thumbs_up

With his reply, you trust that the rest of them would know of your order. You finally get out of bed, getting ready to start what could be another long day. Once you look presentable, you make sure you have everything you need for the day. As you make your way to the parking lot, you look through your messages, and you feel a little better knowing that all your drafted proposals have been approved and are just waiting for the green light from the partners. This also means you have to give the boys the rundown soon. You sent a message to the manager chat of the updates.

The doors open and one by one the members enter, causing the van to roar to life-- in this case, not the engine. The sudden influx of noise startles you, nearly dropping your phone in the process.

“Manager-nim!” whines Wooyoung, who was seated right behind your seat. “Why don’t you pick us up from the dorm anymore?”

You reach behind you to pat his head, or well whatever you can pat more of. “Wooyoung, you boys are already adults..” You reason lightly, trying to keep your tone light. Unfortunately, your head is anything but light. How exactly do you make sense of a dream where someone who has feelings for you appears in them? Especially a talent. You’ve heard stories, rare that they ended on a good note too.

Those words bring some sort of feeling in San. A bitterness that not even his performance insecurities could bring. He had his earphones in, not wanting to talk to anyone this early.

‘San’s not a morning person for the most part, just let him warm up on his own.’

Manager Hwang’s voice rings in your head and it’s the only thing that’s trying to reason with your uneasiness. Once you’ve appeased Wooyoung, you count the boys to make sure they’re all accounted for before driving them to the company.

The car mellows down into quiet murmurs between those who were awake and in between awake and slumber. It felt like everything was back to normal for the most part.

Things go by like normal, stylists who you haven’t seen due to schedule changes have decided to gush to you over the latest gossip that you missed out on. At least they were nice enough to gossip with you after styling the boys, otherwise that would’ve been a disaster.

“Yes, so they disregarded their contract and are dating a fan.” The tone gives you an odd impression.

“You make it sound like this isn’t the first time he’s done it.” You note, frowning at such idea entering your mind. It’s the look on the stylist’s face that tells you you’re correct.

He sighs. “I’ve worked with them for a number of years, their contract states they’re not supposed to date for at least two years after debut. This boy doesn’t even cover it up while doing his work. I’m not one to shame an idol for dating, I’m worried for those who have to cover up his trail and his members if he gets caught.”

Your blood runs cold at that. It sounds all too familiar for you. But you don’t show signs of your fear to the stylist, knowing better than to talk about issues of the heart with that at a time like this. That said, you opt to just frown and sigh at such actions. It’s hypocritical of you but you couldn’t get yourself to act any other way. “I hope he gets his act together.” You mumble.

“Who gets his act together?”

Everyone jumps at the sudden voice and heads turn to the direction. You stand up immediately after calming your racing heart. “Wooyoung! Don’t scare us like that!” While your tone carries no hint of malice or disappointment, it does carry a tone of someone who is used to his antics.

Your nagging causes him to snicker. “Sorry for scaring you.” He starts, while giving the other staff members an apologetic bow. “Who were you talking about?” Leave it Wooyoung to sniff out the sauce.

At his question, you shake your head, flicking his forehead in the process. “Nothing that concerns you, Wooyoung. You’re done with your hair and make up?” You shift the topic to something else, much to the relief of the staff and your heart.

“Yes~” God, it’s so difficult to stay mad at this boy. You watch him shuffle away to change into his performance clothes then shift your attention to the rest of the boys who were just catching up on a few minutes of sleep while waiting for their call time.

Today’s stage for them was going to be pre-recorded as they had another guesting at the time the music show will air. You wake up those who were still asleep when they had thirty minutes before their call time. “Guys, get ready. You’re going to be called to perform soon.” You say softly, not wanting to scare them. This somehow gets them on their feet quicker than expected, you look around then you spot the camera pointed at their direction. As a reflex, you immediately cover your face and you’re thankful that San managed to step in front of you, now joking about with Wooyoung as they warm up. You take the chance to slip away from the camera and you watch from a distance as they get ready, right on time for one of the production staff to usher them to the stage as they hand them their microphones.

Once they bid their goodbye to the camera and make their way off to the sides of the stage, a part of you falls into unease. Seasoned eyes look around the room, trying to spot for anything that the boys may have forgotten. ‘Mingi didn’t forget his gloves, same goes for Wooyoung. Did Seonghwa not wear his choker…?’ You ask yourself questions, all of which were answered as you look around the room and the tables. A part of you wants to assume this is just your brain drifting to that weird dream you had and for once, you hope that this logical side of you is right.

The monitor in the room has you watching how the boys do their rehearsals, two of which were to get used to the stage difference, the last being for the camera work. Once all that was done, alongside the makeup retouches, they were ready for the final run. It’s not a surprise that the last run was better than the rest, you checked your phone, it would take them roughly ten minutes to get back to the room.

It’s been a while since they finished and you excuse yourself from the mindless chatter the other staff had busied themselves with. “Get ready to pack up already.” Your voice gentle but still holding authority as you knew of their schedules. Where were the boys? You step out of the room looking for them. It took a few moments until you did find them but they made no move of leaving their spot. Something in you forces you forward and you see one of the production staff members throwing their anger on them.

“Excuse me, did something happen?” Truth be told, you hate confrontations but this is part of your work. If this argument is stretched any longer, you fear that the boys would be late to their next schedule.

The staff member’s voice booms, bouncing off the walls, as he decides to lecture you on how to make artists be aware of their own mishaps with logistical matters. While he didn’t call you names, it was evident that his anger was starting to become misdirected. It’s a miracle how you managed to hold your ground amidst the tirade despite the storm brewing behind your eyes. So you smile, bright and easy against the man. “Yes, while I would like us to deal with this now, I have to bring these boys to their next schedule--” He cuts you off with another rant, and your features stiffen. As you were about to open your mouth, you feel someone’s arms block you. A few blinks try to get you back to reality and you look at the arm in between you and the staff.

Seonghwa.

Hongjoong and San are trying to appease the staff member. Your mind goes into static, you tell the others to go back to the room to pack everything up. “Meet you by the car. Your next schedule is an hour away. Let’s hope there’s no traffic.” You say and Yunho manages to reign the rest in to do as told. Afterwards, you shift your attention back to the staff and put the two boys behind you. “I’ll cut to the chase. Here’s my contact details.” You bring out your calling card and place it in his hands. “We can arrange damage fees by tonight. I apologize for the hasty end to this discussion but the boys still have promised schedules to fulfill.” You bow out of respect and apology and leave the scene. The three following you close behind.

You know the three are talking, over what? You aren’t sure. Your mind’s on auto pilot, overwhelmed with everything. The stress has been at an all time high for you but you always push it down, focusing on what’s in front of you. Yet, the staff’s outburst is probably the last thing that’s going to break you. A subtle pinch to your arm and you bring yourself back to reality. You check their dressing room and everyone’s already gone except for the boys who were just about to open the door. “Good, let’s go.”

---------

The trip to their radio guesting was bustling with confusion towards the angry staff as they try retrace their steps towards that event. You on the other hand, are just grateful for the lack of traffic, you’ll get to the next schedule with a few minutes to spare. Nothing from their discussion enters your ears, too focused into making sure that everyone gets to their destination in one piece. You can deal with your emotions and reactions when the day ends.

On the other hand, San’s been brooding about what has happened. Seonghwa and Hongjoong ask the members about the broken mic that fortunately lasted until the end of their performance. He didn’t like how things played out there. A lot of things are brewing in his mind, all of which were related to you and Seonghwa. His shortcomings of not responding immediately also being an additional burden. The staff’s outburst stunned everyone and it was Seonghwa who managed to respond first by stepping in between the two of you. As expected of the eldest. Hongjoong and him only snapped out of it after he moved. No wonder, you preferred his hyung. Something was swirling in his pit and it wasn’t anything good.

Before San could make sense of these conflicting emotions, the car smoothly parks and the doors slide open. “We’re here.” You state and you hop off the car. He blinks out of his thoughts and follows the rest of the boys. They’re greeted by a warmer group of staff who give them a rundown of what’s to happen for this guesting. They’re greeted by lunch sets with their names on it and that was enough to elicit excited chatter from them. When the staff informs them that they’re eating as well in front of the camera as they talk about their album, it gets only louder from there. Even it gets him flashing a genuine smile, they drop their bags off in the room before being ushered to where teh show will be aired.

You followed the boys and were greeted the same way they were greeted. You talk with some of the staff on the way inside, they hand you your lunch set and you stare at it dumbfounded. “I don’t remember this being part of the fee..” You mumble. The staff catches your words and she beams at you.

“It’s on us! We know you guys have been on your feet for so long, so we figured it would be good to give you guys something to eat.” She explains and it’s another whiplash of emotions in you. Maybe you do need a day off soon. You look at the woman in stunned silence for a moment before bowing out of gratitude.

As the boys do their thing in front of the cameras, you stay in the room, slowly eating the meal you were gifted with. Your confusing dream must have been a warning of what this day would be. With this hour to yourself, your mind wanders to the gossip earlier: an idol dating behind everyone’s backs, for the lack of a better term. You shared the same sentiments, idols should be able to date whoever they want, but it’s the disregard to their contract and group that stresses you out more. One way or another, it strays towards San’s confession and his avoidance. He’s a man with his heart on his sleeve, and a head more stubborn than a bull. Just who did he think you had an interest on? You were mindlessly picking at your food, before snapping out of it when you remembered that you were eating. It took longer for you to finish your meal, not used to these portions after months of being on the move but you managed. Your phone buzzes and it startles you out of the silence.

[Jiwoo to You] What time are you free

[Jiwoo to You] need your help on making a statement.

You stare at the messages in confusion. What is she on? Just as you were about to answer, you hear the claps and the choruses of ‘You did well!’, ‘Thank you for the hard work!’.

[You to Jiwoo] three hours.

[You to Jiwoo] what happened?

You keep your phone and clean up after yourself just in time for the boys to enter the room with the same staff member telling them that the meal is free. The director follows them and thanks everyone for the successful shoot, thanking you as well for taking care of the eight boys. The praise catches you off guard and all you could do is laugh softly and thank them for their words and work.

Everyone could feel the end of the day’s schedule when they hit the road back to the agency. The boys were still in their stage outfits and they wanted nothing but to be in something more comfortable. For once they weren’t fast asleep in the car, they were too busy eating still (is there even a limit to their appetite?). All you could hear was their chewing and occasional excited yelling because of how kind the staff were to provide them with food and just let them talk about their album freely. A part of you smiles as they recount the last schedule. Let them have their fun before they end up talking about that damned mic. You had to admit though, hearing them eat is kind of making you hungry too.

“We’re here.” You state and everyone’s surprisingly finished with their meals. They’re that hungry? They hop off the car and rustle about to return into their regular clothes. They had to return these clothes to their stylists to prep them for the succeeding weeks of performance.

Once they’re greeted by their stylists, the environment suddenly booms with energy. Food really does something to these eight boys. It takes a while before you’re greeted by them in their normal clothes again. Their makeup long gone as well. They look like regular twenty something like this. Manager Yoon exits the office, taking the keys from you, the swift work surprising you.

“Hey!”

“My turn, remember? Hongjoong is staying late tonight..”

You pout, sometimes being the youngest in a company makes it easy for your seniors to tease you. After his words, you nod. “Alright, just give me the keys when you get back.” You wave the rest of them goodbye, and you look at Hongjoong who’s just leaning against the wall. “Are you going to stay late to work on music?”

He flashes an apologetic smile. “You need our side of our story too.”

This was going to be a long day but it had to be addressed. You just hope it would end with enough time to get to talk to Jiwoo.

The next few hours went by with the two of you trying to clear everything. Hongjoong recounting everything that had to deal with the microphone before the staff’s outburst. He even apologizes for you becoming the victim to those words.

“Hongjoong, it’s not your fault. You don’t have to apologize for something you didn’t do.” You counter gently. You just wanted your bed, to just retreat from today’s events. You can write up an email to the staff in the morning.

“It’s still our fault, regardless, that you had to deal with that.” Hongjoong returns, he’s not angry at all. On the contrary, he’s frustrated. Not only does he have to deal with schedules on top of schedules, composing, and San’s emotions, he had to deal with an unnecessary outburst that shouldn’t have been directed at you.

You just flash him a smile, dropping the topic. “Anyways, I’ll relay this to the staff in the morning. Manager Bae will be in charge of your schedules tomorrow.” You look at the time, only half an hour before Jiwoo calls. “Let’s get going?”

The ride home is quiet as well, at least the silence isn’t stifling. He busies himself with his phone, looking through anything new that has happened in social media. You look at the clock from time to time, a little bit worried for your friend who would call anytime soon.

“Are you okay?” Hongjoong asks, his voice snapping you out of your anxious state.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He doesn’t need to deal with your own issues. “Can you keep an eye on my phone? I’m waiting for a call.” You ask just in time for the light to turn green.

He spots your phone, leaning against the cup holder and puts it on his lap as he goes through his phone. Fifteen minutes in and your phone suddenly vibrates in his hand. He looks at the screen and reads the name out loud. “Jiwoo is calling you..” He says, a little confused if this is the call you were waiting for.

An annoyed hiss slips from your lips. “Pick it up.” It was inevitable.

“I’m driving.” You state, asking for a few more minutes. Voice a little louder, to carry over to your phone.

“I’ll be quick, I need your help making a statement.” Her voice rings loud and clear. You look at Hongjoong, he probably put it on speaker. You shoot him a look to keep quiet.

“On what?”

“Fans found out one of my idols is dating and have been emailing the agency nonstop. I made a draft already and I need your eyes and thoughts to fix any errors.” She says and you rub your temple with your free hand.

“Send the draft to my email. I’ll get to it in forty five minutes. I’m on my way home.” You state, as you drum your fingers against the steering wheel. “I’m guessing this is what the staff was talking about earlier.” You say though a little softer.

“You know how word travels fast in this industry.” She returns with a groan. “Call me when you get home, I’ve sent the email already.”

“Will do, bye.”

She hangs up and you let out the breath you’ve been holding. The silence that hangs over you and Hongjoong is heavy. “Whatever just happened, is between us. If the others find out about it, let them find out about it themselves.” You rarely sound this stern and stressed that all Hongjoong could do is nod.

Maybe that was why you rejected San. Jiwoo was right, word travels fast in this industry, it’s why he always has to make sure the boys don’t go out of line too much for their sake. He lets them learn from their mistakes but none of them grave enough to affect their name. This one though seemed heavy, especially if fans were emailing the company already. He was going to need to talk to someone though to know how to deal with San should things go out of hand. But how can he when you tell him not to with such a tone? Hell, you don’t even know that he knows that San confessed to you.

Once you enter the parking lot you unlock the doors. “Get out of the car already, so that once I park the car smooth ride up to our apartments.” You say, a little gentler this time as you seem to have calmed down after such a bombardment of information. He looks at you with raised brows but follows nonetheless.

By the time you get out of the car, you see Hongjoong waiting for you with the doors already open. An odd weight falls between the two of you as the doors close.

“Is that why you rejected San?” Hongjoong carefully asks as the elevator slowly goes up.

Your eyes are shut as you let yourself catch a breather before answering his question. “You know already, huh.”

“Seonghwa and I kind of figured it out with his sudden mood shifts.” He reasons. “Yunho figured it out too but I doubt the others do yet.” He adds.

A groan slips from you and you want nothing to just slip down the floor. “Can we talk about this confession thing when your Thanxx promotions end?”

“That’s too far..” He tells you. For once, you can see why the members look up and respect him so much.

A pause.

“Fine, Monday. You have no schedules anyways.” This makes him smile a bit. The sooner this is fixed, the better. The conversation is fortunately, cut short when the elevator rings at your floor. “Get some sleep, Hongjoong.” You bid him goodbye as you step out.

He calls for your name carefully and you stop in your tracks. The lights from the elevator hasn’t closed either so you turn to look at him properly. “Thank you really for everything. You can lean on me or Seonghwa at least, for anything.”

Something in you softens at those words and you nod. “Yes, sleep well Hongjoong. Manager Bae’s going to be the one in charge of your schedules in the morning and afternoon.” With that he waves you goodbye, the doors closing between the two of you.

Once you were left alone, your eyes heat up but you shake yourself back to reality. “Still got work.” You remind yourself.

You don’t know what time you fell asleep, but it’s already noon. “Shit.” You immediately check your laptop if you’ve sent the revised statement to Jiwoo that you worked on. A relieved sigh escapes your lips when you see that you did. You reviewed your emails and see if there’s anything you need to get done. For the first time, you don’t have much to deal with so you check on your social media to see what’s been going on.

The idol that Jiwoo was stressing over last night is trending.

You stare at his name for a few moments, deciding if you should check what the noise is about or what the fans have been saying but you think otherwise. Instead, you opt to get ready for what’s left of the day before heading to the agency.

--------

The boys were on their phones while waiting for their call time. Some of them playing video games while the others look at social media. They see a familiar name on the trending topics and decide to see what’s going on.

Seonghwa immediately leans to Hongjoong and shows the news to which the latter winces. He looks over at San and he and Wooyoung are also looking at the same post.

“Should I message him?” Wooyoung asks, he glances over at the older two when he feels their gazes on him. “Did you see the news too?”

“Yeah. Check on him if you can.” Seonghwa gently urges, worried also for their friend. Truthfully, the rest of the group wasn’t that close to that idol but considering Wooyoung, he’s bound to have some sort of friendship with him.

San’s busy in his head, mulling over the news. They just resigned. Their friend resigned over being caught in a dating news. His eyebrows are furrowed, deep in thought as he’s just as worried as his friend but he’s worried also for you. For some reason, even when he tries to avoid you, his thoughts still go back to you. How many messages has he composed that he would delete? How many times has he tried to get himself to act normally only to fail and close himself off from you?

Hongjoong keeps his eye on his two members, clearly with their own problems regarding the news. He knows one will be fine, but the other… it’s hard to say. He looks over at Seonghwa who’s a little bothered by the entire thing as well. “We need to talk to Manager-nim later.”

“I’ll handle it. Think you can handle San for the time being?”

“Yep.”

--------

[Jiwoo to You] well fuck, regardless of the statement, they just resigned.

It takes a moment for you to understand what she was referring to but once you did, you freeze up. It’s like all your biggest fears were coming true, though not for you, it’s right in front of you.

[You to Jiwoo] drinks this weekend? Your place?

[Jiwoo to You] call.

You were going to put your own problems on the back burner for now. This girl probably had to hold so much together thanks to that guy and now things aren’t getting any better until probably months down the line. Too busy in your own thoughts, you accidentally spill water on yourself. “Please.” You murmur to no one in particular as you wrap your jacket around your waist before cleaning up the mess in the kitchen.

--------

[Seonghwa to You] Are you free later? I think we need to talk about San.

And here you are thinking you were their manager but then again, the age difference makes it easier for them to see you as their friend after work. You lean against the back rest of your chair.

[You to Seonghwa] Yeah, free by 6pm. I’ll wait for you.

Seonghwa shows the reply to Hongjoong and they relax a little. They need to know what you think of San because it was starting to get clearer that you never gave him a definite response to his feelings.

You stare at your messages, even going as far as reading through your conversations with San which consisted of various topics and banter-- with the occasional fishing for praise from him.

Why were you so affected by his feelings?

You spend some time watching some of the videos he has of the members having fun, you could clearly hear his laughter on one of them and it makes you smile a bit, missing that sound a little too much.

It takes your phone buzzing with another notification to snap you out of your thoughts. “Ah, two more hours.” You note at the time, not really looking forward to your talk.

[You to Seonghwa] do you want me to get you something to eat as well? Lol

[Seonghwa to You] hehe please?

[You to Seonghwa] lmao, fine.

Still a kid at heart, really.

--------

If the food you have on the counter from 7/11 says anything, it’s that you decided to wait for Seonghwa before eating, and that you’re prepared for his appetite.

[You to Seonghwa] I’m at the office kitchen.

[You to Seonghwa] I also have meat.

[Seonghwa to You] ^^*

His reply makes you snort, already picturing his excited grin at the mere mention of meat. It won’t be too long before they arrive at the office. The door opens mere minutes later and while you expected the room to suddenly boom with noise, it was only Seonghwa who entered the room. He catches the look in your eyes and for some reason wanted to tease you about your feelings but now isn’t the right time for that.

“Relax. Everyone else is just changing and getting ready to head home. I told them I’m staying behind to do some vocal practice.” He knows you well enough to know that you need the complete story when it comes to their schedules. Also because it’s not the complete truth.

You sigh in relief and gesture for him to sit and eat already. “Let’s talk about it when everyone else is gone.”

“No one can hear us here. The room next to us is the gym, the room next to the gym is the studio so you’re fine.”

“Seonghwa.” You say, still a little tense with the mere idea of the boys walking in on your talk.

“You can’t push this away forever.” He cuts you off, his voice taking on a little bit of strength that surprises the two of you. The look on your eyes makes him look away as he starts to eat. “I’m sorry about the tone but I’m serious. You can’t push this away and think it’ll fix itself.”

Silence falls on the two of you as you unpack your meal. You let go of the tone slipup, he was right and you doubted this issue could wait for Jiwoo. So while you wait for your respective meals to heat up, you tell Seonghwa what happened: starting from the small things San would do since your first day up until the moment he confessed to you. You admit that you were stumped into who he would think that you would fancy as you have inevitably been stuck to them since their promotions started.

That’s one thing Seonghwa didn’t expect, sort of. San’s jealousy is something everyone’s familiar with but jealousy in the aspect of romance wasn’t something Seonghwa expected in this situation. It actually makes him forget that his meal is still hot, causing him to slightly burn his tongue from the unexpected temperature spike. At the sight of his blunder, you hand him a glass of water to which he refuses as he struggles to chew the hot piece of beef. You decide to just watch his struggle as you sit there and eat your food.

Once he succeeds, he takes a few sips of water. His eyes clearly watery from the pain. “Are you okay or do you need a moment?” You ask him, trying to hide the fact that you were amused by his struggle to regain his composure. He finishes what’s left of his water before he turns his attention to you.

“Did you ever tell him your answer to his confession?” He asks you and it’s the way your shoulders drop that tell you that how you answered or lack thereof is the reason why San is the way he is. “You didn’t tell him that you like him too?”

Now’s your turn to choke on your food. You stare at him incredulously as you try to regain some sort of control with your food mishap. “W-wait..” you sputter out as you try to catch your breath. It takes some time before you’re able to breathe normally and eat. “I never said anything about me liking him?”

“You never told him?”

“How do you even react to someone who tells you they like you while nearly about to fall asleep while standing?”

“I don’t know…” he trails off, gathering the right words in his head, just as he was about to continue, the door swinging open causes the two of you to stop.

“Didn’t know you guys were still here.” To be honest, you didn’t think San would be in the studio either.

“San-ah, I thought you went home with the rest of the boys already.” Seonghwa says, straightening up as he sets his food down. The younger catches how his hyung’s eyes flit to you then to him.

The younger steps inside the kitchen, refilling his water bottle. “I didn’t. I wanted to squeeze in a workout. I thought you left already.” He returns. All you want to do right now is leave the room. He turns to the two of you once his bottle was filled and it’s unnerving to see his eyes look so steely.

“I was going to leave later but we can go home now.” Seonghwa returns calmly. His eyes return to you trying to look as if he was asking if they can go home. You knew better, the talk was going to happen some other time. With that look, you quickly finish your meal, then packing up the trash.

“Sure. Let’s go home.”

---------

The ride home wasn’t any better: both of them busy with their phones, both sitting at different sides of the car. At least you had full control of the radio.

Now in San’s eyes, he wonders why Seonghwa would’ve said he was going to do some vocal practice when he was eating dinner with you in the kitchen. He didn’t think of his hyung as someone who would lie. He’s better than that isn’t he? The younger does feel a sense of annoyance though, that he would say such only to go behind their backs and eat with you. He’s trying hard not to think of the worse of his hyung knowing well that he’s the better option between the two of you, but with the recent news of their friend resigning due to dating along with his feelings for you? It’s a challenge. He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath, doing his best to calm himself down.

“San-ah, your shoulders are tense.” The older’s soft voice calls him out of his thoughts and it effectively gets him to drop his shoulders. Seonghwa looks at the other for a moment then returns his gaze to his phone. He worries of what goes on in his head especially after seeing the two of you in the kitchen. He genuinely didn’t think that San would stay late especially during promotional periods. He worries that he may have made it worse for everyone, especially him and you.

“We’re here.” Your voice makes the two raise their heads from their screens. The cold lighting of the parking lot telling them that they are home. You hop out of the car first, waiting for them to get out while making sure you got everything with you. Seonghwa goes ahead, hoping that the talk (or whatever was talked about) makes you move.

San does it for you though. “So I guess I got my answer?” He pipes up, lingering around you. His gaze beyond you but at his hyung who’s waiting for the lift. Your confused look makes him hiss in frustration. His reaction makes you snap, too tired from all the mental gymnastics you do, too tired from bringing them from point A to point B day in and day out, too tired from keeping yourself together for their sake, for your friend’s sake and for yourself.

“San, how sure are you about it? All of it? You’re confusing my care for something else. Everyone is worried about you, I have to worry about you as well and while I am your friend, I’m still your manager. At the end of the day, my job is to make sure you guys are able to do your job as artists.” Your blood runs cold at how those words rush out of you, you could barely look at him. The only thing you can hear is your heartbeat and the car’s security lock. “San, how sure are you about my feelings? How are you filling in the blanks that I should be filling?”

Those words make his feet move, leaving you in the dirt as he walks over to where Seonghwa is. For a moment, you feared that he would get physical-- boy has a black belt after all. He doesn’t. He just lingers by the back, waiting for the lift. He should’ve done a more strenuous workout just so his mind would stop running.

Seeing him look like so makes you sigh. You had to admit your faults on that, you’re just so tired. You promised your day off would be after promotions but you kind of wish you could make it earlier and have it this week. By the time you arrive at where the two are, the doors of the elevator opens letting the three of you in. You don’t press your floor number first, letting the boys get their rest first. You’re getting additional hours of sleep today anyways.

“Good night.” You mutter as the two of them step out of the elevator. Seonghwa returns the greeting and so does San. Though one looks back and gives you a friendly wave, the other stalks off, shoulders just as tensed as it was earlier. You look at Seonghwa and shake your head. That’s all he needed to know as to how the mere moments he was out of earshot went.

“Joong and I will deal with him. Get some rest and think it through. We still need to talk again.”

“Yeah.” You just hope you didn’t fuck it up for everyone. Something in your gut told you otherwise.

Part 5

#ateez fanfiction #ateez angst #ateez san #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez writings #ateez scenarios #bro it's been more than a month since i posted something #weeks since i wrote something properly #lmao pandemic tingz #anyways have this #the mere idea of not being able to talk out your issues just because youre so busy is Stressful in itself holy fuck #my writings

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fiiore-blogs · 4 years ago

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( lorenzo zurzolo , 20 , cismale ) i just bumped into fiore gattuso the other day while walking down north kingsboro , where he lives . i hear they can be charming and narcissistic , but when i think of them i immediately think of bloodshot baby blue eyes , luxury brands , an enchanting smile ( ari , 21 , she / her , est )

tw : homophobia , abuse

full name : fiore emiliano luca gattuso ( first name pronounced fee-oh-reh, also see here! )

nicknames : fifi, emmy ( by people who know his middle name ), some people might say… flower boy ( fiore literally means flower in italian ) 😳

gender : cismale

height : 5 ′ 8

age : 20

birthday : may 30 , 2000

zodiac : gemini ( aries moon, libra ascendant )

right handed or left handed : left handed

eye color : baby blue

hair color : basically dark blonde / light brown

piercing & tattoos : the gemini symbol on his left wrist, a cartilage piercing on his right ear

languages spoken : italian ( native tongue ), english, spanish, pretty decent sicilian

sexuality : bisexual / biromantic

place of birth : livorno , tuscany , italy

last 3 songs listened to : dimmi che mi ami by dj matrix, almeno stavolta by nek, west coast by lana del rey

character inspo : kat hernandez from euphoria ( huge muse ! ), adam groff from sex education ( think season 2 adam ), alyssa foley from the end of the fucking world, maeby funke from arrested development, lucrecia montesinos from elite

♡ so fiore was born to a spanish mother named martina & a fully italian father named gian gattuso in tuscany, but they later moved to rome when he was around four years old. his mother is a very well known politician & his father is a billionaire, heir of several gas, water & electric companies all over europe. besides that, he is also a preacher and very involved in church. both his parents are very well off financially

♡ fiore grew up with anything he’s ever wanted ( materialistically, of course ). besides that, his parents genuinely weren’t the best of people. his mother stole millions from the so called campaigns she ran & was a very corrupt politician, his father treated his employees like shit & was a pretty hateful person altogether

♡ they were people who expected a lot out of their only son, which made fiore feel an insane amount of pressure from the very start. at a very young age, he showed characteristics lots of boys his age didn’t show. he did things like peeing while sitting down instead of standing up, preferred to play with dolls instead of ‘boy toys’, favored the color pink, got along better with girls, preferred to watch shows that were considered ‘girly’, etc etc.

♡ they were very harmless things honestly, things that most parents would laugh about & turn a blind eye. however, fiore really wasn’t that lucky when it came to them any time he would do anything they claimed a ‘normal boy wouldn’t do’, he would get a huge lecture & a beating to go with it. needless to say, he learned to hide a lot of who he really was from a very young age

♡ he did a lot of things to seek the approval of his parents. he wasn’t smart academically ( dumb boi 101 tbh ), but he tried to make them happy in other ways. fiore was never fond of sports at all, but he started playing tennis when he was five, because it made his parents happy. truth be told, he hated tennis with every fiber of his being, but again, he did this, simply because it satisfied his parents

♡ he grew up trying to be the perfect son, often times putting himself in situations he didn’t want to be in or felt uncomfortable doing because he wanted them to be proud, but honestly? it was like? never enough. it was all smiles for the pictures, but behind closed doors, he really was pretty damn miserable

♡ simply put, he has always known that he likes boys. he likes girls too, don’t get him wrong, but he knew, literally since he could remember, that he also had a thing for guys too. of course, he was aware that this wouldn’t settle well at all with his extremely strict & unfortunately, very close minded parents, so he buried his feelings incredibly deep

♡ he has a lot of charm & wit & found himself getting into relationships quicker than most of his friends. he briefly dated a girl when he was fourteen, but it was when he was sixteen that things really began getting pretty #spicy

♡ there was a romanian boy new to his very #elite school & if you guessed it, they began to date! his first boyfriend at sixteen years old. fiore was basically living two lives at this point, sneaking around with a guy behind his parents’ back, but when he got home, the facade began. the way he would switch up as soon as he entered the front door to his house was honestly shockingly scary

♡ he really felt himself falling in love with this boy even though they were both fairly young. they snuck around forever. when no one was home, he would sneak him into his room to have sex, sneak out of his house when his parents were asleep, all that fun stuff. their relationship was forbidden ( at least to fiore’s parents ), but things go downhill pretty fast

♡ so one day, fiore & him get really really drunk & honestly? video record themselves having sex fjkgnfv they didn’t do this to post it anywhere or show anyone or anything, they really just did it for themselves. they made a few copies ( stupid boys, i know rip ), but they really felt like they would get married & all that gooey lovey dovey shit so they did it because yolo i guess? this was a pretty big mistake though

♡ one day fiore & him are walking back from his tennis practice. this is a time where fiore knows no one is home & no one is coming home for a while, so when they get to his house & see his father’s car parked outside, he lowkey panics a little. of course he makes the guy leave & goes inside to see what’s going on

♡ his father asks him to come upstairs & surprisingly, leads him into his room. this is when fiore’s entire life practically changes forever. his father turns on his tv & legit starts playing his sex tape with his boyfriend. just picture this though; your extremely homophobic, close minded & hateful father & you sitting on your bed, watching your gay sex tape with your boyfriend

♡ obviously, this news isn’t well taken by his father. to make a long story short, he gets his ass beat. like, literally almost dies type shit. when this happened, he was eighteen and had just recently graduated school, with plans to travel. he knew if his relationship was ever discovered by his parents, it wouldn’t go well, but he really didn’t think them discovering his sexuality would be that brutal

♡ his parents basically disown him at that moment. they bought him a ticket to new york & told him they never wanna see him again. it’s sad, but he packed his things & left in two days to go live with his cousin

♡ it doesn’t really take an expert to figure out that fiore did not take this move well at all. for months, he was really depressed. he wouldn’t go out & would just lay in bed for the longest time. he was really hurt by everything that happened & it took him a while to recover. he has also lived in italy his whole life & wasn’t really used to life in america at all, but after like the fourth month of just feeling sorry for himself, it was his cousin who snapped him back to reality

♡ he began putting himself out there. at first, he began working at a pizza place, but fiore slowly began to realize how much he despised working. his entire life, he received everything on a golden plater with pure solid gold spoons, he’s always had everything he’s ever wanted without working for it, so this? he was for sure not used to it at all. again, his life completely changed. he went from living in a three story mansion in the most prestigious part of rome to living in a very shitty part of new york, broke almost always, & working a job he hated with everything he had, splitting rent with his cousin

♡ fiore did not want this at all for himself. it wasn’t until he went out clubbing ( fake id & all ), that one his friends showed him the wonders of conning people. they walked into the bar with twenty bucks and left with four thousand dollars

♡ quickly, fiore began to learn his friends’ ways. his looks, personality & his thick italian accent helped him tremendously; it was like people literally couldn’t get enough of him. soon enough, he was conning & finessing the fuck out of older men & women for their money. he once walked into a casino with five dollars and walked out with over 12k

♡ finessing people became a huge hobby of his. he’s also very very lowkey done some camboy stuff, but with a mask on because he’s sneaky af ( legit think kat from euphoria ) like, these super lonely old men or even women are just sending him money for being hot? amazing! it was with all this money that he bought himself a luxury car & jump started his model & influencer career. it was also with this money that him & his cousin ditched the crap show that is south kingsboro & moved into a much better apartment up north. with his looks & persona, he gained followers like crazy & posted videos on youtube as well, getting sponsorships & recognition easier than he expected. he honestly makes a shit ton of money off social media & modeling, like, he’s basically living off his looks, personality & the content he post? we love to see it

♡ there is still a part of fiore that has a lot of issues & trauma. honestly mommy & daddy issues af, but he doesn’t talk about this at all. he literally refuses to talk about anything that happened to him before he was eighteen. no one really knows how he came up or where his family is & he keeps it this way, dodging questions about his personal life as much as he can

♡ in a way, he is kind of relieved with everything that happened with his parents because now, he’s completely free to be himself & do whatever the fuck he wants, knowing very well they can’t really touch him anymore. of course, it still left a mark that he’s never going to be able to erase or forget ( both in his heart & on his body too ), but he feels free for once in his life & he’s honestly kind of happier now, but also, low key needs therapy tbh 🥴

♡ relationship wise, he really doesn’t commit to anyone. after practically being forced to leave his now ex boyfriend, he kind of feels like he doesn’t deserve love? it’s really fucked up but he’s genuinely convinced that no one is ever going to really love him or want to be with him so he just avoids any romantic relationship of any kind, usually just hooking up with people & then leaving as soon as it’s over, or just stealing money from them and ghosting. the truth is that he really does want to be loved, accepted & cared for by someone he loves, accepts & cares for as well, but will it ever happen if he continues pushing people away? probably not tbh

♡ he is a fucking drinker & hella pot smoker!! legit give him some alcohol & weed he’s happy. he always has either one on him, or both tbh. he’s secretly a hella good cook too but this is something almost nobody knows really. he can make food or desserts, and he’s also taught himself to make weed edibles which is honestly iconic kvnfjvc even though he keeps this part of himself hidden

♡ he can be really sneaky & deceiving when he has to be, like, he’ll legit have 0 reason to lie but he’ll lie anyways? it’s like a defense mechanism lmfao

♡ very much conceited boy, honestly in love with his looks but it goes deeper than that. he feels like he has nothing to offer besides being hot so he dwells on looking good always, pretty sure he would rather die than wear sweatpants like vjkdfsvnfs literally always looks a1

♡ is actually? secretly blind af ndjvdfnv one of his many secrets tbh. has a vision of 20/50, nearly 20/60, but hasn’t worn glasses since he was seven, pretty much doing everything with contacts. he just thinks glasses look unattractive on him & honestly refuses to let anyone see him with them on. the only person who even knows he has vision as bad as he does is his cousin who is a npc sooo ��

♡ this is all that’s coming to mind rn but hmu for plots pretty pls jkfnvjnfv, this is his birthchart for some extra #tea

#kingsboro.intro #im so tired but this had to b posted #his tag drop will come tomorrow kvjnfsjvn #i've added some tings to this vkjfsnvfv

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hobiwonder · 6 years ago

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Baby, Baby | 01

Pairing: Jimin x Reader x Taehyung

Genre: Surrogacy AU

Warnings: Smut (future), Fluff. A bit of Angst.

Words: 12k

Summary: When you’ve run out of savings to continue on to the last semester of your Bachelors - you take an unorthodox route. Helping a desperate couple have a child and getting paid for it? Heck yeah. But what do you know - it wasn’t as easy as it sounds.

A/N: thanks to @jurassicjimin for being a sweetie and helping me edit ily :(( this fic was getting long so i decided to split it in a couple of parts but it will most likely be 3 chapters max. i hope everyone likes this as i kind of had to rewrite the whole thing and it may not be as eloquent as the one i spent longer time on hjerfvuekhbfkejbf anyway feedback is always appreciated :)

Part 2 |

“Miss Y/N?”

“Huh? Yes?” The receptionist smiled gently at your vacant expression as you were sure you probably looked like you were lost instead of the planning you had been doing for weeks to prepare yourself for this very day.

“We’re ready for you now.” You stood up, smoothing your skirt as much as you could with the thin fabric stubbornly creased just below your hips from sitting down. You had told yourself that you would pay more attention to your posture and the nervous squirming you usually did when… well; when you were nervous as hell. But of course, your own advice was the one you mostly adhered to the least.

“Right this way,” The nice middle aged lady led you towards large wooden double doors. The place was modern, sleek, rustic and most of all – screamed money, all at once. You weren’t sure how many architectural structures could be squashed in to one at the same time and look good as well. But you guessed that money always looked good.

No wonder youdidn’t.

She smiled her gentle smile at you as she opened one of the doors and letting you enter first. You mumble a thanks before glancing towards the back of two heads you could see from where you stood. One blonde, the other black. They sat on a large three-seater sofa while a love couch – which made you snort internally given the circumstances – was placed across from them. Just then, Solhyun – the consultant looking after your case – glanced up from her seat.

“Ah! Y/N come on in, yeah,” She nodded encouragingly as you took small, quiet steps – thanks to your flats – towards the couch that you assumed was going to be where you sat, facing the other two men. Speaking of; they had also stood up with Solhyun as she waited for you to come forward.

“Hello,” You went for a handshake but Solhyun pulled you into a gentle hug.

“How are you?” She asks as her greeting with a bright smile on her face, not waiting for you to respond before she is introducing the most important people – and the ones you’d been nervous as hell to meet.

You wished you had been given a bit more time to get used to the two men before you. Sure, you’d been given their profiles – albeit with limited information as you’d been told that they preferred to meet in person for every meeting, wanting to be heavily involved with the process. But man, you didn’t expect the two men you had decided to be a surrogate for to be this… striking.

“This is Mr. Park Jimin.” The blonde man, shorter than his partner stretched out his hand, placing his left on his elbow as a polite gesture. His hands were incredibly soft, just like the rest of him. Well, you didn’t feel him or anything but he just looked soft. Everything about him was soft – in a more metaphorical sense more than anything – as his eyes turned into slight crescent moons when he smiled gently at you. His lips were fuller than yours, fingers adorned in shiny rings, neck framed by a YSL necklace that you know costed more than your rent for a week. Your breath hitched as his cologne hit your nasal cavity causing you to breathe deeply like a creep. The blush creeping up your cheeks turned your body temp slightly up a notch when you saw the stunning man before you also took in your attire that contrasted his own expensive one. Where the fabric he wore was all silk and rich woven wool – yours were linen and cheap cotton.

“N-Nice to meet you, sir.” You notice the other man’s – taller and broader of the two – eyes flash slightly before his expression is turning into a more stoic one again. Not unkind, just more formal and probably fitting for the arrangement you were all about to make. Or you hoped would make. You really needed this to work out.

“Please, call me Jimin, Y/N.” Your frame stalls for a millisecond at the way your name falls from his lips. You never liked your name more than you did at this moment and tried to convince yourself it wasn’t because Jimin had said it.

“Mr. Kim Taehyung, Jimin’s partner.” Solhyun introduces the more intimidating looking man as he also stretches out his hand as well – also adorned in rings like his partner – while nodding at you.

“Nice to meet you, sir.” Unlike Jimin – he doesn’t ask you to call him Taehyung and you sense he may be have been the partner who was apprehensive about getting a surrogate as you had been informed that the couple that had been matched with you were having some second thoughts. You remember that day had been kind of hell for you.

You weren’t getting matched with anyone after giving an interview and having your portfolio made and it was going to be a major setback for you if you weren’t able to find a couple who needed a surrogate with your criteria. But when Solhyun had contacted you that she had found a couple – more so, they had found you – and specifically wanted to meet you to discuss a potential surrogacy, you’d been ecstatic and wanting to throw up at the same time.

As much as you made a rational, calculated decision, the reality of actually going through with it was something else altogether. Maybe part of you had thought that you would never even find anyone since not many people were keen on conceiving a child with someone who had a family history of breast cancer. You probably wouldn’t even be in this situation if it weren’t for your mother passing away from breast cancer at a young age and leaving you to your own devices. It wasn’t as if you had any other family to ask for any type of help. So when the house you had inherited had been put up for sale to pay for your college fees, you truly had nothing.

As much as it had been hard parting with the house you had grew up in and had countless memories with your mum; it was something you had decided when your mother had passed away. You were seventeen and in your State, legally able to inherit the house and make decisions regarding it just like your mother had also given you power of attorney when her health had deteriorated. Selling the house had been the best and worst decision at the same time. You had never seen that much money in your whole life when you’d received the check but on the other hand, you had a bitter reality check when you had ended up going through most of it with college fees, rent and daily expenses in general. It was as if the more you worked, the more money you needed.

The apartment you lived in may be a shoebox – but it was enough for you. And now, reaching the homestretch of your undergraduate, you were 20 grand short with only the last semester of your degree left.

When you had been accepted in to one of the more prestigious universities, it hadn’t seemed so impossible to actually go through with it since you had a fat check - not the fattest, just fat enough – in your bank, ready to go. After grieving the death of the only family you ever had, it had seemed that better days would never come. But at that time, holding the acceptance letter in your hand – you had felt that things might work out after all. Though, good things never really lasted long for you. And here you were. Willing to go to extreme lengths when you were just so, so close to the finish line.

“Well now that the introductions are out of the way, shall we discuss the arrangement?”

Clearing your throat, you nod, smoothing your skirt before sitting down. Seeing the way all of them were dressed was making you slightly more self-conscious of your own attire. Just a little. You try to keep your eyes on Solhyun as she begins to pull out papers from a manila folder but can’t help and glance towards the blonde – Jimin. He doesn’t hide that he is staring at you but a small, friendly smile is still painted on his face so it doesn’t bother you too much. Apart from the blush that has just took a liking to your cheeks, you are sure you aren’t making a fool of yourself and looking like a lovestruck teenager.

Taehyung however – his expression is stoic. He doesn’t say anything else to you or even look at you like Jimin is. Which was probably for the best. You weren’t sure you could handle two impossibly handsome men looking at you at once. Not that it would matter, you sigh internally. They obviously have no interest in the opposite sex otherwise you wouldn’t be here.

“So, y/n,” you turn your attention completely towards Solhyun as she speaks directly to you.

“Mr Park and Mr Kim would very much like to conceive a child with you.” You almost flinch at her straight forward statement but you guessed that in these types of situations, it was probably for the best.

You can’t help the slightly diameter of your eyes when you look back at the two men. “But a-are you sure? I have a family h-” Internally your brain is screaming and throwing popcorn at you. You’re supposed to be selling yourself to them you idiot! Not make them doubt their decision.

“History of breast cancer?” Jimin has already cut you off with a raised eyebrow and a gentle smile. But this time, the smile holds a touch of sadness to it and doesn’t quite reach his beautiful eyes that had such a spark to them. “We are well aware. That doesn’t matter to us. Well, what I mean is, we don’t have too many other options at the moment.”

You search his face for any regret at choosing you because to be honest – that stupidly hurts you. That you were probably a last resort or whatever rubbish your mind is making up right now. But it doesn’t seem that way at least.

“My partner here,” he turns his face to the side to look at Taehyung before continuing, “doesn’t exactly have the most accepting family when it comes to our relationship. They want him to have children so the business can be passed along the generations. And I know, we thought about adopting.” Jimin must have seen your puzzled face as he starts to answer the exact question you had been thinking about. He was very good at reading people, you note.

“But… inconveniently, Taehyung’s father’s will states that the child needs to be biologically his own.” You lock eyes with Taehyung, feeling like a thousand butterflies are flying around inside your stomach at the intensity in his eyes.

“And I… I have always wanted children. Having one that is related to the love of my life would be a dream come true.”

The smile that he sends your way is so bright, so full of love that you feel the tears of longing welling up but you push them back, not about to make a fool of yourself. The way Taehyung is looking at Jimin speak – anyone in the room who was watching them would be able to tell how much in love they were.

“We have been looking for so long but there wasn’t anyone that we could find at this time. But by some miracle, Solhyun told us about you as soon as you had applied. We are aware of your family history but we have contacted our GP and consulted with him. He says that our child can be tested and screened for any potential signs and I assure you,” he leans forward, sincerity written all over his kind eyes, “we will take the best care of our child. And if – god forbid – he or she is diagnosed, we can afford the best treatment. I promise you that.”

You blink. Once. Twice. Three times. Taking in everything that Jimin had just told you. A funny feeling in your stomach each time he addressed to the child that you were going to give birth to as if he had a heartbeat already. But now you understood why someone was willing to take the risk. N matter how small it may be.

“I… I see. I believe that you probably will be able to, I have no doubt.” You give him a reassuring smile, hoping to put him at ease and he mirrors it right back.

“So, do you wish to proceed with the contract after hearing the specifics?” Solhyun interjects when she sense that both you and the couple have understood each other. You nod as Jimin shoots Taehyung a smile and interlocks their fingers together, placing them in his lap. You can’t help but watch the two from the corner of your eyes. The love they had was so conspicuous that even when they weren’t displaying their affections – it was hard to not come to that conclusion yourself.

“Right. The contract will be for 12 months starting from the day of conception – not literally, that just means the day you are confirmed to be pregnant. All of your medical costs will of course be covered by Mr Kim and Mr Park themselves as well as both or at least one of them being present at each of your OB/GYN appointments. All expenses during your pregnancy will be paid by them as well, including but not limited to: Nutrition and health, housing, clothing and in any case there is an injury. You will receive half of the sum upon signing the contract and the rest of the payment of your surrogacy when the baby is safely delivered. In any case you are to miscarry, and it is concluded that the complications were not brought upon by avoidable circumstances, you will be paid in full. You will not have any contact with the child when it is born or have any parental rights after signing this contract unless agreed upon otherwise by the client. You will not have any rights to apply for custody on the basis of being a biological parent. You will not apply for further compensation from Mr Kim or Mr Park after the child’s birth. Do you have any questions?”

You kind of dumbly stare at her for a few seconds, taking everything in. Which was a lot. Both Jimin and Taehyung are looking expectantly at you. Jimin seeming to be more on edge than his partner as he squeezes his fingers in his lap. Solhyun hands you the papers of the terms and conditions she had just read out, letting you see for yourself and have a read through before you signed the contract officially. Your eyes just about bulge out of your head when you see the amount that you were to be paid was well above what you needed for college.

“F-Fifty thousand?!” the disbelief in your voice is perceived completely opposite by Jimin as he worriedly glances towards Taehyung before looking at you.

“Is that not enough? We are willing to pay you more.”

“No!” You clear your throat after embarrassingly almost shouting at them, “No, this is… this is very generous. Thank you.” The frown creasing your forehead is for once not out of sadness, but gratitude.

“No thanking yet, Y/N. We still have to sign the contract.” Solhyun sends you a smile again and she is right. You still have to sign and actually be able to conceive before you are paid in full. “I know this is a lot to take in and come to terms with. Having a child is not easy and giving it away is even harder so remember – you will have a week to think it over after signing the contract to back out if you wish to. Okay?”

You nod, appreciating that you had the option. But the prospect of being fifty grand richer, being able to finally complete your degree and have a career to sustain yourself in the long run has you feeling the minimum amount of resistance as you nod once again.

“Excellent! Sign here.” She is pointing to various pages as you continue to sign the ten page long contract and you notice that there are already two other signatures on each page. Jimin and Taehyung must have already signed the contract.

“Well, that is all now set. Y/N you will now have a week from now to send in a final response by either calling the office or replying to the email we send you. As soon as you do that, your details will be sent to Mr. Kim and Mr. Park and vice versa and your communication will be directly with them. All subsequent meetings with us will be discussed after the finalisation of the contract. Any questions?”

You’re shaking your head at her as you stand up with her. You guessed it was time for you to go. The two men also stand up, shaking your hand once more.

“Thank you, Y/N. I hope to hear from you again.” Jimin shakes your hand with both of his own, his warm hands holding on to yours for a little longer than before.

“As do I.” Taehyung’s deep, mellifluous voice is almost entrancing and you find yourself looking anywhere but at his eyes, afraid that somehow he’ll be able to tell how nervous you were. His long fingers grip your hand in a solid handshake like they had previously. Stuttering a goodbye, you race out of the room, closing the wooden door behind you and heading straight towards the reception to get a copy of the contract for yourself like Solhyun had asked you to before you left. The whole time you’re waiting for the documents to be scanned and printed, your feet are annoyingly tapping against the tiled floor with the amount of adrenaline running through your system. Even the woman scanning and getting the documentation together gives you a look when a particularly loud tap of your flats against the floor sounds through the large reception area. She seems to be taking her sweet time as well. Just as she is finally starting to compile the papers, the wooden doors open and Jimin and Taehyung are walking out, chatting amongst themselves. Taehyung, however, is wearing a frown on his face as he sighs at whatever Jimin has said to him.

When they are in hearing distance to you – you turn your whole body towards the woman stapling the papers together, almost snapping at her to be quicker. You don’t know why you feel like you need to avoid them right now when you will probably mother their child – most likely. So it was going to be a problem if you were going to always be this nervous around them. Just when you think you’ve successfully avoided them, Jimin spots you standing by the counter and puts his hand up to stop Taehyung from saying whatever he had been and walks over to you. Taehyung doesn’t look the happiest as he watches Jimin walk over to you.

“H-hi,” You can’t help the stutter when he comes to stand close to you – close enough that you can smell his heavenly cologne again. But he doesn’t seem to be in the mood for light hearted chatter when he gets straight to the point.

“I really, really hope you don’t reconsider your decision. As much as Tae didn’t seem like he wants this-” He closes his eyes for a second before opening them again and rephrasing himself, “- needs this to happen – he does. It would mean a lot to us if you can help us.”

“Jimin, babe let’s go. We’re going to be late.” Taehyung’s loud voice has Jimin pulling away and after giving you a small, hopeful smile, he waves goodbye and you do the same. It surely didn’t seem like that was the case as Taehyung almost seems annoyed at Jimin’s little pit stop at the counter with you. You watch them walk out together, hand in hand as a sleek escalade pulls up to the office and in they go.

“They’re good men. Been waiting for a while.” You glance back at the receptionist who hands you the documents – finally- and smiles at you. Everyone in this building smiled a lot.

“Oh.” You don’t exactly know what to say since you didn’t exactly know them for long but you could judge for yourself that they weren’t trying to manipulate or guilt you in to being a surrogate for them. They really did just want a child.

You decide to walk to the grocery store from the office before taking a cab home. That should cut down the fare and plus, you weren’t keen on carrying all the bags by yourself.

Today was the last day you had to think it over before giving your final decision. The whole previous week you had to stop yourself from calling the office and saying yes, forcing yourself to take the time you had and really think it over. This would be one of the biggest decisions you made in your life. While you never really thought about having kids of your own or being particularly fond of them, this was still not going to be easy if you didn’t completely make up your mind.

You weren’t stupid and knew that the bond a mother and her child form before and after birth is natural and can be hard to part with unless you make up your mind that this child is not yours and that you were merely a vessel for someone else’s baby. But you were too close to having your life together to not consider this. You would be helping a couple in need and they would be able to provide for their child. It wasn’t as if they can’t afford anything they will ever need to give it the best life.

Your inner monologue is interrupted when your phone rings. The caller ID makes your heart jump in your mouth when you see it’s Solhyun. Gathering yourself, you will your breathing to steady before you pick up the phone.

“Hi Y/N this is Solhyun speaking, how-”

“I’ll do it.” You blurt out before you can stop yourself. You want to bump your head against the wall for sounding like an idiot and cutting her off when she lets out a sound of surprise.

“Oh! That’s great. I will let Mr. Park know. We will wire half of the sum in your account today and you should receive it in the next 3-5 business days. I will also send you the details of the clinic and the date you have to be there for your artificial insemination appointment. Is that all okay?”

“Y-Yeah, of course. Thank you.”

“Alrighty then, I will forward you the couple’s details as well okay? I’ll speak to you soon, dear.”

You say goodbye, hanging up before clutching your chest finally coming to terms with the fact that you were going to be a mother to someone else’s baby. Still trying to wrap your head around the phone call you’d just had when your phone rings again. But this time, it’s an unknown caller. Your eyebrows furrow, wondering who was calling you at 9pm at night.

“Hello?”

“Y/N?” The soft voice that calls your name is unmistakably Jimin’s – and you can hear the smile in his voice as he says your name.

“Mr. P- Jimin?” Even though he can’t see you, you still try to keep a straight face. Maybe more for yourself than anything.

“Hi there. I just,” He lets out a bubbly laugh that has you smiling with him – keeping a straight face a distant thought, “I’m- We’re really, really happy that you want to continue. I just wanted to call you as soon as I could. I hope I didn’t wake you up?”

“No no, I-I was just eating pizza and watching a… I don’t really know what I was watching to be honest.” To that he laughs again.

“That’s good to hear. I just wanted to ask if you want to meet before the appointment at the clinic?”

“Oh, you know when it is?”

“We were emailed the details just now. Sorry, as you can tell, I’m a bit excited.” His nervous chuckle tells you he’s worried that he might make you uncomfortable but you assure him that it’s alright.

“I understand and yes that would be good I think. When would you like to meet?”

“Is Wednesday okay? The appointment is on Friday and that’s the only day I can steal Taehyung away before the appointment.” The mention of Taehyung has you feeling hot all over again. You’re not sure what but when it comes to him, you always want to just shrink in place. Something about the way he looks at you makes you want to stand out as less as possible. Not that he was unkind or mean or anything. He just… didn’t seem as enthusiastic about this as his partner, despite being the one who would actually father the child.

“Yes that’s okay. Where will I be meeting you?”

“There is a bistro near Taehyung’s office that we often go to so I’ll have someone pick you up at 12 for brunch, alright?”

“A-Alright. You don’t have to.” His chuckle is playful and you could listen to it over and over.

“I know, darling. I want to.” The pet name doesn’t go unnoticed by the damn butterflies in your stomach but you will them to settle down because it’s not like it meant anything. Thankfully, they’re distracted easily that night. You both say your goodbyes and hang up. Once again, you’re clutching your heart like you’ve just run a mile. If just talking on the phone was going to have you react like this… you were in trouble.

___________________________________________________________________________

The days pass like a blur and before you know it, it’s Wednesday. Your IUI appointment was set for Friday as it was the day you started ovulating. When you’d received a call back from Solhyun to confirm that you had indeed received the appointment details, you’d made a passing comment about it being so soon – just in passing. She’d reminded you that they had your ovulation schedule on your profile – as was standard for everyone else – and conveniently, you would start ovulating this Friday so they wanted to start ASAP. Which was fine with you honestly. You were just happy that you had received the payment in your account today as well which meant you can finally pay your fees for this last semester – and on time. With every penny going towards the tuition and admission fees, you were left to bank balance of a marvellous $50 for the next two weeks until you got paid again for your administrative job at the local post office. Scanning papers, helping people fill out passport applications, sending parcels and letters for people was your usual work day. It paid you enough to buy groceries and pay your rent so you didn’t complain. Especially landing this sweet 50k gig too.

You make a face at yourself for thinking of birthing an actual baby as just a ‘sweet gig’. That made it sound a tad bit too casual. Contrary to how you felt at this moment, getting out of the fancy sleek number that had been sent to pick you up and bring you to the chic downtown bistro that was a few blocks away from Kim Enterprises. You’d done some of your research and was shocked to find out that Kim Taehyung was the youngest Kim brother – and the one that preferred the limelight the least. You’d noticed how handsome each brother was but even so, Taehyung stuck out the most to you. Even in a boring, probably the least flattering photo that had been uploaded to their Wikipedia page, Kim Seokjin was the eldest and the one that was currently seen in the business a lot, that even you – who watched nothing but horror movies or SpongeBob (there was no in between) – had seen him once or twice on the news that was usually on at the post office. Kim Namjoon had been labelled the brains behind the company’s recent developments according to the article you had been reading and Taehyung – your future baby daddy – was said to be the developing a new branch for the company that was still in the works but was expected to be a huge success due to the brand loyalty and the recognition the family already had. They were old money from the looks of it. And all of them so darn handsome! How? This wasn’t fair.

They would make pretty babies.

“Want to head in? It’s even better inside.” You almost jump out of your skin when Jimin’s melodiously airy voice speaks somewhere near your ears. And now his ears are going red from chuckling at you. Yours are probably already red. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

Was it possible for someone to look even better just in a span of few days? Did he get a facial or some sort of beauty treatment? Because you swear that he looks even better than the last time you saw him at the office and you didn’t think that was possible for a human being. You must have been staring dumbly since Jimin gives you a concerned look when you don’t move. “I really do apologise. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, no, no, I-I’m not scared. I’m really fine. I love horror movies.” The word vomit just comes out like… well, vomit. You sucks your lips between your teeth as you start walking beside him. Very evidently embarrassed at your sudden outbursts. You really needed to take a deep breath and calm the heck down. Jimin doesn’t seem to think you’re an idiot though. At least not outwardly because he only wears a kind smile as he leads you to your table.

“That’s good to hear. Tae loves horror movies too.” He’s pulling out a chair for you before he sits across. Just when you’re about to ask where the man in question is, he’s strutting in like the bistro is his runway. You wish you were exaggerating.

“Sorry I’m late babe. Meeting went overtime.” You watch him lean in, pecking Jimin on cheek sweetly before taking a seat next to him. He’s wearing a dark navy blue blazer with a gold Chanel pin on the breast pocket, hair parted like before and a Rolex on his wrist. Looking like a million bucks. You knew that was a Rolex because you literally read an article that was entirely dedicated to the clothes he owned. Weird. But a very interesting piece, you’re not going to lie. Your conclusion in the end was: he’d make really pretty babies who would probably wear mini kid Rolex’s too. Was that a thing? Could you get a child a Rolex? That probably wouldn’t be very wise because-

“You look deep in thought. Unless you’re just silently judging.”

“You would make really pretty babies.” Gosh darn it. Why couldn’t you put a ziplock on your mouth! However you settle for just slapping your hand over your mouth in embarrassment. Is this how you’re going to be like in front of them? They might as well pull out of the contract for not wanting a crazy woman with no filter to mother their child. Jimin seems to be finding you amusing though, with the smirk that’s on his face. Even Taehyung’s face isn’t as stoic as you had last seen at the office.

“Well,” A playful smile on his face as he looks at Taehyung before facing you again, “at the moment, we’re hoping to make pretty babies with you, y/n.”

You can feel the blood rush upwards from every corner of your body and pool in your cheeks. The way he says your name makes it worse because you long to hear it again. But you know you’re being stupid and probably getting too attached already. You needed to reign it in. You’re getting paid for this. Your gaze still lingers in your lap where you’re fiddling with your fingers restlessly; kind of at a loss for words.

“I’m sorry for him. He’s a bit too excited.” At Taehyung’s deep voice, you look up, a little surprised that he’s actually addressing you directly. You’d thought maybe he’d be the more quiet one just like before. But maybe he was just as nervous as you or apprehensive before. You give him benefit of the doubt.

“Oh please! You’re just as excited babe. Don’t pretend to be all macho.” Taehyung’s disgusted face at Jimin has you unsuccessfully attempting to stifle a giggle but when they both look over at your more relaxed posture, they’re joining in too.

“I’m fine really. I can imagine that you would be. A baby is pretty exciting.” Your soft reply and the smile you give them hopefully conveys your sincerity. You don’t want to sound like you’re forcing yourself to say anything just because you’re getting paid to do this.

“It is. We’re… really happy that you’ve agreed to do this, y/n.” You shrug.

“I am getting paid to do this. I should be thanking you.” It was true. It wasn’t as if you’re going to birth their child out of the goodness of your heart. There may not be any other malicious intent there either – you barely knew them – but you don’t want to act like a saint.

Taehyung and Jimin exchange a look before Taehyung is leaning in further on the table, interlocking his fingers in front of him before he speaks, “No, you shouldn’t. I know it doesn’t seem like you’re doing much because you’re being compensated but – it’s a very big commitment to make for someone. Whether money is involved or not. So really, we appreciate this.”

He wasn’t wrong at all. You just didn’t expect them to understand at such a deep level so quickly. “I suppose you’re right. But I do want to thank you though. Thanks to you guys I can actually graduate.” Jimin claps his hands together at the mention of you graduating.

“We saw on your profile! This is your last semester?” you nod, failing to stop the bright smile stretching across your face. You were just so happy whenever you remembered you were almost there.

“That’s amazing! And I saw you’re studying International relations. That’s very interesting. I did a few sociology subjects at University – I know, not the same but similar – and they were fantastic.” Just then a waiter arrives with your entrees that somehow Jimin had ordered while you’d been speaking to Taehyung.

“This calls for a celebration I believe.” Taehyung, for the first time, smiles. He may have smiled at Jimin first but you think it counts. Especially when the stupid butterflies have started to do the salsa in your stomach again. The mozzarella sticks are so stretchy that you’ve pulled your head back as far as it would go without you falling over.

“I’ve never seen someone actually enjoy these like they’re supposed to. See Tae? You’re a party pooper.” Jimin is adorably scoffing at Taehyung before he picks up another for himself and faces you again. You’re trying to not eat like a slob and remember your table manners but man – these mozzarella sticks are good. No wonder they cost 30 dollars per serving. Money not only looked good, but tasted good too.

“C’mon y/n, let’s see whose string snaps first.” Your eyes widen at Jimin’s casual challenge; eating 30 dollar mozzarella sticks in a posh bistro – him in a suit and you in jeans and a flannel – one of you possibly about to fall over.

“Wait, what? Really?” Taehyung is rolling his eyes like he’s witnessed Jimin do this a thousand times before when he looks to the side with a playfully exasperated smile on his face.

“Yes, really! Okay on 3.” You rush in chewing the one currently in your mouth, swallowing the half chewed mozzarella before grabbing another one. He’s counting to 3 and then you’re both leaning back in your seats, trying hard not to break the cheesy string but continuing to stretch it further. Just when Jimin’s head hits the back of the leather seat, the string snaps and you can’t stop yourself before you’re cheering in place for winning the silly challenge. Half of the cheese stick in your mouth and all.

“Serves you right.” Taehyung is trying to hold back his laughter at Jimin’s defeated face before he turn to you again. “He always does this. No matter the time or place. Babe, wipe that frown off your face. It’s not like you don’t win every single time.”

Jimin is sending a glare at his partner as he wipes his face for any extra cheese or crumbs that might be stuck to the peach fuzz on his face. When he misses a bit of grease on the corner of his mouth, Taehyung is already leaning in with a napkin and wiping the oil off his face with such loving eyes you feel like you shouldn’t be watching such an intimate moment between them. Even though there is nothing seemingly intimate or private about wiping food off of your boyfriend’s mouth. Nonetheless, you divert your gaze, not being able to keep your eyes on them when they seemed to be dozing off in their own world with the secretive glances and whispered words that they were saying to each other.

Noticing the shift in your mood, Taehyung clears his throat, getting your attention before Jimin is once again smiling his sweet bright smile at you. “Apologies, Y/N. Jimin here loves to hoard all my attention.” To which the man in question scoffs playfully and you can’t help but giggle to yourself at the cutest nose scrunch you’ve seen on a grown man. For a moment, you’re tempted to ask the couple if the biological father of the child can be Jimin instead.

But then you remember that it wouldn’t matter because you won’t be the one keeping the child anyway and that realisation has you crashing back down to the present and what a serious matter this is. Perhaps they have been trying to make you comfortable too much – although with good intentions – but the fact remained. This matter was nothing but serious and you had to tread carefully otherwise this seemingly formal matter could get very personal and emotional. Taehyung and Jimin had each other but you only had you.

“No need to apologise. I’m glad to know such a loving couple is going to raise a child together. Luckiest kid, I reckon.” The smile you give is genuine but they both can tell the sentiment in your voice. Perhaps it’s time to get serious.

“Thank you, Y/N. We are happy that someone as smart and bright as you is going to mother our child.” Jimin is sincere, there is no doubt about that. He takes Taehyung’s hands in his own and they both send you comforting looks. “We will take responsibility of you throughout this whole process. You don’t need to worry about anything. You are important to us just as much as the baby you will carry for us. Truly.”

Taehyung leans forward once again to get your attention that had been solely on Jimin while he spoke. Your gaze moves on to his sharper features and for a moment you’re getting lost in his large, twinkling eyes. Not as much as Jimin’s but darn it, he was beautiful.

“I wholeheartedly agree with Jimin. You are young and will need a lot of support because as you’ve said – in your profile – you have no living relative?”

The reminder that you are absolutely alone is not one that you needed at this moment. But you know that they meant no harm in mentioning it. “Y-Yes. My mother passed away 4 years ago.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that. Can’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t but… I’m doing okay. Thanks to you guys as well.” Your grin is mirrored back to you by them both as you reassure them that you are alright. Just then, the food has arrived getting all your attention. The waiter is wheeling a trolley filled with club sandwiches with the thickest, fluffiest bread you have ever seen and your mouth is already watering. You’d had two spoons of peanut butter this morning for your breakfast in an effort to save money for groceries you will buy before you head home.

“Looks good?” Jimin has a teasing smile on his face as he watches you practically drool over the various sandwiches and the thick cut chips drizzled with some sort of sauce with black bits in it. Pepper maybe?

“This looks like the best meal I’m about to have.” He’s chuckling when you talk without taking your eyes off the food. You admit, you may be being a tiny bit rude here but the food really did look thatgood.

“Bon Appetite.” For a second you thought that someone who spoke fluent French, said that to you but it was only Taehyung. Unless…

“Do you speak French?”

“En effet, madame. Tu as de très beaux yeux.”

For once, Jimin and you wear the same expression – his a bit more… carnal than yours admittedly. There was barely a hint of an accent when Taehyung spoke in perfect french. Though he could have called you a donkey for all you knew but, gosh darn – it was sexy.

Okay, you were officially jealous of Jimin.

“You have very beautiful eyes. That’s what he said by the way.” The comment made you blush but you tried to hide it by taking a sandwich triangle. You admit, for a moment you thought about not eating it because it just all looked so prettybut alas, the loud growl in your stomach decided otherwise for you and Jimin sent you an endearing smile while piling up your plate with a whole sandwich, motioning you to continue.

You sent a sheepish smile their way before picking up a thick cut fry with all its golden crunchy goodness. You still had no idea what the sauce was. But your eyes go wide when you take the first bite and the most delicious tangy, earthy flavours explode in your mouth.

“Like it?” Jimin is all but bursting with joy when you vigorously nod after being frozen on the spot for a few seconds. “It’s a mixture of black and white truffles in a butter sauce.”

Your eyes widen in understanding. No wonder you couldn’t quite place your finger on what ingredient you were tasting exactly. Short answer: rich people food.

“It’s amazing. Never thought I’d be eating anything with truffles let alone fries.” The chuckle breaks free, in amazement before you can stop it until you also remember that truffles are expensive. “Oh gosh. Please tell me this sandwich costs less than $50?” You’d worry about humiliating yourself by asking such a question when you’ve already eaten a quarter of the sandwich – later.

Jimin looks slightly startled but wave you off, “Do not worry about that. This is on us. We did invite you here, after all.” You ponder over it for a moment but let it go when Taehyung also reassures you that their invite meant their shout.

“Well, I feel bad that you’re buying me really expensive sandwiches. Pizza hut would’ve suffice as well.”

As far as you’re concerned, you were totally serious. But the two men opposite you who’re muffling chuckles at your pout has you looking at them with a slight glare to your gaze – already feeling comfortable enough with them to treat them to one of your looks.

“What?”

“Nothing, darling. Pizza hut it is – next time.” Jimin’s charming smile that shoes off the one dimple has you melting on the spot. It takes you a moment to continue to chew before swallowing and thankfully avoiding the risk of choking yourself. Oh and hopefully your face isn’t as red as the tomatoes you’re picking out from your sandwich.

“I really should’ve asked you what you liked before ordering. Sorry.” Never did you think Taehyung would be apologizing for not asking your order before putting it in. But you guess he really didn’t dislike you after all.

“No! It’s all good. I really like everything.” And you did.

The rest of the lunch goes smoothly and you three spend the next hour getting to know each other better. You surprisingly have a very relaxed time and quickly forget the nerves that had been clawing their way up your spine and making you jittery before when you’d been cluelessly standing in front of the bistro. You learn that Jimin had went to a renowned dance academy and had met Taehyung after he’d caught the eye of the bachelor at one of his shows in Paris. Apparently Taehyung had chased the elder until he’d given in and went out on a date with him and that had been 7 years ago. Taehyung had been an Art student and particularly into modern, impressionist, post-impressionist and romanticist art. Particularly, Jean Baptiste had been the one to prompt the teenager to study in France.

First of all, you had no idea what any of the forms – “periods” Taehyung had corrected you – of art actually even existed let alone that Kim Taehyung was into ‘romanticist’ art. Nonetheless, you learnt that there was, unsurprisingly, much more to them both than meets the eye.

After you three had finished, both men had insisted on dropping you off themselves and thus how you found yourself sitting in a Rolls Royce, trying to sit as still as possible which makes Jimin ruffle your hair from his seat beside you.

“It’s okay. You can breathe if you like.” You just smile shyly at being caught acting weird like you tend to around them and their… wealth to put it bluntly. Jimin always responded lightly and it never failed to put you at ease.

They pull up outside your apartment building and you can’t hide the blush when Taehyung leans his head down slightly to look out the window, inspecting the front of it thoroughly. You don’t want to act embarrassed but you can’t help it after having a glimpse in to the life they lead which was far more... Full than yours. But the reality was that this is where you lived and were most likely going to live for a while so there was no point in being embarrassed. It may not be much but it was all you had.

“So, we will see you on Friday at the clinic? Solhyun told me you have an ultrasound on Thursday though.” You nod, confirming that you have to go in tomorrow before the big appointment.

“The doctor wants to make sure I am ovulating – just in case – before the IUI. If anything changes then you’ll know.” Jimin reaches over, grasping your hand in his warm one and instantly, your heart skips a beat at the way he looks at you. Concern written all over his features.

“Would you like us to be there?” The question takes you by surprise and for a moment you want to say ‘yes, yes I want you both there.’

Because you were scared. But you know that they would just want to know everything themselves and make sure everything went okay for the amount of money they are spending, after all. You would too.

“I-It’s okay. It’s just an ultrasound. I’ll see you both on Friday.” You smile your assurance and squeeze Jimin’s hand, only waving politely at Taehyung before exiting the car. After you’re safely inside the main door is when the car leaves and you have to lean against it to even your breathing.

“God, please let this all go okay. Please.” You hope your prayer isn’t wasted when you will all your sincerity in to it. For your sake and theirs.

“Hi there y/n. I’m Dr. Klarna and I’ll be doing the IUI for you tomorrow. How’re you feeling?”

You let out a deep sigh that feels like it had been trapped in your throat for quite some time. “Nervous. Really nervous but I think I’ll be okay.” You try to smile at her but it seems like she sees right through it when she gives an empathetic look before smiling at you.

“That is perfectly normal, y/n. This is a bit daunting to be doing in your early 20s and it’s okay to feel like that. Just let me know if you feel too anxious and I’ll see what we can do to ease that, alright?” When you nod firmly, she asks you to lay down on the ultrasound bed and begins.

It doesn’t take too long and an hour later, she is back with the results in her office where you’d been waiting anxiously. When she gives you a reassuring smile, your anxiety lessens just enough to let you breathe.

“You are perfectly healthy and ovulating so no need to worry, okay? You’re good to go and I’ll go ahead and forward these to Solhyun, your case manager. Do you have any questions or concerns?”

You just wanted to go home and relax before the anxiety made you puke. You wonder if it’s the ramen you had earlier that’s making you this way or just the nerves making you feel somewhere between sick and hyperactive.

“No, that’s all good doctor.”

“Perfect. I will see you tomorrow at 1PM. Take care of yourself okay?” Her smile is warm and she genuinely seems to be caring. Her greying hair doesn’t dull the beauty she holds with her warm brown eyes and light brown shoulder length hair. Her words hold the warm tone you’d only ever heard whenever your mother had spoken with you and now you want to ask her if she has children of her own. But you opt for only saying a goodbye and taking your leave.

As soon as you are outside, you feel like you can finally breathe. Yesterday, you’d been so enveloped in your conversations with Jimin and Taehyung that this day had seemed so distant in the future than the reality of it being tomorrow. Walking towards the local grocery store had somewhat calmed you down and going over the list of the essentials you needed for the next two weeks had distracted you enough to get through the day. Conveniently you had forgotten yesterday about going to the grocery store and had only remembered when your stomach had growled at 9pm that night and the empty fridge had poured cold water on you reminding you that you forgot to shop. So the peanut butter had to suffice once more.

Maybe the peanut butter was making you nauseous earlier. Hm.

Oh well. You had one last night before the big event tomorrow.

“Y/n!” Jimin’s airy, familiar voice attracts you immediately when he calls your name as soon as you enter the waiting room the next day.

You had been told that that Taehyung and Jimin had been called to the clinic earlier to give a sample of his… well, semen. You can’t even say ‘semen’ in your own thoughts and you were about to have it injected in to you to make a baby. How ridiculous is that? ‘Grow up, y/n! You’re about to grow another human in you for god’s sake.’

However, your internal yelling doesn’t nearly calm you down as much as Jimin’s warm smile and his unexpected hug does. Tentatively, you put your arms around him as well, returning the warm gesture, letting the butterflies in your stomach doing their dance distract you enough to ease your nerves.

“How are you feeling?” He pulls back enough to ask you.

“I-I am okay. A little nervous.” When he raises his eyebrow in concern, a worried smile on his face you sigh, adding, “Okay. A lot nervous. Kinda feeling like I will puke but that’s just my anxiety.” His eyes soften even further and he drops his arms to take a hold of your hand, leading you to the seats in the waiting room.

“You can still say no. Back out of this if you don’t want to do this anymore. Don’t worry about the contract.”

“No! Of course not. I-I still want to.” When the frown on his face doesn’t go away, you assure him again. “For you and Taehyung. Please. I am okay. I promise.”

It takes him a few seconds but he nods, patting your hand and giving you a reassuring smile. “Okay. We will be waiting for you right here.”

Just then, Taehyung appears in front of you two. You and Jimin may have been sitting in silence but you had still missed when Taehyung had walked out of the doctor’s office.

Upon seeing the sombre looks on the both of your faces, his own is turning stony as well. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. She’s just a bit nervous.” Jimin reassures Taehyung, your hand still in his own as you also stare at Taehyung too.

“What? Getting cold feet already?”

“Tae!”

You don’t have too much time to process his harsh, accusing tone because just then, the nurse is calling your name. And as much as you were nervous before, you’re thankful that you’ve been given an out because you’re not exactly sure what to say to him. You’re nervous enough that you may cry instead of the anger that usually bubbles up in you when someone talks to you that way.

Instead, you squeeze Jimin’s hand, giving him a forced smile and look at Taehyung just once before walking away with the nurse. You can hear Jimin furiously whispering to Taehyung as you’re walking and that only makes you want to walk faster. Not wanting to hear anything they are talking about and feel worse than the way Taehyung’s sudden change of attitude has you feeling.

Thankfully, you’re busy getting changed into the patient gown you’ve been given and settling in the bed, setting your feet up just the way you’d done before at your usual check-up at your gyno appointment. When Dr. Klarna comes back, with her gloves on this time, you can feel the nerves coming back once again. Closing your eyes and taking deep breathes, you will your heart to stop buzzing in your chest and calm down so you don’t pass out.

This really was happening.

“Okay y/n. Keep taking deep breathes for me and try to keep calm. If you feel like you’re going to be sick just let me know okay?” You nod, keeping your breathing relatively stable as you continue to breathe deeply.

“Alright, perfect. So I’m going to insert the catheter in to your vagina, passing your cervix and up to the uterus. It will feel just like a pap smear but it will allow the sperm to swim up straight to the egg and hopefully fertilize it.” You nod once again, watching the thin, long tube that she’s holding.

“W-Will it hurt?” You know it may sound like a juvenile question but you needed to know. You hated needles and even though this was just a tube – it was still going inyou.

“It shouldn’t hurt at all. You may feel like your stomach is slightly cramping but it won’t be unbearably painful. Anything else you want to know before we begin?” She doesn’t sound impatient at all. You know she wants you to be relaxed before she proceeds and you want this to be over with before the nerves come back. So you shake your head at her and she smiles before asking you take another deep breathe.

“Okay, here we go.” Your eyes close on their own and before you can really think too much about it, you can feel the tube being inserted inside you. At one point, the sensation is dull enough that you can’t really feel the tube going any deeper inside. Just when you’re about to ask her how long it will take, she is pulling back – the tube in her hand as she disposes it off.

“All done!” Already?

“Oh. That was quick.” She chuckles at your dumbfounded expression. You really should have done more research. You had opted against it in case you found something that made you too nervous to continue but perhaps this won’t be too bad…

“Yup. It’s pretty simple. Inserting the sperm near its destination and that’s it. You just need to keep laying down for the next hour so we can maximise the chances of the sperm reaching the egg. Do you need some water? Can I get you anything?”

You settle back down on the bed and shake your head at her. “I’m okay. Thank you.”

“Feel free to take a nap if you like.” She’s washing her hands as she gives you a small smile. “I’ll send the nurse to wake you when it’s time.” You thank her again as she leaves and try to relax.

So this was really happening huh? As much as you were starting to feel okay about this – Taehyung snapping at you with such disdain wasn’t exactly bringing your spirits up. Why had he been so angry? All the possibilities of the ‘why’ keep you pondering for the next how many minutes – you’re not sure. Just when you’re dozing off – the nurse comes in and lets you know you can change back in your clothes and are free to go. Lazily, you tug on your jeans and shirt and grab your bag before the nurse comes back again with a clipboard.

“Y/N, dear. Give us a call as soon as you start feeling any of those symptoms okay?” She’s handing you a sheet full of signs of you potentially being pregnant, “Usually it takes about 2 weeks before you start feeling the fatigue, nausea and such – that’s if the implantation has been successful. If we don’t hear from you then Dr. Klarna will schedule an appointment just for a check-up and send you the details. All the details of today will also be forwarded to your case worker.”

You nod, reading over the sheet as she speaks. “Any questions my dear?”

“No, thank you. I will give Dr. Klarna a call as soon as I feel a bit off.”

“Alright then. Take care.” She lets you go with a kind smile that you try to mimic just because she was too nice for you to not smile back. However, your smile is slipping away as soon as you see Jimin on the waiting chairs, head resting back against the wall while he seems deep in thought. Though, as soon as you come in his line of vision, he jerks up, standing just a few steps away from you.

“Y/N… are you alright?”

“Yeah. What are you still doing here?” You really didn’t expect him to stick around after the way Taehyung had reacted. Thinking he would probably take him elsewhere to cool off because surely, his boyfriend was more important than sitting around and waiting for you to be done.

“What do you mean? I wanted to be here for you. Listen…” He’s shifting on his feet, a sigh escaping his lips before he continues, “Taehyung was out of line. Please don’t think too much of it. He just… We’ve been left at the last minute before and he just panicked and thought maybe you… you were leaving us too.”

The way Jimin says ‘us’, the pain in his voice tells you that he’s telling the truth. Out of the two of them, you could safely say that you trusted Jimin more than anyone you had trusted in such a short amount of time. So you give him the benefit of the doubt, just for Jimin.

“Okay. I guess I understand.” You nod at him, forcing on a small smile to ease his worries.

“Thank you. I sent him home to cool off but I didn’t want you to be alone.”

“I…” You try to find the words to respond but you can’t. You had just assumed that you would go home by yourself after the procedure. No second thoughts that one of them might be waiting for you. Maybe you were too used to be alone. And even though this companionship may be temporary – it was still real for the time being. And if Jimin continued to look at you the way he did every time, you might as well kiss your heart goodbye.

“Okay. I’m fine though.” Jimin takes your hand in his, walking out of the clinic without breaking the link between your hands.

“I’m glad. Let me drop you home.”

“It’s okay-” Jimin hushes you while opening the door of his escalade – you assume the car is his own since no driver is in sight.

“No arguments. I’m taking you home.” Biting the smile that’s threatening to break lose, you just look out of the window, murmuring a thanks and let him drive you home.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you?” For the tenth time probably, Jimin is asking you this question. His sweet eyes filled with trepidation.

“I will be fine, Jimin.” You stretch your arm across to his seat, using every ounce of courage in you to grab his hand softly to reassure him. Up until now, Jimin has been the one to initiate any physical contact and you had just gone along with it. But this was the first time you were reaching out to hold his hand to convey your sincerity. You were just fine.

“The doctor said I’m okay to do what I usually do in the day.”

“And what is that exactly?” You don’t miss the teasing smirk that’s stretching across his pretty face.

“Well,” you drag out the syllables, racking your brain for what you’re usually doing at this time, “Probably making dinner and watching SpongeBob.” The only way to describe Jimin’s laugh is magical. Magical and contagious because you’re smiling too as he throws his head back, eyes turning in to crescent moons as he mumbles an ‘okay.’

“Don’t laugh! It’s fun.” You can’t help the pout that your lips have turned in to. SpongeBob was a sensitive topic for you. When Jimin Calms down from his fit of giggles, he looks over at you once more, bringing a hand towards your cheek.

His warm finger tips slide against your jaw before his thumb is rubbing just the very slightest on your chin as his index finger holds it. Time seems to have stopped while you try hard not to stare at his plush lips. His own eyes seem to be flicking back and forth from your lips to your eyes. Finally, as if he’s shaken himself out of a trance himself.

“Okay. Take care and call me if you need anything. Okay?” You nod – or you think you do because you seem to be on autopilot at the moment. Damn him for malfunctioning your whole entire brain with just a caress to your chin. Your chin! You really needed to get laid if you were lusting after gay men.

Wait- no. You can’t. Trust you to forget that you’re literally trying to make a baby for them.

“O-Okay I will. I promise.” After a few more seconds of sizing you up, he lets you go, unlocking the door for you to climb out.

You wave bye at him but he refuses to drive away until you are safely inside. Just when you are heading upstairs to your apartment, he drives off.

The familiar but unwelcomed butterflies are back again but you just tell yourself those are ‘cramps’ like the doctor told you.

It’s been 4 days since the IUI and today you’re finally feeling the cramps that Dr. Klarna had told you about. They hadn’t been too intense in the morning but as the day has gone by, the discomfort level had steadily climbed up. You’re in the middle of texting Jimin back – he’s texted every day to make sure you are alright; much to your protest that he didn’t have to – that a particularly nasty cramp makes you double over.

“Ow! Frick…” You’re trying hard to not swear – you didn’t particularly like to – but the pain was so intense that you have to grab the counter of your kitchen with one hand while the other clutches your stomach. You take a deep breath, walking over to your sofa – that’s just a few steps away in your small apartment, thankfully – and sit down.

And just like that – you spend rest of the day either on your sofa watching TV or curling up in your bed -taking random naps. At first – the thought that you might be pregnant goes through your head immediately but then you remember reading on the sheet that the chance of you being pregnant this early on is very rare. So instead, you just suck it up and also remember that you should be getting your period in just over a week if you’re not pregnant so the cramps could be explained by that. Even if you’ve only ever gotten cramps a day or two before your period. Nonetheless, you didn’t want to raise a false alarm.

It’s 10PM at night when you receive another message from Jimin, asking if you’re okay. You realise that you had forgotten to press send to your text earlier in the morning and probably worried him more than he already does. Quickly texting him back, you grab your pajamas, heading to the toilet to change. A few minutes later, you’re ready for bed and before you know it – already dreaming about a certain someone kissing the hell out of you.

The next morning – you blame the hormones for that particular dream.

It’s the 9thday after the procedure that you see the blood smeared on your underwear and your heart drops.

“What…” Your breathing has picked up and it feels like your throat is closing up at the thought of you not being pregnant if you’re getting your period already. It’s irrational, you know. The Doctor had warned you that you may not get pregnant on the first try but you had never really entertained the thought too much. Dismissing it as being not the case for you when she’d told you that it likely won’t be since you’re so young. However, the cramping… the mood change and now blood. You had to be getting your period right? Maybe the IUI messed up your period symptoms a bit but it was close enough to your period that this could be it. You were spotting already.

Quickly rushing out of the bathroom, you hastily punch in the number of the clinic, knees bouncing with anxiety as you hear the ringing. “Hi! May I speak to Dr. Klarna please? I-It’s y/n. Please tell her it’s y/n.”

“Alright, just a second please.” Whoever is on the line is thankfully not making a fuss – probably because of your panicked voice. So you calm yourself down; taking deep breathes.

“Y/n?”

“I’m bleeding.” The words come out before you can even greet her properly.

“Okay, Y/N, that’s alright. Don’t panic. How much are you bleeding?”

“J-Just spotting. I think I may have my period.” There is silence over the other line for just a few seconds too long to make you start self-fulfilling your theory.

“I’ve booked you in for today at 4:30. Are you okay to come down to the clinic y/n?”

“Yes. Yes I’m okay with that.”

“Perfect. Just wear a pad for now if the bleeding is too much. No tampon. I’ll see you soon okay?”

“Okay.” You’re nodding to yourself, thanking her before hanging up.

What if you weren’t pregnant? You didn’t want to disappoint Jimin and Taehyung. Would Taehyung even speak to you if you weren’t pregnant? What if you had to pay all the money back? You’ve already deposited it to your college and had no idea how you’ll get 20k back if there is something wrong with you and this all doesn’t work out.

“Oh god...” Taking deep breaths, trying to stay calm, you force yourself to have a drink of water and not think about all the what-ifs that will drive you mad. Instead, you put on SpongeBob and let the silly cartoons take your mind off of what could be happening to you.

“Your results should be done any minute. I’ll go and have a look, okay?” You nod, sitting on the examination bed of Dr. Klarna’s office once again. “Mr Park and Mr. Kim are outside.”

At the mention of the two men, your heart rate is rising once again. But it was only logical for them to be here, you suppose. “They are asking to see you. Would you like me to send them in?”

“I- Okay.” As much as your nerves are telling you otherwise – if you couldn’t face them then you would have an even bigger problem when it came to the time of breaking the bad news to them. She gives you a nod before she’s leaving the office. Taking in a deep breath, you prepare yourself for their arrival.

Just a few short minutes later, Jimin is entering the office – a beige trench coat adorning his lithe frame, making him look bigger than he was. And a few seconds later – Taehyung’s taller frame and sharper features are in your view as well. His face is passive and you’re not sure how to greet him. Jimin however, is rushing to your side – taking your hands in his own as he stands close enough that you can smell his cologne.

“Are you alright? We heard you felt unwell and came as soon as we could.” The smile that finds its way on to your face is something natural – something uninhibited that Jimin seems to pull from you and no matter how much you trained yourself to not melt in to a puddle, you still turned putty whenever he had his hands on you. Which was more often than not.

“I-I’m okay. I was just,” taking a deep breath as you look down at both of your hands, trying to earn the courage to say the words, “I was bleeding this morning.”

You know that Jimin is smart enough to realise what that could mean and you don’t need to look at his face to see the disappointment that might lurk there. However, while trying to not look at Jimin, you can see Taehyung instead in your view and you can see the negative emotion in his face more clearly than what you think you’ll find on Jimin’s

“I’m so-”

“Mr, Kim, Mr Park.” Dr Klarna had just entered the room then, nodding at both of the men with a bright smile on her face as she glanced to her clipboard and then back to you and Jimin.

“Doctor, is she okay?” Jimin lets go of your hands, walking more towards where Taehyung stood to hear what she had to say.

“She won’t be feeling so hot for the next few weeks though.” Her smile is getting bigger and so is your confusion.

“Congratulations. Y/n is pregnant. You and Mr. Kim are expecting.”

Oh.

A/N: Thanks 4 reading !!! Next chapter will be posted this time next week :) hope everyone had a lovely christmas!

#jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #bts fanfction #jimin fanfic #taehyung fanfic #okay im done with tags khwbrfkwrbhf #i hope u guys like this

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tomionefinds · 3 years ago

Note

Do you know any fics where Tom is a politician or minister of magic? Or any fics like Graves into Gardens by thiscitychick?

Hey Anon,

We actually have a Tom: Politician tag. Elizabeth is out but sent me a list of a few more to add too! -JD

Choosing Grey by betagyre M | Complete | 124k Hermione has always been a warrior for the Light. But when an attempt to salvage more than a Pyrrhic victory lands her in 1944, she quickly realizes that sometimes it is best to allow a lesser evil to flourish, because defeating it only creates the conditions for a greater one to rise. With conspiracies, schemes, and difficult choices in every corner, and a charismatic young Tom Riddle who is increasingly interested in her, she will eventually have to answer the question: How much darkness and grey in him can she accept?

The Fall by nimbus2003 M | Complete | 39k Tom Riddle never became Lord Voldemort. Instead, he quietly accumulated power and became the youngest Minister ever elected. When she discovers that Tom is her soulmate, Hermione allows herself to be Bound to him as part of a Hogwarts tradition. With time, Hermione discovers that her Tom is not what he seems - and learns the meaning of power. (Optional Marriage Law, Soulmates, Dark Tom, Eventual Dark Hermione)

Firelight by Cassidy_Black E/Ma | WIP | 44k He hates to have a governess living under his roof. He has been avoiding her since she came. But she’s like a gremlin. He can hear her everywhere he goes — does she ever shut up? He supposes he can’t Avada her for breathing. But something must be done about it.

In which Hermione is Delphi Riddle's governess.

A darkish AU where pureblood supremacy rules. Tom is a politician. No time travel.

Curious Girl by januarywren M | WIP | 43k “Hermione.”

Her name was spun sugar melting on his tongue.

He remembered when her hand had found his, and she looked at up him with docile, trusting eyes. “Curious, little girl.” He'd murmured; impossibly, his finger entwining about hers. “One day, the world will fear you too.”

AU | Minister Riddle won't let go of his ward, Hermione.

Scandal by Nekositting E/Ma | Complete | 12k His eyes were fixated on her, lips turned into a frown as if trying to will Hermione to answer truthfully to his question. What he didn’t know was that she planned to avoid the question altogether. To lie outright because telling him that Tom bloody Riddle was feeling her up beneath the table in the middle of a political dinner was unacceptable.

Temporary Bliss by cigarettesandbruisedhips E/Ma | WIP | 25k Hermione was not usually this shy but being a bartender was never something she had imagined she'd be good at it. It was taking everything she had to fake it.

"What time do you get off tonight?"

She checked her watch, a quarter past 2. She didn't really have a set time to go home. The job was to serve customers until the customers stopped coming. Which could be anytime in the city that never sleeps.

"It's kinda slow tonight, so hopefully soon," she grabbed a nearby rag and started wiping down the marble counter.

"Then you have time to drink with me?" Tom was turning on the charm. He wasn't looking for anything or anyone in particular when he walked in but he'd never turn down harmless fun.

The Pursuit of Happiness by nimbus2003 M | WIP | 11k Senator Riddle (Republican, NY) has a problem. People think that he’s stern, unyielding, and incapable of compromise. Congresswoman Granger (Democrat, CA) is struggling to gain the respect of the party establishment, which views her as a progressive upstart. Fortunately for the two of them, there’s a simple solution: date.

Eternalism by Hogwarts_Riddle T+ | Complete | 136k Dumbledore is dead and Hogwarts is on lock-down as the ever-present threat of Voldemort and his Death Eaters grows closer by the day. Hermione is trying to remain positive in the face of crisis, but tensions are running high among the Gryffindors and they're all starting to lose hope. That is, until a strange scroll left by Dumbledore opens up a new path to salvation...

Minister Riddle by PenelopeGrace T+ | Complete | 5k It had to be him. Of course. Tomione + Modern/Ministry of Magic AU.

cameras by QuitetheSardonic T | Complete | 3k They were lovers and partners throughout school and she was his equal in every way except her family didn't have the influence and prestige that he needed. And so he married another while still pining for her and loving her. Their hearts break collectively and he's made his choice, so shouldn't she? AU. One-shot. Mainly Tomione/Volmione. Bellamort.

#tomione #tom: politician #tom: minister of magic #politician!tom #multichapter #complete #drama #answered

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panda-noosh · 6 years ago

Text

To the Playing Field {Hunk x Reader}

Words: 12k

Summary: The last thing you expect when coming to one of your brothers Pro-bending matches is to fall in love.

Genre: angst - LoK!au

Warning: Lance is a uhhhhh little shit

Notes: masterlist

+++

Lance draws his shoulders back, wringing his hands in front of him. It’s not nerves - that much you know. It’s anticipation for the game ahead, the anticipation that always seems to thrum through your brother whenever he is standing upon the playing field, waiting for his opponent to make an appearance.

His smile says it all. Even as you watch from the sidelines, you catch a glimpse of it, glimmering beneath the heavy spotlights that are currently beaming down on top of him, not letting any feature of his skin stay hidden. You can see that gleam in his eyes - the eyes that are identical to your own, and yet so different with the passion they hold.

The crowd screams, the echo so loud and boisterous that the ground beneath you shakes and you force yourself to hold onto Veronica’s arm to keep yourself steady. She’s laughing, giddy with the excitement of it all, clutching onto your hand not for stability but to keep herself from throwing her body into the playing field altogether, indulging in the attention that she once used to bare just as much as Lance - the two of them were the Pro-bending champions of the family, coming from a long-line of similar sportsmen.

You, on the other hand, had never once stepped foot onto a Pro-bending playing field with the intention of actually playing a game of Pro-bending; you much preferred your little sanctuary to the side, where you could watch and write from a nice, safe distance.

The whistle howls above the crowd, barely audible over the screams of the onlookers. Lance looks around, still grinning from ear to ear, before his opponent is being announced.

“Hunk Garrett, Earth bender!”

You once thought it impossible that the crowd could get any louder, but were immediately proven wrong by the sudden belt of desire that shot from the stands. Your eyes widen, darting to the playing field just as the doors to the other side slide open, revealing Hunk Garrett in all of his glory.

You had heard of him - almost everybody with a connection to Pro-bending had heard of him. The infamous Earth bender, famous for his confident aura and the skill he portrayed on the field. He had only been defeated a handful of times in the public eye, despite the fact that he had been playing this game almost his entire life. There was no records of anybody else in his family succeeding in Pro-bending, meaning Hunk had taught himself everything he knew.

He steps out into the playing field, bows to the crowd only once before he is turning an eye on Lance and grinning from ear to ear, a grin that is unlike any you have ever seen before. It makes your knees weak, and you find yourself clutching to your older sister a little tighter just to keep yourself upright.

The game begins. The screams never once cease, but there is a shift to them that shows just how invested the crowd is with this game.

Hunk moves like a predator, feet easily gliding beneath him, dodging almost every blow that Lance shoots in his direction. He steps out of the main ring only once, but the game continues and his little mishap only seems to make him more determined to win - and win he shall.

You feel guilty for thinking such a thing, but you can see from the way Lance’s smile fades and the way his movements get sloppier and sloppier throughout the game that the exhaustion will wear him out eventually, whether he gets tossed off the playing field or not. He balances precariously on the edge of the safe zone, shoots a water ball in Hunk’s direction, before he gasps and stumbles back. The buzzer goes off, and the commentator announces that the last round was won by no other than Hunk Garrett.

“Oh god,” Veronica groans. “He’s going to be-”

“What kind of rigged game was that?” Lance suddenly bursts, waving his arms around his head in agitation. You can see the sweat glistening from his collarbones, peaking up beneath the light blue collar of his gear. “I want a rematch!”

“He’s making a scene,” Veronica hisses, shoving you forward. “Go and get him!”

“Me?” you exclaim, before she shoves you once again and leaves you no choice but to wade over to your twin brother.

He doesn’t even look at you as you approach, too busy screaming obscenities up at the announcer box. You cast a risky glance in Hunk’s direction; he’s bent over, retying his shoe laces but with a clear grimace of distress on his face, conjured up no doubt by the accusations Lance is currently throwing in his direction.

You latch onto your brothers arm, startling him out of his rage. He whirls on you, eyes still narrowed and lip protruding in protest; you give him a flat glare that seems to bring him back to planet earth.

“Did you see that?” he exclaims. “There was clearly something going on there - there was no way in hell-”

“Let’s go, Lance,” you grumble, tugging his arm. “You lost this one, buddy. Just deal with it.”

“Deal with it?”

“Thank you to Y/N McClain, who seems to be dealing with the sore loser,” the commentator teases. You squeeze your eyes closed, feeling Lance tug on your arm in any attempt to run back to the centre of the playing field to continue his rant; you clutch his arm a little tighter, hiss “Don’t,” in his ear before you drag him back to Veronica, who takes matters into her own hands as soon as she can.

You follow your siblings into the back room, but not before you risk a glance over your shoulder. Hunk is no longer standing there, having disappeared with his own team. A strange sense of disappointment washes over you, though you aren’t entirely sure why; you had never spoken to the man before, had only ever seen him play a handful of times. There was very little base for your disappointment to be built from.

Besides, it wasn’t as if you could speak to him anyway. Not now. Not whenever it had been made deathly clear that Lance did not have the best opinion of his opponent.

With a sigh and a final wave towards the still-buzzing crowd, you turn on your heel and follow your siblings to the wash room.

+++

“It’s ridiculous. You’d think the referee would show some loyalty after I’ve been training in his gym for my entire life!”

You close your eyes, tilting your head back in agitation; this was all you had heard for the last hour, and it was beginning to drive you up a wall.

Veronica stood in the doorway, watching Lance towel dry his hair with lazy swipes. You had seated yourself on the chair just outside the locker room, and could hear every single objection Lance was making.

“Where do you actually think Hunk started cheating?” Veronica asks, clearly trying to tread carefully; she doesn’t want to make it seem like she thinks Lance is wrong, though she also doesn’t want to make it seem like she agrees with his claims.

“The entire thing!” Lance exclaims. “Nobody can Pro-bend like that. It’s not possible. It’s not how the game works.”

“So you admit that he might just be really good,” you point out, eyes still closed. “Even better than you?”

A damp towel hits you in the face.

“And where the hell is your loyalty?” he hisses.

You roll your eyes, balling the towel up and tossing it onto the sofa beside you. “I just think you’re being a little over-dramatic, that’s all. Hunk might just be really good at what he does - it’s not too difficult to believe.”

Lance scoffs, a sure sign that you have drawn him at a loss for words. He shoots you a glare before snatching the towel from the sofa, going back to drying his hair despite it already being fairly dry.

You sigh and stand up; you don’t want to deal with this right now. You are tired, bones aching from standing around the arena all day. You had been there since the early morning, waiting for Lance to get prepared, waiting for him to greet his fans, waiting for the chance when you could finally sit down and write up your report on Pro-bending - a report which is still unwritten, the words still lingering in your mind with no means of escape.

“I’m gonna go and get some food,” you announce. Veronica raises a brow at you, clearly concerned. It was rare that you and Lance fought, but there was no point in denying your sudden need to get away from him.

You give her a wary - hopefully comforting - smile in return and walk out the door, not waiting for Lance to pull his head from his ass and come to his senses.

+++

The wind is scarce today, barely a whisper despite the cold months that have impended upon you before you could prepare yourself; it brushes against your collar bones, which are on show through the low cut neck of your shirt. Your scarf lays in a bundle by your side, coiled in on itself like a terrified snake.

Your notebook balances on your lap, but it is empty. No words are coming to your brain, the scenery before you doing little to trigger that usual spark of both motivation and inspiration when it comes to your writing. You are blessed in the fact that you don’t need to wait for inspiration to write - you just sit down and get it done when it needs to get done. You don’t technically need anything to write about - words are words at the end of the day.

But today is different. Perhaps its the hectic activity of what happened, the argument you had just had with Lance, the exhaustion riddling itself within your bones.

Or perhaps it is just Hunk Garrett, niggling away at your brain.

It frustrates you to no ends. You had never spoken to the man in your life, and yet you sit on this bench outside of the arena with him playing on constant replay in your mind, refusing to leave you be for the few minutes it would take to get some decent content down on your reports of the day. Writing about him should be easy, considering you remember almost every single part of his match - the way he had moved so gracefully, the formations of his hand, the way the earth seemed to bend and shake purely to his will, as if he was some kind of master over it.

In a way, you suppose he was.

You sigh and snap your notebook closed, giving up at long last. The sun will be setting soon enough, and already Republic City was beginning to settle. The markets are closing up, people yelling their final farewells to friends.

Republic City is always like this at night; peaceful, but with that slight hint of hostility that always keeps you on your toes.

“Excuse me.”

Your head snaps up, a startled gasp escaping you. The gasp only seems more appropriate when you lay eyes upon the owner of the voice, your heart thundering in your chest at a million miles per hour as soon as you meet those big brown eyes that you had been looking at only an hour previous.

Hunk smiles warmly, tilting his head to the side.

You don’t smile back, feeling physically unable to do such a thing with him standing right there. You can smell the shower gel radiating off of him, a clear sign that he had at least washed up after his hectic match with your brother.

“Hey!” you exclaim suddenly, the word ripping from your throat due to your inability to think of anything else to say.

Hunk chuckles. “I was just - uh - getting some fresh air and there doesn’t seem to be any other benches around here. Care for some company?”

You blink, staring up at him with your mouth slightly slack. He raises a brow, bringing you back to the surface of the earth.

You hastily slide over, giving him room to take a seat of his own.

He does so with a nod of thanks, folding his arms in his lap and gazing out at the same sight as you; the markets are disappearing, and you find yourself growing more and more worried that the lack of business is going to make the streets silence, is going to force you to make conversation with the complete stranger sat to your left. It is much easier said than done, considering you could scarcely believe he was sitting next to you in the first place.

Lucky for you, he seems to be the talkative type, despite the exhausted drawl to his voice.

“I saw you at the match today,” he says. “Standing on Lance’s side, mind you, but I saw you.” He chuckles.

You wince. “Yeah... Lance is my twin brother.”

“I thought you two looked alike. I didn’t want to make assumptions, though.”

You wave the comment off with a shake of your head. “No, it’s alright. Not many people do.” You bite down on your lower lip, pondering on whether or not to dig up the elephant in the room. “I’m - uh - sorry about how he acted after the match ended. He gets like that sometimes - especially when he’s been working really hard for the victory.”

Hunk shrugs as if Lance’s childish behaviour is no big deal, but you can see the strain in his shoulders when he does it. You can see the way he averts his gaze, the memory of your brothers idiotic actions clearly swaying him more than he cared to let on; you can’t blame him, considering how detrimental it would have been for his career if the commentators had genuinely believed Lance’s accusations.

“We all get frustrated,” Hunk says. “We deal with it in different ways.”

“What do you do when you lose a game?” you find yourself asking, genuinely curious.

A ghost of a smile appears on Hunk’s lips. He lowers his head, looking down at the concrete beneath him; you watch as he idly kicks a stone back and forth, wringing his large and calloused hands in front of him.

“I just try not to lose.”

It’s silent after that, his words hanging loose between you. You want to ask so many more questions, all of which are balancing on the edge of your tongue, but you refrain from doing do, enjoying the peacefulness that comes with the closing of Republic City.

“Do you Pro-bend like your brother?”

Your head snaps around. “Hm?”

Hunk glances at you, a small smile still playing on his face. “Pro-bending. Do you play it? I know it runs in the family - Veronica McClain is your big sister, isn’t she?”

You flush, looking away. Of course he would know that - everybody does.

“Yeah, she is,” you reply. “I don’t play, though. I’ve never been very good at it.”

Hunk raises a brow. “I think it’s impossible for a McClain to not be good at Pro-bending.”

“I guess I was just a glitch in the system,” you say with as much nonchalance and as much humour as you can muster, despite the slight jab it conjures up in your heart.

“Do you like writing, then?”

You raise a brow. “How did you know that?”

He nods towards the notebook laying closed in your lap. “I saw that and just kind of assumed...”

“Oh!” You hastily pick the notebook up and stuff it into the pocket of your coat, smiling in embarrassment. “Uh - yeah. Writing is more my forte. The arts. Stuff like that.”

“Do you draw?”

“I doodle.”

“Doodle? Can you elaborate?”

You shrug, picking idly at a loose thread on your jacket. “I just . . . Doodle. For fun. Little figures and creatures and stuff like that - things you’d find in the corner of a school kids text book or something.”

Hunk nods thoughtfully, surprising you with how interested he seems in hearing about your hobbies. Nobody had ever taken such an interest before. Once they learn that you’re the sibling of Lance and Veronica McClain, the conversation instantly diverts. That’s what you have gotten used to, and so finding the words to describe your own hobbies is a little more difficult than you liked to admit.

“That sounds like an awful lot of fun,” Hunk says. “Maybe you could teach me how to draw some day? And then I can teach you a bit about bending!”

You raise a brow, trying desperately to cover the thumping of your heartbeat, the panic that arises in your throat at the mere suggestion. “I’m a water bender, you know. Not an earth bender.”

He frowns, shoulders slumping. “Well, I could still teach you a thing or two. But only if you teach me how to draw.”

“Why are you so interested in drawing?”

Hunk shrugs. “I think art is a really cool skill to have - I was always more of a sports person.”

“I gathered that.”

“But I always admired the people who could draw, or write, or make music - they just seemed so cool and peaceful and mysterious.” He looks at you from the corner of his eye, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Kind of like you.” His eyes widen then, his back straightening as if somebody had just electrocuted him. “God, where are my manners? I’m Hunk, by the way.”

You fluster, quickly trying to shake the hand he has protruded for you. “Y/N. Y/N McClain.”

He grins. “I know. I heard the commentator saying your name over the loud speaker earlier on.”

“For dragging Lance away,” you scoff, shaking your head in disbelief that such an action genuinely had to be taken today. “Again, sorry about that.”

He shakes his head, waving a dismissive hand in your direction. “Don’t worry about it. I had a good time nonetheless. And besides, I never would have been able to sit down and have a good chat with you if he hadn’t been here today.”

Despite yourself, you flush. Hunk thankfully turns away before the expression can be seen, but you feel your cheeks heating up nonetheless. You wring your hands between your knees, fighting off the urge to burst into a fit of uncontrollable, giddy giggles.

+++

Lance looks most unhappy from the very moment he steps foot into the gym, and Hunk Garrett follows shortly after.

You stand by the window, Veronica at your side, your arms folded over your chest as you examine the damage that will surely take place if Hunk so much as takes another glance in Lance’s direction; the two of them are clearly trying to stay as far from one another as possible, a deed which is done with difficulty due to the size of the gym.

“Why did he think this gym would be the best one to go to?” Veronica hisses, sensing her little brothers agitation as he punches the bag hanging from the roof.

You shake your head, at a loss for words. Lance had been training at this gym for years, and not once had you ever seen Hunk step foot within it. Why he decides that now is a good time to switch up his own training location is completely beyond you.

But you aren’t entirely angry about it.

You watch Hunk train, hoping and praying he doesn’t turn around and see you. That would only make Lance even more angry, and that is the last thing you need whenever he’s wearing boxing gloves, already pumped high on adrenaline. Nonetheless, you continue to stare at Hunk as he jabs at the boxing gloves on his trainers hands, bouncing back and forth with sweat glistening from beneath the bandanna he has wrapped around his forehead.

It’s almost unconscious when you pull your sketchbook out from the pocket of your coat. It feels heavy in your hands, very rarely making an appearance when others are around; you will gladly write in public, but drawing and sketching is another matter entirely. Your lack of confidence in your own abilities for the art often keeps you from drawing in front of people, which is the only reason why Veronica shoots you a confused glare when she sees you tugging the matted, thick book from your pocket.

You smile shyly at her and make your way towards the benches at the side, leaving her to her own devices. She won’t care, you tell yourself. Though she insisted on trying to include you in things like this, it’s no secret that she’s much better off concentrating on Lance - she knows more about Lance’s hobbies than she ever will your own.

You fold your legs over one another, take a pencil out of your jean pocket and open the sketch book - and there, you start to draw.

For the first time in your entire life, the sketching comes easier than writing. You remember the conversation you and Hunk had shared the previous day, how interested he had seemed in the fact that you could draw, as mediocre as your sketches often were. He had looked at you in the way that Lance’s fans always looked at him - in awe, as if you were doing something he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around.

Perhaps that is the reason you have this sudden burst of confidence, why your hand is suddenly sprawling across the page, blotting tiny little, pointless doodles all over the page - a smiley face here, a pair of hanging boxing gloves there, a tiny little fox face in the corner that makes you smile when you look at the finished product.

“So that’s what you meant by doodling.”

You look up slowly, hand instinctively creeping up the page in your attempts to cover as much of the sketches as you possibly can. Hunk is standing over you, sipping nonchalantly at a bottle of water with a smile on his face - that stupid smile that he had showed so much last night, the smile that was gradually making your insides turn to water.

Without invitation this time, he sits down beside you and glanced over your shoulder. He has a manly smell to him, like sweat and adrenaline.

“Now I definitely want you to teach me how to do that,” he says.

“It’s not that good. I just got bored of watching you all train,” you reply, trying to subtly close the sketchbook.

Hunk notices your hand pushing at the cover and frowns, shocking you when he reaches out and nudges your fingers away. He leans impossibly closer - if he were just a little bit shorter, his chin would have been resting in the crook of your neck. Instead, you have to suffer through the overwhelming emotions that come with having his arm brush against yours, have his lips inches away from your ears, his breath tickling the back of your neck like the wind that had swayed the trees yesterday night when you and him had-

“Ooh!” he exclaims, startling you out of your stupor as he jabs a finger towards the fox face imprinted in the corner of the page. “I like that one! You have to teach me how to draw that one!”

You frown. “It’s - uh - It’s not difficult.” And before you can shy away and back out, you hand Hunk your pencil and slap the sketchbook against his knee. The action clearly startles him as he looks at you for reassurance that it’s okay, that he can indeed touch the precious little book in his lap - you smile and nod, watch as his shoulders seem to diffuse before he grips the pencil tight in his large hands and starts drawing.

You watch him with a smile on your face, trying to resist the urge to giggle at how concentrated he is - halfway through his tiny sketch, his tongue peeks out from between his lips. Absently, he starts scratching at the back of his head, tilting the book back and forth to get a better view of what he is drawing.

“You know, if you think too much about it, it’s not really a doodle,” you say.

He looks up, eyes blown out with concentration. “What?”

You point to your loose sketches as an example. “A doodle. The whole point of it is that you don’t concentrate too much - if you make a mistake, you just work with it.”

“But I want to draw a fox.”

“Do you also want to doodle?”

He frowns, narrowing his eyes in a way that makes you chuckle. “Yes, but I thought doodling was just-”

“Doodling is the art of letting your mind wander,” you say, grabbing the sketchbook from his grip and perching it on your own knee. You grab the pencil and start drawing. Line after line, thinking only of Hunk’s close proximity. It takes your mind off of the act at hand, allowing you to draw the most bizarre of things. Hunk awes over your shoulder; you can hear the quiet murmurings of “woah...” as he watches your hand drift idly across the page.

Finally, you finish and show him the book. He takes it from you, stares at the little doodles with wide eyes and an open mouth; you nearly laugh, unsure as to why he finds such simple things so astonishing.

“Wow,” he repeats, shaking his head dumbly. “I wanna be able to do that.”

You giggle, patting his arm in faux sympathy. “You’ll learn eventually. But I think your coach is looking for you.” You nod towards the small woman standing on the sidelines, impatiently glancing down at the electronic watch on her wrist. She looks up, meets Hunks eye and gestures towards the mat in which she was standing on.

Hunk sighs, handing you back the sketchbook. “I guess I need to get going. I’ll see you at the match today, won’t I?”

You falter. Lance wasn’t playing today, meaning you have no intentions of showing up - but now that you know Hunk will be the one in the ring, a part of you is tempted.

“I’ll see if I can make time,” you say, settling for the easiest thing. “Good luck.”

He smiles. “Thanks. Hopefully I won’t need it.” With one final grin, he stands up and heads towards his coach, leaving you to stare after him in both confusion and awe.

He is completely different to how you had originally expected - there is something shy about him, as if he isn’t quite yet adept to talking to strangers. It is a direct clash to the confident aura he always portrays when he steps out onto the playing field, whenever he is playing the game that he loves.

You hum to yourself, looking back down at the sketchbook in your lap. It only occurs to you then that you had just handed Hunk this very book multiple times, with little to no hesitation in your movements.

The realisation leaves you stunned for a moment too long; in your time of reflection, you neglect the fact that Lance and Veronica are standing only a few feet in front of you, staring at you with wide eyes. It is only when Lance marches over to you, snatches the sketchbook out of your arms and starts yelling in his usual over-dramatic way do you realise what had really just happened.

You reach up and snatch the sketchbook back, pressing it tight to your chest. Veronica rushes over, grabs Lance’s arms and tries to calm him down, but the man is furious - you hadn’t even realised that you had been speaking to Hunk directly in front of him. Honestly, you truly hadn’t cared all that much at the time.

“Would you shut up?” you finally hiss, the sound of Lance’s voice giving you a headache.

“Loyalty, Y/N! Loyalty! That’s all I freaking ask for these days, and I can’t even trust my twin to give me that!”

“You’re so over dramatic!” you exclaim, throwing your hands up. It is one of the few similarities you and Lance actually have - you can never yell at someone with a static posture. “We were just talking about my drawings, okay? It’s nothing for you to get in your feelings about!”

“Look, I’m sure Lance understands that, Y/N-” Veronica begins, trying to wedge herself between you and Lance but to no avail, as Lance bumps her away and continues to yell in your face.

“He’s the opposition, you idiot! He doesn’t want to talk to you because of your damn personality - he wants information! He wants to know what my next move is!”

Anger courses through you. “Oh, really? Because I’m just so boring and uninteresting that people only ever want to talk to me when it’s about you, huh? Is that it?”

“Y/N-”

“Veronica, stay out of this!” You spin on Lance again, eyes burning with a fury you hadn’t even realised you could possess, let alone genuinely use. “You are a selfish, annoying, spoilt little bastard, and if you think you can stand there and choose who I can be friends with, then you are very, very much mistaken!”

Lance scoffs. “I can’t believe you’re that easy. Somebody shows you the briefest bit of attention and suddenly you’re ready to throw your entire family under the bus. It’s embarrassing.”

You slap him before you can think better of it.

There are no words for your horror, for the anger still coursing through you as your hand burns with the impact. Lance jerks back, stumbling into Veronica who promptly lets him fall to the floor, her arms gone limp with the shock clearly sparking through her body at what just happened. You look down at your palm, bright red and throbbing, and only then does the realisation dawn on you.

Your jaw drops open, eyes darting to Lance who lays curled up on the floor, cupping his cheek, trying to calm his breathing. When you were children, you used to always fight - Lance would pull your hair and shove you into walls, and you would throw toys at him and knot your hairbrush in his thick brown locks - but he’s older now, knows he can’t just swivel up and start shoving you into walls to get his own way.

You’re thankful whenever Hunk’s fingers wrap around your upper arm and start tugging you towards the door. You don’t fight in his grip, but you don’t take your eyes off Lance, either. You catch the briefest glimpse of him uncurling, shooting you a glare over his shoulder before he slams his hand into the floor, causing rockets of water to shoot out from the pipes beneath the ground.

Almost like a warning.

+++

The frustration does not clear when Hunk finally manages to tug you into the fresh air and far away from the gym.

It still brews in the pit of your stomach, causing you to throw your sketchbook to the ground, following shortly after it. Your knees are weak, giving in beneath you.

Hunk sighs, running a hand through his brown hair. In the aftermath of the ordeal, you had barely even noticed his presence, but can feel yourself growing more and more comforted as the time passes and your breathing calms down.

“I hate it all,” you say, unsure why you were speaking but needing to vent nonetheless. If Hunk is bothered by your sudden confession, he does little to show for it. In fact, he stands over you, crosses his arms over his chest and listens intently.

Just like he always had done.

“I can’t help it that I’m not as invested in this damn sport as he is,” you continue, clenching your fists in your jeans. “I’m not gonna stop being friends with somebody just because he thinks it’ll damage his damn chances of winning - god, that’s all he cares about nowadays. Getting the highest score, winning his next match - and he thinks that’s all I should care about, as well.”

Hunk slowly kneels down beside you. His fingertips brush over your shoulder blade when he pushes your hair back away from the nape of your neck, allowing the wind to whisper against your flesh and force goosebumps upon your skin.

You shudder, tugging your arms tighter around yourself. You hear Hunk sigh again, before he lowers himself fully to the ground beside you and wraps his oversized coat over your shoulder.

You don’t protest, though it is in your nature to do so. Anybody showing you the briefest glimpse of kindness often made you flustered, and you would insist on doing things by yourself - but now, you simply nuzzle deeper into the warmth his coat provides, not caring about humility.

“He’ll come around,” Hunk finally says. “I just - I really hope you don’t stop talking to me just because of what he said back there. I didn’t become your friend just because I want answers.”

“I know,” you say, because you do. As reasonable as Lance’s worries were, you somehow feel like Hunk would never do such a thing. “I know that.”

He nods slowly, following your gaze out into the darkening scene of Republic City. It’s a beautiful sight, even now. With the winter months slowly impending, the sun had not been present for very long, meaning it was growing dimmer and dimmer even earlier than usual; there was even a slight sheen of fog drifting carelessly over the horizon, making it even darker.

“I don’t want to be the reason you and Lance fall out,” Hunk says suddenly, startling you.

You turn to him. “If me and Lance fall out over this, it’s because of him. You have no part in it.”

“But I’m the reason behind your argument.”

“So? You can’t help that. It was Lance’s choice to start an entire riot over something so simple.” You shrug, the words tasting acidic - it had been an awfully long time since you had spoken about Lance in such a way, always too afraid of setting him off to really risk it. For years, you had kept your mouth shut when he would take one of his tantrums, when the training would get into his head and push him further down the gutter. In fact, you had done that with all of your siblings, because Pro-bending was a sport that messed with peoples brains both negatively and positively - it made them angry, and for years, you had just dealt with it as if it was nothing more than second nature.

You glance over at Hunk with a heavy heart - he can’t be the same. He just can’t be. He sat beside you, listened to you, spoke to you, took a genuine interest in the things you told him about. Not once had he become hostile, or showed any signs of short tolerance.

Without really meaning to, you find yourself shuffling closer to him. It’s not a subtle movement, the coat getting bundled up beneath you so that you’re forced to tug it loose before continuing on - but eventually, Hunk gets the idea and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you gently into his side where he rests his head against the top of yours - a friendly gesture, one to preserve heat, but one that makes your heart speed up nonetheless.

Together, the both of you calm down. With the help of each others presence and the calming sway of the horizon, you are able to come back to earth and gain a much needed peace of mind.

+++

“It’s not much, but I don’t really need anything fancy.” Hunk sounds nervous when he speaks, awkwardly wringing his hands in front of him as he lets you through the door of his gym, standing to the side to let you get a full view of the room you had just walked in to.

It is nothing staggering, but you hadn’t been expecting anything like that. There is the usual equipment set up around the place, punching bags hung up on the walls, ladders trailing up to the roof that look most dangerous. The roof is high, the double doors opened to reveal a kitchen on the other side.

Hunk steps up beside you, places a warm hand on your arm. You turn to look at him, and he smiles faintly. “I can take your coat if you want.”

You smile gratefully, shucking your coat off of your shoulders and watching as he does a funny little jog towards the other side of the room. He makes his way back to you, and it is then that you realise you have no idea why you’re here.

He had invited you only out of courtesy, purely so you didn’t have to go back and face Lance in your time of hostility; you had agreed for the same reason. You didn’t want to go back to Lance and try and patch things up - not right now, not whenever your anger is still burning hot in your stomach and was yet to be extinguished.

“So, are you gonna show me a thing or two now that we’re here?” you ask, taking even yourself by surprise with the boldness of your words.

Hunk glances at you, that smile forming on his face. He chuckles and shrugs casually, before turning on his heel and walking towards the equipment rack on the far side of the room.

“You know, I really shouldn’t be giving away my tricks,” he says, tugging a pair of Pro-bending gloves from the rack. “Especially to a water bender.”

“I’m also your opponents sibling,” you point out, taking the gloves from his hands and tugging them on your own. “That’s probably going to get you in even more trouble.”

Hunk grins. “Well, you taught me how to doodle. This is the least I can do.”

“I showed you some of my own. Doodling isn’t something you can teach.”

Hunk raises a brow. “And neither is Pro-bending.” And before you can react, before you can even grasp a hold of what his intentions are, the earth judders beneath your feet. He slams his foot into the ground, causing a large chunk of concrete to suddenly burst beneath you, sending you sprawling across the plush mat you had been standing on only seconds before.

You are dazed. One moment you were staring into the beautiful brown eyes of Hunk Garrett, and the next you’re staring up at the ceiling, barely registering how you had gotten there in the first place.

It’s Hunk’s laughter that brings you back to the present. You scramble back onto your feet, clenching your fists in the way you had seen Lance and Veronica do so often - you conjure up your water bending, but even simple bending comes as a difficult task for somebody who practised it so little.

Nonetheless, you were still a McClain. Using your bending to it’s abilities was simply in your blood, and you use it to your advantage now.

The walls burst around you, the pipes within them exploding. Hunk gasps at the suddenness of it, tries to block off some of the flow with the concrete he has control over, but it does very little. Water droplets shift around the fresh concrete slabs, soaking Hunk to the point where his brown hair is hanging in tatters around his head, his bandanna doing little to keep the strands out of his eyes.

You grin when he turns to look at you, a grimace on his face.

“Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting that.”

You shrug nonchalantly, despite the pounding of your heart. “I guess I’m just full of surprises.”

“Mm.” Hunk stomps his foot again, sending another tide of cobbles in your direction. You yelp, trying to dodge as many as you can, but they chase after you like a hornet. A rock slams into your calve, and you groan as you fall to one knee on the mat.

Immediately, the spray of cobbles stop. You look up hesitantly, not entirely sure whether it is safe to do so, but too curious to keep your head down for any longer. Hunk is standing over you, fists clenched. It is clear that he is still controlling the cobbles, as they hover in mid air around you, waiting for Hunk to release the pressure so they can continue their pummelling of your body.

You take a shaky breath in. “Thank you.”

He nods, whisking his hand through the air. The cobbles drop and sink back into the floor, and the room goes silent, the only noise being the heavy breathing of you and Hunk.

You close your eyes and slump back against the mat; Pro-bending still was most definitely not your game of choice, but the freedom that came with it was one that could potentially become addicting - though you had never been restricted with your bending whilst growing up, the fact that you could bend was never something that interested you all that much - you ignored that side of you, using it only when necessary.

Hunk slumps down beside you. “You’re better than I thought you would be.”

“Did you think I’d be bad?”

“I think it’s impossible for a McClain to be bad,” he assures. “But I definitely wasn’t expecting that. You owe me some new piping.”

You flush, glancing at the walls. You had yet to gain the skill to conjure water from nowhere, meaning you had been forced to extract the water from the pipes for any punch - but it was worth it, in your opinion.

“I’ll get you some more,” you promise. “Once I can - uh - afford it.”

Hunk chuckles, nudging your arm. “I’m only joking. Seeing you bend like that was worth the plumbing damage anyway.”

He stands up, stretching out his back muscles with a dramatic twist of his torso. You watch him closely, unable to take your eyes from the back of his shirt; the material is only thin, allowing you to see the ripple of muscles through it. The muscles are only more pronounced as he twists his torso to and fro. You can scarcely keep your eyes to yourself, and the sight of it alone is enough to make you flush.

Hunk turns, catches your eye and immediately goes bright red. You jerk back when your eyes meet, quickly averting your gaze to the floor in which you sit on in any attempt to feign nonchalance. The heat rising to your cheeks is enough to give you away, though, and you silently curse yourself for being so careless.

Hunk grunts when he sits back down, surprising you by taking your hand in his own. He grabs you by the wrist, drags your arm forward until your hand is resting comfortably in his lap. From there, he starts to trace tiny little patterns on your palm. It tickles, and yet you don’t move nor pull away, too absorbed in watching this odd little show of affection to do anything of the sort.

He’s concentrating again. You can see it in the strain of his shoulders, the way his tongue slowly makes its way from between his lips, the way his eyes narrow. He pulls back, examines your palm as if he can see exactly what it was he had been tracing, before he grimaces and dives back in, continuing to trace the strange and random shapes onto your flesh.

“What are you doing?” You aren’t sure why the word comes out as a whisper, but it does, and for a second, you’re not even sure Hunk hears you. He continues his movements, pulls away and examines his invisible lines before he looks up at you and smiles.

“I’m doodling.” He then pretends to shush you, before going back to his illustrations.

You close your eyes, losing yourself in the feel of his fingers tracing idle patterns into your flesh; it’s oddly relaxing, but perhaps that is only because it is Hunk who is doing it. His hands are calloused, rough against your smooth palm, but you don’t mind. In fact, it only makes sense.

“What are you drawing?” you ask after a moment of peaceful silence.

Hunk hums, narrowing his eyes and blowing upon your skin as if getting rid of eraser shavings; you roll your eyes, shaking your hand in his grip to get his attention.

“What are you drawing?” you repeat.

“You and me,” he replies, taking you by surprise. “In chibi form, I believe. I don’t think I can do a full portrait just yet - especially not on hands as small as yours.”

“My hands aren’t small. Yours are just big.”

“So I’ve been told,” he says, looking down at his massive palms and frowning. He shrugs, going back to his doodling. “Keep still, though. Your skin is prickling.”

“I can’t help that,” you chuckle. “You’re tickling me.”

“No, I am not.”

“Yes you are! Your finger tickles every time it passes over that fleshy part,” you say, pointing to the fleshy part of your palm. “I’m ticklish, as well, so that doesn’t help.”

Almost as soon as you say it, you realise your mistake. His fingers pause, his breathing suddenly stopping short as he intakes exactly what you had just told him; terror floods your body, and before you can think better of it, you are trying desperately to wriggle out of his grip and get as far away from him as possible.

“Ah, ah, ah!” he exclaims, grabbing your ankle before you can even reach the end of the mat. You squeal, falling flat on your stomach, allowing him the perfect chance to drag you back towards him by the foot he has firm in his grip.

“Hunk Garrett, let go of me right now!” you cry out, thrashing around on the mat in any attempt to get away from him.

He simply laughs, tugging you backwards until your feet are wrapped around his middle and his hands have perfect access to your rib cage - which he takes immediate advantage of. You yell and thrash, rolling to and fro, kicking out wildly in any attempt to get away, but his grip is too strong. He digs his fingers into your sides, pokes and prods until there are tears streaming down your face and your throat is hoarse from screaming.

You finally manage to roll over onto your back. Hunk stumbles, falling forward and only catching himself when he presses his hand to the mat by your head; the world goes still.

Your screaming has stopped. Hunk’s attack has stopped, and now it is just the two of you, staring at one another as if afraid to even breathe, to move, to say anything in fear of ruining the moment.

Whatever moment this is.

He inhales deeply, staring down at you in a way that you have never seen before.

“You - You said you were ticklish,” he whispers.

You nod slowly, not once taking your eyes from his. “I am.”

He nods just as slow. You watch the way his eyes travel from your own to your lips, resting there. He swallows thickly, Adams apple bobbing in a show of nerves and lust and need - the same emotions you feel in this very moment.

You want him to hurry up. You want to wound your hands in his oh-so-thin shirt and pull him down until his lips are smashed against your own and you can officially say you don’t care about anything, but you don’t. Your hands stay pinned to your side, nerves paralysing you for the time being.

Hunk speaks, but his voice is barely heard over the thumping of your heart. The fact that he is whispering does very little to help the situation. “Can I - Could we - Do you want to kiss right now?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to reply. His eyes widen at his own words, and he jerks away from you before you can give him a proper affirmative. He moves so fast that he ends up falling, feet tangling in the plastic of the mat until he falls flat on his back and grunts.

“Oh god,” he mumbles. “That was so stupid. I’m so sorry. I didn’t meant to say that. It just kind of - god, please don’t think I’m weird. I’m not usually so forward, but you’re just - like - really, really different, and I don’t know why I get this way when I’m around you, but-”

You sit up straight and lunge forward, grabbing his collar and pulling him towards you. His words are swallowed by the kiss you plant firmly on his lips, savouring the feeling that comes along with it. He gasps against your mouth, but you feel him physically relax just as fast - the muscles of his back ease beneath your fingertips, and eventually his hands are winding themselves around your waist, tugging you closer to him.

And just for this moment, you forget about Lance, and you forget about all the worries and the struggles that come along with being in the spotlight - you just let yourself melt against Hunk, feeling safe and warm in the tight embrace he holds you in, as if afraid of letting you go.

Lucky for him, you don’t want him to let go.

+++

“And where the hell were you last night?”

Lance’s voice is the first thing you hear when you step into your house the next day. Headache already bad enough from sleeping on the floor - though it was still pleasant, considering Hunk had been cuddled up next to you - hearing Lance scream and argue was not something you were up to dealing with today.

You slip your coat from your shoulders, tugging your shoes off at the same time. Veronica is the first down the stairs, clearly trying to put a little space between you and your twin brother, but there truly is no point. You can hear Lance yelling from the top of the staircase, making his concerns very well known.

“Not even a phone call, Y/N? You couldn’t even spare us a damn phone call?”

“Can you shut up?” you grunt. “I’m hungry. What food have we got left in the house?”

“Food is the last thing you should be worrying about,” Veronica growls, taking you by surprise when she grabs your arm before you can step foot into the kitchen. You raise a brow, looking at her in concern - it was rare that Veronica ever spoke like this, as if she were truly angry at something. You aren’t entirely sure if she is particularly angry, but there is still a certain lilt to her voice that stops you dead in your tracks.

“What is it?” you ask, looking up when Lance finally rounds the corner. He doesn’t have the expected angered expression on his face, but instead walks in with a skip in his step and smirk on his face. Veronica takes one glimpse at him, shakes her head and turns back to you.

“This idiot decided to organise a Pro-bending match with Hunk - a physical one.”

Your eyes widen, snapping over to Lance who has now proudly waded towards the fridge, still smirking with his head held high.

“You what?”

He shrugs. “Hunk messed with my family. That’s just how us Pro-benders settle things these days.”

“Lance, you can’t be serious,” you nearly wail, breaking out of Veronica’s grip and stumbling towards him, grabbing the back of his arm in any attempt to get his attention. “You’re gonna get seriously hurt if you go through with this.”

“And there it is again!” he exclaims. “Forever the tone of surprise with you, isn’t it? What makes you think I can’t win?”

“The fact that you lost last time, you idiot,” Veronica hisses. You are startled by the fact that she has suddenly decided to take your side, but don’t play too much on it in fear of her turning the tables out of nowhere.

Lance shrugs. “That was in a controlled, professional environment - just wait until we actually fight and are allowed to do stuff - he’ll be on the floor in seconds.”

You grip your stomach, suddenly feeling ill. “Lance, please don’t do this. It’s pointless. Hunk did nothing wrong.”

“He cheated.”

“Oh for - You lost a match! Why is that so difficult for you to understand?”

“You’re only sticking up for him because he took an interest in your stupid sketchbook!” Lance whirls around, face inches from your own. “Am I the only one here who actually realises the severity of cheating in a Pro-bending match? It’s my career on the line, and it’s my career that I’m protecting! I’m sorry that this family is falling apart so much that you can’t support me with that.”

You grit your teeth, trying to ignore the sting that comes with his words. He pushes past you, glares at Veronica before he makes his way upstairs, glass of milk trembling in his hands. You desperately want to call after him, try your hardest to persuade him to change his mind one last time - but you don’t move. You simply glare at the still open refrigerator, trying desperately to catch your breath and stop yourself from screaming at the top of your lungs.

How you had gone from a perfect night in Hunk’s arms, to now wanting nothing more than to rip your hair out strand by strand, was completely beyond you - but the shift was giving you a headache. You needed to sleep.

+++

Hunk looks ethereal when he trains, when he doesn’t know that somebody is standing back, watching him closely.

There’s that familiar look of concentration playing on his features, the one you had seen only a handful of times. Every time he held your pencil in his hand, the look would appear, causing you to giggle with just how adorable he looked.

Now, he has that same expression on his face. Tongue peaking out from between his teeth, eyes narrowed in concentration. He kicks at the punching bag, grunts, stumbles back and readies himself for another swing.

You stand by the door, arms folded over your chest and heart racing behind your rib cage. You had arrived with the intention of talking to him, try to desperately get him to back out of this fight with Lance, but you allow yourself a moment to simply stare at him now, basking in the way he seems to calm when nobody is yelling orders at him, telling him to push himself impossibly harder.

You don’t realise how long you’ve been standing there until Hunk is turning over his shoulder and catching your eye. You spring up when you make the eye contact, smile shyly and give him a small wave, trying desperately to pretend like you had only just arrived.

Hunk smiles back, reaching out to steady the swaying punching bag. “Hey! What are you doing here?”

You step forward, are taken by surprise when Hunk reaches out, wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you in for a kiss. It’s small and quick, and you can smell the sweat rolling from his skin, but it soothes you nonetheless.

“I came to talk to you,” you reply once he pulls away.

He frowns. “That’s never a good sign.”

“It’s . . . Not that,” you promise, though your tone of voice still indicates that something is plaguing your mind. Hunk keeps his frown on his face, one hand still spread out on the punching bag, the other resting idly on your waist.

“Y/N...,” he starts, tilting his head forward to meet your eyes. “This is about the Lance fight, isn’t it?”

Your breath hitches, eyes snapping up. “So you know about it.”

“Of course I do. His coach gave me the offer yesterday morning.”

“And you took it?”

Hunk shrugs, turning away and busying himself with his sweat towel. “I had to. Imagine what the press would say if I backed out of an offer like that.”

“Hunk!” you exclaim, jumping forward and grabbing his arm. “Screw what the press are going to say! You could get hurt - so could Lance!”

“That’s what Pro-bending is.” He smiles. You want to punch him. “Look, it’s not going to be anything major. Neither of us are going to die, and I honestly think your brother is just dragging out this fight for the attention. I can play into his game for as long as he wants.”

You grit your teeth. “No, he’s serious. He genuinely wants to hurt you.”

He shrugs. “Not the first time somebody’s wanted to punch my face in.”

You groan, winding your hands in your hair; why were these Pro-benders so difficult to get through to? Why were they so oblivious to their own safety?

“So you’re really willing to break bones just so the press won’t see you as a coward?”

“I’m doing this for Lance,” he corrects. “He wants to have some public drama to get his name out there, then who am I to take that from him?”

“And what if I ask you not to do it?”

Hunk halts, the towel draped loosely round his shoulders; you watch him closely, the tension that suddenly makes its way up through his spine, the way he stiffens at the words. He’s contemplating it, you can see, but even from where you’re standing, and even though you can’t see his face, you know that your opinion will have no affect on the final outcome.

“You’re still gonna fight, aren’t you?” you choke out, unable to bare just weak your voice sounds, but unable to cover it with any other emotion.

Hunk turns towards you, reaches out hesitantly. “Y/N, you’ve gotta understand. You’ve never been in this situation before-”

You pull away before he can touch you. “No, of course not. Don’t listen to silly old Y/N when it comes to Pro-bending.” You grit your teeth, glare at him. “Nobody ever does.” With that, you spin on your heel and leave the gym, not once looking back to see how your words had affected them, whether he has the expression of somebody who cares or whether he just turned back to his training, brushing off your statement like it was nothing.

+++

The day of the fight comes much too fast for your liking.

You stand on the sidelines, Veronica by your side, as per usual. Your older brother Luis stands on your other side, wearing a shirt with Lance’s face printed on the front.

“The McClains have got to support each other,” he had said, grinning from ear to ear.

You hold your notebook tight to your chest, staring at the other side of the playing field - the opponents side of the field, where Hunk will soon be standing, giving out his usual fan service as he waits for the match to begin. The crowd, surprisingly, is fairly quiet this time, tension surrounding the stands that has the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end; nobody in the room is on friendly terms, by the feel of things.

“Why do you look so tense?” Luis asks, suddenly.

Your eyes snap over to him, an eyebrow raised. “What?”

“You look tense,” he repeats, shifting behind you so he can dig his thumbs between your shoulder blades in that way he always used to do when you were little. This time, you grumble and squirm from his grip, stumbling into Veronica in your high-stake attempts to get away.

Luis raises a brow. “You’re not worried for Lance, are you?”

“Leave them alone,” Veronica grunts, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “It’s that Hunk kid they’re worried about. Them two have been getting close recently.”

You flush when Luis’s eyes widen. “Are you serious? Are you the first of the McClain twins to actually get in a relationship?”

“Shut up,” you growl. “I’m worried for Lance, by the way. He’s my brother.”

You aren’t particularly lying, because you certainly are worried for Lance. Your twin brother, your promised lifelong friend - he meant everything to you. But on the same wave length, you and Hunk have grown exceptionally close over the past few weeks, and you would be lying to claim that you did not feel a tiny glimmer of anxiety on his part.

More than a tiny glimmer, but that was something you refused to admit to your two older siblings, who had now taken to teasing you about your little crush on the man who would soon be facing your brother in an intense game of Pro-bending that could potentially land the both of them in hospital.

You had tried, in vain, the previous night to make Lance see sense, refusing to leave his room until Veronica had to come in and physically drag you from his bed. The two of you had yelled at each other, you even throwing a shoe into his wall that had startled the house awake - nobody but Veronica had come to check on you though, used to the blow outs by now.

But he had kept his stubborn head and refused to pay attention to any of your warnings. It had been expected, but you were disappointed nonetheless.

The match starts at 9:00pm on the dot. The sun having long since gone down, the windows blocked with majestic drapes to give the arena a spooky vibe to it, and the crowd is feeling the aura. The whispers begin when the lights dim and the referee steps out onto the playing field, a microphone already in his long and bony fingers, his moustache twitching with the excitement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the night you have all been waiting for! Please prepare yourselves for the fight of Lance McClain and Hunk Garrett!”

The crowd don’t scream. They stay utterly still, whispers flying through the air like a fresh breeze.

The referee continues his usual speech, but you block it out. You find yourself gripping tightly to Veronica’s sleeve with one hand, Luis’s sleeve with the other, trying to stabilise yourself between your two older siblings.

And then Lance steps out, and that’s when the cries start.

People spring up from their seats, cheering both for and against him. Through the deafening sound of acceptance, you make out the “Boo’s” and the heckles for him to get off the playing field and accept his previous defeat. Lance pays no attention to them people, though, and instead keeps his eyes trained firm on the centre of the field, walking directly into the starting circle.

Hunk follows after. The screams get louder, the hecklers get more enthusiastic, but again, Hunk pays them no attention. His brown eyes are firm on Lance when he steps into the field, and it takes every fibre of your strength to not call out for him.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” Veronica whispers. “He’s going to get himself killed.”

You bite down on your bottom lip and swat her words away - you have faith. Faith in Lance’s ability, faith in his common sense that he might just back out before the final bell rings.

But you know you’re reaching for straws at this point; Lance is determined, stands in front of Hunk with a snarl on his face, a direct contrast to the cocky smirk you usually see plastered on his features during a match.

And then the bell sounds, and the world erupts.

You can’t keep track of what is happening. There’s too much going on, with Hunk diving left and right with a gracefulness that somebody of his size should not possess. Lance is the same, skittering around the playing field like a cat chasing a mouse.

Water erupts from nowhere. Pieces of the earth are flying through the air. Buzzers are going off as the two of them step out of bounds, but neither of them care to stop once the referee shouts for time - they’re too invested in trying to hurt one another, a fact which becomes clear when Lance is knocked clean off the playing field, only for him to crawl back on, snarl, “You’re gonna pay,” before he pushes his hands forward, sending a wave of water in Hunk’s direction.

“What is he doing?” Luis exclaims. “What are either of them doing? The referee’s called time about six times!”

“They’re not Pro-bending any more,” Veronica replies, mortified at the violent sight before her. “They’re just fighting each other.”

“Oh god,” you exclaim. “Somebody has to - ugh!”

You don’t finish your sentence, because the realisation dawns on you almost immediately. You toss yourself forward before either Veronica or Luis can get a hold of you, throwing yourself onto the ramp that leads directly onto the playing field. People gasp at the sight of you - the infamous Y/N McClain, the twin that Lance always talks about, the twin that rarely shows their face. Yet here you were, climbing up onto the playing field with little to no care about the crowd or the danger you’re about to walk into.

Hunk sees you first. His eyes meet yours, widen, and he starts to yell, but his words are cut off by a wave slamming into him. He flies backwards, directly off the end of the dais, making your heart lurch in your throat.

Lance spins around to face you, having notices Hunk’s attention slip at the last minute, but you run right past him and slide on your knees, gripping the edge of the playing field to look down at Hunk - his form is crumpled, and it does not take a medical degree to see that he just broken his leg.

“Hunk!” you cry, before spinning around to face Lance. “Get a medic!”

Despite the competition, his anger towards Hunk, Lance’s eyes widen in panic at the request. He hastily nods, spins on his heel and sprints back into the back rooms, crying out for a medic.

You slip down off of the playing field and grab Hunk by the shoulders. He hisses, eyes sliding open to look at you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he grunts. “You could have gotten yourself killed.”

You shake your head, brushing soaked strands of hair out of his face. “What did you think I was trying to tell you yesterday, you idiot?”

He stares at you for a moment longer, shakes his head and slumps his head against your lap, letting his eyes slip closed as the pain from his broken bone finally ushers him into silence.

+++

“Is he okay?”

You turn, giving Lance a mere glance just so he knows you heard him. He stands in the doorway of the hospital room, chewing nervously on his bottom lip as he stares at the sleeping form of Hunk, laying still in the bed.

“He’s fine. Just resting,” you assure. “You finally feel bad now?”

He sighs and steps into the room, kneeling down beside your chair. “I didn’t think it would get like that.”

“You could have stopped it, you know. It wouldn’t have taken much to just say ‘I’m out.’”

Lance sighs. “You don’t get it, Y/N. You aren’t a Pro-bender. You don’t know what it feels like to face the scrutiny of the public when you back out of a game like that.”

“I know. I know I don’t understand.” And maybe that is something you need to start remembering - at the end of the day, it wasn’t you who had spent your entire life in the public eye. Not as pronounced as Lance. Though your name had been thrown around here and there, it was nothing in comparison to the level of pressure that had always been upon your twin brothers shoulders, the need to impress everybody, the need to seem as strong as possible at all times.

You sigh and lean your head against his shoulder. “I hate it when we fight.”

He leans his head on your own. “I hate it, too. We’re not built to be enemies.”

“I’m sorry for everything I said. For . . . For not really understanding.”

“And I’m sorry for being a childish idiot.” He shakes his head. “He didn’t cheat.”

You giggle. “Yeah, I know.”

The two of you sit like that for a little while longer, until Lance’s knees finally grow tired of keeping him upright and he insists on taking a walk down to the shop for some sandwiches. You bid him farewell and watch him leave - almost as soon as the door closes, Hunk’s fingers close over your own.

You start, a gasp escaping you. “Hunk?”

He smiles. “I’m awake.”

“Oh good. You didn’t slip into a coma because of a broken leg.”

He chuckles hoarsely, sitting upright and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. You see him wince with the movement, but he still manages to reach over and grab for his cup of water, taking a sip before passing it to you, offering you some.

You decline, setting the cup down on the counter and instead leaning forward to hold his hand again. His skin is startlingly warm; the nurse had told you that he would be suffering fever for a little while whilst the pain in his leg went away.

“How are you feeling?” you ask quietly.

“Better. Especially now that I know you didn’t leave.”

“Why would I leave?”

Hunk looks away sheepishly. “I thought that maybe Lance had...”

“You don’t have to worry about Lance,” you assure, waving a dismissive hand through the air. “I think he feels a little guilty for what he did and how he reacted. I can honestly see you two being friends in the long run.”

Hunk smiles. “I’d like that. I’d much prefer to get on with everyone in your family, to be honest. Not just you.”

You flush, looking down at your joined hands. Hunk notices, and immediately starts to trail his thumb over your knuckles. The action is small, but you find it easing the anxiety that had been knotted in your stomach almost all day.

“I’m sorry.”

Your head snaps up. “Hm?”

“I’m sorry. For not listening to you when you came to the gym a few days back. You were telling the truth and I just kind of brushed you off because of your inexperience with the game...”

You bite your lip. “Hunk, there’s no need to apologise. I know where you were coming from, as well.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Look, we can leave this behind us.” You lean forward then, placing a hand on his warm cheek. “The only way now is forward, okay?”

Hunk is silent for a moment, staring into your eyes before he slowly nods. You grin, lean forward and press a feather light kiss to his lips. You push past the taste of medication, the weak grip of his hand as he tries desperately to pull you that little bit closer - instead, you concentrate on yourself, the feeling his lips put upon you even though the kiss is so simple and so quick.

You pull away, smile again, and-

“I knew something was going on between you two!” Lance exclaims, tossing his sandwich at the back of your head.

66 notes · View notes

lost-your-memory · 8 years ago

Note

Hey girl, long time no see. Friendly neighbourhood NASCAR here with another prompt based in these Hozier lyrics. When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her So like Kara is presumed dead and there's a service and everything, then Kara turns up at 3 am at her door saying hi, before collapsing in her arms. Angsttttt please

Hi anon!Long time no see, indeed! I’m here with your prompt and fair warning, it’s packed up with angst but it has a happy ending. It’s also over 12k words so it’s long. Inspired by @beyondambivalent gifset that you can find here xAll thanks to @cat-danvers for the beta-reading and thoughtfull advices ♥

“Mom! Mom wake up! Wake up, mom!”

Cat’s eyes snapped open as she felt her body being shaken awake, rather abruptly. She was exhausted, the few hours of sleep she had managed to snatch weighing heavy upon her eyelashes and already urging her to close them again, to go back to sleep.

“Mom! Mom, please, wake up.”

The voice sounded distant, like an echo far away in the room but she recognized it instantly and it provoked a surge of adrenaline that kickstarted her system as she finally heard the panicked edge it held. She jolted up to sit in her bed, running a hand over her face to chase the fatigue away and then, she finally focused on her son. Her heart squeezed, missed a beat and then dropped when she took in the tears running down his cheeks, the terror swirling in his baby blue eyes and the way he was practically panting, his chest heaving up and down too quickly as he struggled just to breathe.

“Carter? Sweetheart, hey, I’m here, what’s wrong? I’m awake, I’m awake, take a deep breath and tell me. What is it?” She asked, trying to sound soft and inviting and not to show the fear he was rapidly awaking in her guts.

“Mom, it’s Kara! She’s, she’s … Mom, you need to see this! Come on! Mom.” He was tugging at her wrist and she quickly pushed the blanket away, to be able to leave the bed and to follow her son. Her heart was racing in her chest and her mind was whirling and spinning, going in every direction but she couldn’t seem to focus on anything.

The penthouse was almost pitch black but as they came close to the living room, she noticed the glowing and flashing halo the television was casting upon the furnitures. The sound was on, very low but she heard sirens and shouts, screams too. Carter dragged her in front of the huge flat screen and then he slid his fingers to hold her hand, tight. She squeezed it gently, out of habit but mostly because he was frightening her but then, she caught a glimpse of a blue and red blur on the screen and her attention sharpened.

The scene unfolding before her, filmed by one of CatCo’s most talented cameraman and commented by the usual night anchor, wasn’t typically new but still quite impressive. National City got used to see Supergirl fight some kind of alien threat and save the day but Cat immediately sensed it; something was off.

Grabbing the remote with her free hand, she turned the volume up and listened as the anchor tried to explain what was happening in the middle of National City.

“For the last two hours, Supergirl has been struggling to arrest the unidentified alien responsible for all the bombings around the city those past two weeks. The fight first began when Supergirl landed near the alien as he was apparently targeting the CatCo building and she managed to relocate the confrontation a few roads away but ever since, she’s been in a complicated position.”

Cat felt a chill go down her spine as she stared at the live footages of Supergirl trying to come closer to her opponent.

The alien didn’t look that impressive, almost human even, if not for the greyish color of his skin and the glowing green of his eyes. He was slightly taller than an average man but the cruel smirk on his lips truly was the most disturbing fact about his overall appearance.

“We don’t know the details but judging by the fact Supergirl can’t quite approach him, the most plausible theory is that he is wearing some kind of device that is forcing the hero to keep her distance.”

The anchor’s words took a few seconds to penetrate Cat’s mind and she suddenly understood what was happening on the screen, why Kara was standing so far away from her enemy and why she looked exhausted, weak even.

The hostile alien was carrying kryptonite with him.

In the background, Cat saw men in black move around to try to clear a path and evacuate all the civilians but they didn’t get too close to the hostile alien and she guessed Hank must have told them off. The camera suddenly jerked toward the left and it showed tanks and army trucks pull over on each side of the main street, a flow of soldiers bleeding out from them, ready to follow orders.

“The army is now on the site and it appears that General Lane is going to fight at Supergirl’s side.”

The camera was back on Supergirl and Cat barely felt any relief when she saw Lucy Lane pull Kara back a little, further away from the alien terrorist. Another woman suddenly appeared at the edge of the frame and walked towards the duo. Cat recognized Alex and she briefly wondered why the older Danvers wasn’t trying to keep her sister away from the fight, since Kryptonite seemed to be involved.

But the camera zoomed and even though the image became blurry, Cat could see the panic and the urgence in the women’s moves, the way Kara gestured and talked with her hands like she often did to argue. The side of her face looked strained with something sticky and as the image tried to focus, Cat realized it was blood.

“Mom, she’s bleeding.”

It’s when she heard Carter’s voice next to her that she realized she had forgotten about him, about their hands linked together as they watched the news. She managed to tear her eyes away from the flat screen to focus on him.

He looked so frightened, tears still spilling out from his deep blue eyes and soaking the collar of his Harry Potter pyjama as he tried to breathe. He was almost fifteen now, already a teenager but at this instant, in the heart of the night and under the dim light of the TV, he looked terribly younger.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” She answered and she squeezed his hand a little harder because as much as she still wanted to protect him from the world and its tragedies, right now, she couldn’t lie to him. Not when they were both aware of what was happening.

She heard him gasp and she immediately focused back on the screen.

The camera was now focused on the hostile alien, who had just started glowing green. His skin showed cracks and creases glimmering with the exact shade of green that colored his eyes. The gleam was quickly growing and the cameraman suddenly moved to show Supergirl push the two other women away, a look of pure terror twisting her usually poised features.

The image jumped back to the alien and his smug smirk and Cat suddenly realized he wasn’t wearing any device or anti-supergirl tool.

He was made kryptonite.

He had it in his body and if the way he was suddenly standing in the middle of the place, arms outstretched and head tipped backward, the green radiations dangerously becoming blinding, he was about to blow himself up.

She gasped and clutched Carter’s hand a little tighter, her eyes never leaving the screen.

Then, everything happened at once.

The image was a blur as Supergirl flung herself at the hostile alien, securing him in a tight grip before and taking off to the sky.

Cat let out another gasp and brought her free hand over her mouth, terrorized as she watched the two bodies disappear into darkness above the city.

Suddenly, the anchor stopped talking altogether and there was no siren, no scream and not a single sound echoed as everyone seemed to wait for something to happen. The main camera was searching the sky while another one was showing the faces of Lucy and Alex. They were too far away and the quality wasn’t good but Cat knew Alex was trying to reach out to Supergirl through her earpiece, while Lucy waited next to her.

Nothing happened for a long while and the seconds bleeded into a full minute, then two, then three …

The explosion, high up above the clouds, casted a blinding and bright green light over the whole city and the sound that came seconds later was deafening and strong enough to cause the earth to shake, breaking windows and light bulbs, setting off car alarms and popping up a few fire hydrants.

The camera searched the sky frantically now, joined by all the broadcasting cameras around National City.

Next to her, Carter had stopped breathing and Cat was holding her breath as well, mentally praying for the familiar blur of red and blue to come down.

The kryptonite dust slowly disappeared and the sky regained its original color, pitch black with some sparkle of grey when the clouds flew too close to the lights of National City.

The sirens were still silent, the anchor had yet to resume its reporting and not even the low purr of a car engine could be heard in the background. It felt like the whole city was holding its breath, waiting for its most beloved hero to come down, so the public could finally let go of the fear to break down into a well deserved round of applause and loud cheers.

Except this time, the minutes bleeded into hours and nothing ever fell from the sky.

—

Carter was curled up on the couch, having cried himself up to sleep, despite Cat’s best attempts to comfort him, but if she was being honest, she was glad he had finally passed out. She had tried to stay strong for him, because she knew he needed someone to ground him and to try to reassure him, even if he was too clever to believe anything she had tried to come up with to explain what they saw.

Now pacing the floor between the couch and the TV, she tried to call Alex again. She was so sure it would go straight to voicemail, like the first thirty times she had tried, that she almost dropped her phone when Alex picked up.

“Cat, I’m sorry I couldn’t call you before, things are … hectic,” Alex said and Cat noticed she sounded breathless, panting even. There was a lot of noise in the background, shouts and ruffling, loud footsteps echoing through a close space.

“Alex. What’s happening, where is Kara? She doesn’t answer my call, I figured maybe she was injured … The explosion … It was kryptonite, is she alright?” Cat asked, pacing even more frantically, squeezing her phone so tight she thought it might break, waiting for answers.

“Cat. Take a deep breath. Sit down.” Alex ordered and Cat frowned, recoiling under the command. However, she did as she was told because as much as she hated being ordered around, she trusted Alex.

She sat down at the far end of her couch, next to her son’s feet and she glanced at him to make sure he was still asleep. His face was still red and puffy, tears strain clearly visible in the dim light the TV casted on his worried and distressed features. Her heart ached for him and more than anything in the world, she wanted Alex to bring her good news so she could tell Carter that everything would be alright and mean it.

“Alex, please. I need to know that she’s alright.” Cat whispered, swallowing hard against the lump of anxiety caught in her throat. On the screen in front of her, a camera was still searching through the sky above National City and the anchor was now back to himself, reporting the news with a grave face and a very serious voice.

“Cat …” Alex sighed and there was a short pause before she started speaking again. “We don’t know where she is.”

Cat felt her heart drop in her chest and stop for a few seconds. She closed her eyes and forced herself to take a deep breath, then another one and she worked her way through the rising panic that threatened to wash over her.

“Everyone at the DEO is looking for her and I even called Clark for help but he blew off his powers a few days ago, during the big fight against the Dominators that menaced to invade Earth … Kara had to go there to help …” Alex explained and Cat cut her off.

“Yes, yes, I remember. What does it mean you don’t know where she is? She has a geo-locating device in her suit and you updated it just last month, can’t you use it?” She asked, trying to summon her Cat Grant CEO persona to deal with the fear twisting her stomach and the panic growing ever so quickly in her chest.

“It’s the first thing I tried but the device must have been affected by Kryptonite because it’s not working. The last known coordinates are in National City, just above the block where she was fighting the enhanced Valeronian.” Alex answered, her voice a little sharp but steady.

“Enhanced Valeronian? You mean … He was … part of Cadmus?” Cat swallowed, standing up to start pacing the floor again, unable to stay put.

“Yes, we believe so. They must have injected him with Kryptonite somehow, like they did with Metallo but this time, they knew better. The alien had full control over the radioactive material and he chose to blow himself up when he realized he was cornered … I … I told her not to …” Alex trailed off and Cat heard the weaver in her voice.

“Alex. You need to find her. I … Please, please find her.” Cat almost collapsed to the floor as she realized what the change in Alex’s voice could mean.

The size of the explosion had been impressive but what scared Cat beyond imagination was that it had been a bomb made of Kryptonite.

“I’m trying. Lucy is deploying all her army resources to help us find her but … Cat, you need to …” Alex tried to warn her but Cat shook her head no, even though the older Danvers couldn’t see it.

“Don’t. I don’t want to hear it. Find her.” Cat ordered sharply, the sheer force of her denial audible in her tone.

“We will. I’ll call you back in the morning, hopefully with an update.” Alex replied and she hung up without another word.

Cat stood in the middle of her living room, in the glowing halo of the TV screen, clutching her phone between her fingers as she desperately tried not to cry.

—

Morning came and there was still no word about Supergirl’s whereabouts.

Carter asked to stay home and Cat couldn’t deny him.

She managed to get him to agree to a shower and she sighed in relief when she saw him walk towards the bathroom.

She made breakfast, trying very hard not to think of the many mornings when she had found Kara singing and dancing around the kitchen, using a wooden spoon or spatula as a mic and making Carter laugh with her silly faces and moves.

They have been together for a little over two years now but somehow, it felt unreal.

Cat was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the day Kara would wake up and realize she was wasting her time with a woman twice her age, all sharp edges and blunt wit, unused to be loved and not sure how to love in return.

Yet, every day Kara was there by her side, her usual bubbly self and she made it seem so easy, to love and to be loved, Cat grew addicted to the feeling. She was a junkie for Kara’s presence, for her smile and her sparkling blue eyes, for the random rambles and the science nerding, for the soft touches and the comfortable silences, for the constant support and even for the arguments they had, whenever Cat would let her insecurities take over or when Supergirl would act a little too careless during a fight. She loved the way Kara would roll over in the night to make contact with her skin, the way her whole face lit up when she was told there would be potstickers, she admired Kara and Carter’s beautiful relationship, how the hero was always very careful of his feelings and she was grateful for being allowed to see Kara grow and blossom in her life, both as a woman and as a superhero, even if it meant countless sleepless nights filled with worries and anxiety, until Kara would flow back through the windows with a smile on her face.

She was still hoping for that kind of return, despite the voice in her head whispering it wasn’t going to be that easy this time.

“I’m not hungry.” Carter said as he stood in the kitchen’s entrance, a frown between his anxious blue eyes and a scowl on his lips as he watched her put a few pancakes on a plate.

“I know. I’m not either but we have to eat something.” Cat replied and she brought two plates to the living room, putting them down on the coffee table. Carter followed and if he was surprised to be allowed to eat here, he didn’t say anything. She went back to the kitchen to bring back two glasses of fresh orange juice and she then joined him on the sofa.

He grabbed the remote and turned the TV on. The images were the same as last night, on repeat as the anchor said they didn’t have any new informations about Supergirl’s disappearance. After a while, Carter muted the sound and reluctantly picked at his food, managing to eat a full pancake before pushing the plate away.

“Thank you. I know it’s hard but we need to take care of ourselves too.” Cat softly said and Carter turned his head to look at her.

“Okay, mom. Then you need to finish your pancake too.” He pointed at her plate and she sighed, knowing he was right. He was trying to be strong, she could tell, and the least she could do was to make the same effort.

She felt her stomach protest at the food she was forcing down on it but she finally ate the whole pancake. She downed her orange juice before taking a deep breath.

“Alright. I’m going to work from home today and you can do whatever you want as long as you promise to eat lunch and dinner, I will fix us something or … order something for tonight if you prefer?” She asked him, standing up to gather their plates to bring them into the kitchen, leaving everything in the sink.

“I don’t know. Maybe, we can wait until Kara comes home and we’ll figure out for tonight?” Carter replied, sounding so hopeful it broke Cat’s heart.

“Sweetheart I … I don’t know if she will be back by then. They have yet to find her and she might be in a bad shape …” She forced herself to answer, looking right into his eyes while doing so. She saw the gleam of hope waver and reduce but it was still there when he nodded.

“Alright. I’m going to go read in my bedroom. Can you … call me, if there is any news?” She almost sobbed at the insecurity in his voice, the way he asked so cautiously making it clear that he was struggling to keep on hoping.

“Of course, Sweetheart,” She answered, not even trying to smile because she knew she couldn’t.

He nodded and then wandered off towards his bedroom.

As soon as she heard the door close, she retrieved her phone from the kitchen counter and dialed Alex, crossing the penthouse to go lock herself in her home office.

“Cat.” Alex’s exhaustion was tangible in her voice, low and slow.

“Alex, is there … Do you have any … news?” Cat asked, trying to sound sure and sharp but failing miserably as panic rose again in her chest.

“None.” Alex sighed but she didn’t give Cat the time to speak. “Lena Luthor reached out to put all her resources at our services and we are now a little over 500 people to search for her but so far nothing. Hank is out, flying in circles around the city and we are extending the range. Winn created a fancy algorithm to calculate the force of the explosion, taking in account a whole bunch of factors to determine the probability for how far Kara had been projected but … Either he made some mistakes and it didn’t work or …” Alex trailed off, a loud sigh escaping her lips as she was obviously trying to pull herself together.

“It has to work.” Cat whispered, her mind blocking any other possible outcome. “What does Superman say? I know he blew up his powers but surely, he can reach out to … friends, who can help?”

She heard the sound of heavy footsteps on Alex’s side, some muffled voices shouting orders.

“He contacted Batman, who’s now working with Winn to modify the algorithm, and we tried to contact our friends on Earth-1 but they’re busy with a creature that can time-travel, they can’t help us.” Alex answered before snapping at someone. Cat couldn’t make out the words but she recognized the second voice as belonging to Lucy.

“Alex.” She called, trying to get the older Danvers attention. “Alex!”

“Yes, Cat? I’m busy you know, I’m trying to be there for you and to keep you updated but you need to let me do my job so I can find her and bring her home.” Alex replied, a sharp edge in her voice that softened towards the end of her sentence. Cat understood, more than anyone else, the urgency in the woman’s tone, the hint of despair that came with the feeling of helplessness. It was eating her alive as she tried to gather her courage.

“Alex. What are … “ She tried to swallow but it felt like shards of glass were being forced down her throat. “What are the odds?” She finally brought herself to ask.

The silence that followed was an answer in itself but when she heard the muffled sob Alex had been unable to hold back, she closed her eyes and shook her head, still trying to deny the evidence even as it started to sink in.

“Not good.” Alex finally managed to croak. “By every calculation, if we take in consideration the concentration of kryptonite in the enhanced Valeronian and despite Kara’s powers … The chances of survival are less than ten percent.”

This time, Cat fell to her knees on the rug of her office and started crying, silently.

“How long before … how long before you have to stop?” Cat heaved as she tried to contain her cries, hating herself for asking but needing an answer all the same.

“A week.”

Cat let out a loud sob.

“I’m going to try everything I can until the very last second but .. I …” Alex Danvers was one of the bravest people Cat knew and she knew a lot of people but in this moment, she sounded like a little girl on the verge of tears. Cat was aware that the agent was trying to keep it together despite the situation but she could still hear the trace of fatality in her voice, the not so distant echo of an impending loss that would ravage them both.

“I know you will. I … just, let me know, if …” Cat finally said, managing to sound almost normal if not for the slight panting in between her fragmented sentences.

“I will.” Alex replied solemnly, before hanging up.

Cat threw her phone across the room, towards one of her sofas. It landed on the cushions with a soft thud, before it bounced back and fell on the hard-wooden floor.

She heard the crack in the screen and that was what broke the dam.

She started crying uncontrollably.

—

Three days passed in an agonizingly slow blur and Cat was losing her mind.

She had snapped at pretty much everyone that worked in her building, fired two assistants and yelled at a member of the board and she had just received a call from Carter’s school that made everything worse.

Carter had gotten in a fight.

She knew he wasn’t dealing well with the situation, at all, but still, she hadn’t expected that kind of behavior from her son.

Carter used to be so shy and shell-locked, not socializing, not talking much either, content to be by himself but with the help of Kara, he had grown and gained in confidence. Now, he had friends and he even became somehow popular in highschool. He still had panic attacks when he was surrounded by strangers or facing an unknown or stressful situation but Kara had taught him how to deal with it.

She was lost in her thoughts in the backseat of the car, on her way to pick her son up, when Alex called. Her heart missed a few beats and she almost didn’t pick up, her mind going through every possibility for the older Danvers to contact her. Somehow, she could sense that it wasn’t the good kind of call and she was afraid of what she would learn.

Finally, she gathered her courage and pressed the green button.

“Alex.” She greeted stiffly, unable to ask anything and letting the other woman do the work.

“Actually, it’s Lucy.” The familiar voice of the General filled her with a dreadful feeling.

“Lesser Lane. Why are you calling me from Alex’s phone?” Cat asked, frowning as she checked the ID on her screen.

“Alex just passed out. She’s fine, she was just exhausted, severely dehydrated and she had neglected to eat for too long. She’s been working on finding Kara for the last four days non-stop. Her mother just arrived, she’s in good hands.” Lucy informed her, sounding incredibly tired as well. Everyone was.

“Eliza’s here?” Cat swallowed thickly. She was drowning in the turmoil of her feelings but she couldn’t even fathom what Eliza must be feeling. Cat was trying not to lose hope but while she was waiting for her lover to return, Eliza was waiting for a child.

“She’s just arrived yes, I called her yesterday because Alex snapped at me in the middle of the DEO, yelling that she didn’t need to rest or to eat, that she only wanted to work to find her sister. She’s stretched herself too thin, it was only a matter of time before she’d fall,” Lucy explained and she sighed, loudly. “I just wanted to let you know that if you need to call, you can call me now. Alex is hooked up to an IV and she won’t get up anytime soon. We’re ready to sedate her if needed, because we can’t … I can’t … we can’t lose them both.”

Cat’s breath hitched and she swallowed back a sob. She hated Lucy for having say that out loud but she also knew she needed to hear it. Lucy wasn’t taking gloves with her and she was right to do so. For all her hopes and prayers, Cat still didn’t want the truth to be sugar-coated.

“I’ll call you if anything change.” Lucy finally said, ending the call before Cat could say thank you.

There was no time to lose.

—

It was the last night of search.

Cat had tried to sway the president to have more time but Olivia refused. She was gentle and kind but still firm when she told Cat she would not allow the waste of a major part of the government resources on a search mission that would lead nowhere.

At some point, Cat had lost her temper and threatened her with some blackmail material that could possibly ruin Olivia’s campaign, should she choose to run again.

The president didn’t cave and they had hung up on each other, both aware of the new and irreparable crack in their friendship.

It was 2am and Cat was staring at the ceiling of her bedroom, sprawled on her back on the bed she had grown used to share with Kara for the past two years.

She had never realized how big and cold that bed was, until Kara came along.

She was haunted by the ghost feeling of Kara’s soft and warm skin pressed against hers, by the weight of an arm thrown around her waist and by the gentle tickle of sunkissed curls brushing her shoulder or the back of her neck.

She took a deep breath, inhaling the last remnants of her lover’s scent and it brought up a sob Cat didn’t even try to hold back. It smelled like earth and wind, like fresh morning dew and sweet cinnamon rolls and more than never, she wished it was all a dream.

It wasn’t and Kara was missing, had been for the past seven days.

Cat sobbed again and then pushed the covers away, leaving her bed to go open the bay windows leading to her balcony. She stepped out and let the darkness of the night envelope her. She went to sit down on one of the sunbath and looked up at the night sky, searching for the stars Kara had shown her a few times.

It was hot like a regular summer night in National City and no wind was blowing to relieve the skin from the sickening dampness that clung to it. It smelled like heavy dust and burned asphalt and from time to time, the strong salty scent of the ocean would waft up to the high buildings.

The sky was clear and pure, stars shining brightly, scattered across the whole celestial vault and the moon, not quite full but still looking round, was casting a strong halo over the world. For once, Cat regretted living in a building at the limit of a bustling city because the lights were drowning the natural night glow.

She sighed heavily and looked down at her phone. She was bringing it everywhere with her now, still hoping despite the deadline hanging over her head like the sword of Damoclès. The picture on her locked screen was one of Kara and Carter at the beach house, with the boy on Kara’s shoulders as the superhero was walking towards the camera, emerging from the ocean behind her.

The happy smiles and matching blue eyes were painful to look at, tonight.

She unlocked her phone and scrolled through her repertoire to a number she hadn’t called in years. She let her thumb hover above the name, unsure if it was the right thing to do at the moment but she was sleep deprived and barely holding it together and she had trouble to keep thinking rationally.

She would have already crumbled if it wasn’t for her son, who needed her more than ever.

Finally, she touched the screen and brought her phone to her ear, listening to the multiple rings before a familiar voice came through.

“Kitty.”

It was a nickname she loathed, especially coming from her but tonight, she found some solace in the way she frowned at the endearment term. It was something she knew, something straight out of her memories but concrete, real. Something certain, God knew she needed it.

“Lesser Lane. I’m surprised you picked up.” She said, her voice a little hoarse from all the crying she’d been doing lately, even though she had tried to keep it to a bare minimum.

“Frankly, you and me both. I was sound asleep, you see.” Lois answered but there was no hint of annoyance in her voice, just a slight slur betraying that she had indeed just woken up.

“At 2am on a Saturday morning, groundbreaking.” Cat sassed, needing the banter to distract her from the impending doom that would come with the raising sun. At noon today, the search for Kara would stop and there was nothing she could do. Nothing.

“I know, I’m getting old but I’m still better looking than you so you know, I haven’t lost everything yet.” Lois replied and her smirk was practically audible in her words but it was the wrong thing to say, because Cat broke down.

“Oh Kitty, I’m so sorry I didn’t think before speaking. You know it’s one of my many flaws, I just jump right in and I get myself in trouble …” Lois spoke softly, her voice clear but gentle as she kept talking. “I know you don’t care but I’m going to talk about me because let’s be honest, it’s the best topic of conversation ever.”

Cat snorted between her cries but she didn’t answer, clinging to her phone and focusing on this familiar voice she usually found annoying and not worthy of her time.

Tonight however, it was something she wanted, something she needed and she settled a little more comfortably on the sunbath to let her best rival talk.

—

Alex called her at five past noon to let her know that to the whole world, Supergirl was dead.

The older Danvers voice was mechanical and hollow when she explained that as far as they were concerned, the DEO, the Army, L-Corp and all the entities that had joined the search mission were done and that they were planning to release a statement to announce it.

Through her grief and the agony of her loss, Cat demanded to be the one to write the article about Supergirl’s death and to release the news with CatCo.

She lost it when Alex told her she also needed to write a statement to explain the sudden disappearance of Kara Danvers.

—

The article went down for publication on Monday morning and National City fell into a painful silence as everyone read the news. The anchors of CatCo released a statement listing the casualties of the last attacks on National City, starting with Supergirl and finishing off with the names of the civilians who died in the wake of the fight.

Kara Danvers was the last name, reported missing while following a lead for a mafia case she was working for CatCo Worldwide Media.

In the end, the newsman informed that the hero would have a military funeral on the next day, with her coffin being driven across the city before the actual private ceremony in National City’s cemetery.

The anchor called for everyone’s respect as he explained that the public wasn’t allowed past the gates of the sacred garden.

Cat threw her remote at the TV at the end of the broadcast, breaking the screen, and she fell to her knees, too exhausted to cry but hurting too much to keep standing.

Carter came behind her to hug her tight, crying against her shoulder as they both mourned the loss of their hero.

—

National City was strangely quiet this morning. Almost all of the streets were empty, the shops were closed and no car was troubling the tacit but somber peace.

The sky was heavy with dark grey clouds that floated around the skyscrapers and threatened to burst with rain at any moment. The rolling echo of the thunder would sometimes shake the ground but everything was otherwise silent.

Cat held onto Carter’s hand as they followed the black coffin along Main Street.

It was a beautiful casket, made of black polished wood and she had demanded the emblematic S to be carved in silver right above where Kara’s head would be, if they had an actual body to bury.

For now, it was covered with the american flag because the whole army was there to accompany National City’s most beloved hero to her last home. Ranks and ranks of soldiers in uniform and standing to attention were bordering the avenue as they slowly progressed toward the cemetery. The cavalry was here too, the horses walking in perfect synchronization, spread on three lines, ahead of the carriage supporting the coffin.

Lucy Lane, in full General outfit, was walking to her right and Lois was next to Carter, alone while Superman was hovering above their heads, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. Winn, James and Alex were walking on the same line, on Lucy’s side, flanked with Eliza Danvers, Hank Henshaw and Olivia Marsdin. They were followed by a whole crowd of allies, from Lena Luthor to the owner of the dive alien bar where Supergirl had been spotted a few times, aka M'gann M'orzz, a white martian who had somehow became a friend along the years. There was a whole group of firemen and policemen lost in the ranks of some of the most eminent people in the world, here to pay their respects to a hero who always had the utmost faith in Humanity. Aside from the sounds of heavy footsteps and occasional cries and sniffles, the low beats of the military drums was the only noise to be heard, sometimes troubled by the distant rolling of the thunder.

At the cemetery gates, the people stopped and only a few dozen of individuals were allowed inside, following the coffin that had been transferred from the carriage to the shoulders of military men. Winn, James and Hank had asked to be allowed to carry the empty casket of their friend but the president denied it, saying it would be too much of a hint leading to Supergirl’s real identity. Cat had wanted to scream but even Hank eventually agreed with Olivia.

Carter sniffed next to her and she pulled him closer to her, moving her hand to slide an arm across his shoulder, holding her son tight. She absentmindedly realized she was trying to comfort him as much as she needed his support to not fall apart.

They placed the casket on the rostrum that would go down below earth at the end of the ceremony.

Cat swallowed, feeling like this funeral was a joke and a tragedy at once. They weren’t burying Supergirl but her hopes to ever see the hero again. It was a symbolic gesture she would rather not be doing but for the whole city, for the whole world, for those she had to share Supergirl with, she would manage. If not for them, she would get to the end of the day for Carter because he had already lost the closest person to him after her and she would not let him drown in his grief alone.

The eulogy was simple but beautiful and she silently cried as she heard the testimonies of a handful of people praising Supergirl.

The president finally stepped in front of the coffin to speak.

“It is a sad day for the world and for National City especially, for we are gathered here to mourn our most beloved hero. The girl of Steel and the last daughter of Krypton, also known as Supergirl, was a force of good and a symbol of hope, saving people every day and protecting them from any kind of threat that would come its way. She was a survivor and yet, she was bright and full of faith and optimism. I don’t have the right words to express how deeply I am going to miss her so I will borrow the words of someone else. This is a poem written by Wystan Hugh Auden …”

As much as she wanted to, Cat wasn’t crying for the hero. She was crying for someone whom she had loved too deeply for her soul to fully take in what death meant. She was crying for Kara, the woman she had gotten used to have around, first as an assistant, then as a confident, as a friend, as a close friend and eventually, she had allowed them to become something far more precious than she had ever imagined they would be. A couple, a powerful one but a loving one, everything she had craved for years and never found in the embraces of the men she had chosen along the years. She was grieving for warm skin, a bumbling voice, a sunny smile and a love that could bend whole galaxies in whatever shapes she had wanted.

“Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, Silence the pianos and with muffled drum, bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.”

She was grieving Kara.

Not Kara Danvers, the perfect assistant and the rising star of journalism, the cool sister and the even cooler friend. Not Kara Zor-El, the last heir of a planet that had been reduced to less than dust, the haunted woman full of words no one could fully understand nor reproduce. Not Supergirl, the superhero that had saved the day more than once, risking her life each time to protect the people living on this planet she had chosen to call home.

No, she was mourning all of them and none at once, she was mourning someone the world didn’t know.

“The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood … For nothing now can ever come to any good.”

At the end of the service, they retrieved the flag.

It was another symbolic gesture that didn’t mean anything to her but she allowed it, for the sake of everyone else. She knew the power of symbols and she wouldn’t take them away from those who needed it.

They folded the flag with care and respect, following the sound of cannons and rifles going off.

She swallowed hard and almost broke down when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Hank was there, strong and tall and apparently stoic but his eyes were swirling with every emotion he wasn’t showing. It was sadness, hurt and despair and she buried her face in his shoulder, allowing herself to cry because she was nowhere as strong as he was and her whole body was aching with grief. She felt it right into her bones, digging even deeper to reach her soul and she clung to Carter’s hand, trying to ground herself somehow.

It didn’t last and she was able to recompose herself quickly, under the worried scrutiny of the Lane sisters.

Superman flew down next to his cousin’s empty casket and he landed softly on the grass, looking at the silver S on display. Cat watched as he traced the edge of the symbol with his fingers, whispering words in a language she had heard a few times when Kara would feel the need to remember Krypton. He looked broken, shoulders hunched, cheeks ravaged with tear stains and even his dark curls were flat on his head as he finished saying the prayers of his world.

A world that was gone, once more, for he was truly the last son of Krypton.

—

The day had dragged on and on and she couldn’t remember everything. All she knew is she and her son had been cared for all along. She remembered Lucy bringing her a cup of coffee, spiced with a few fingers of bourbon if the weird taste had been anything to go by. Lois had kept company to Carter, Clark joining her a little later after the service, in his plain, civilian clothes.

Alex even managed to give her a hug, a tight, desperate one and she had reveled into the embrace before letting go. Eliza had gone silent since the day they had declared Kara dead but she had grabbed Cat’s hand and squeezed it. Cat knew it had been meant as a gesture of comfort but she felt it like another dent in the coffin of her rotten hopes.

In the end, she found herself sitting on her couch, in her living room. Carter had passed out a few hours ago and Clark had carried him to his bed, gently, softly, with a reverence in his eyes that had made Cat want to scream again because at this exact moment, he had looked so much like Kara.

She watched the images flicker on the TV, a muted replay of the funerals.

Somehow, it didn’t really hurt to look at it from a camera angle. It was as if she was simply witnessing it from a CEO point of view, taking in the excellent quality, the elaborated rhythm and the expert transitions. It was almost soothing, to slip into her work persona for a few minutes.

“Cat?” Lois gently asked, sitting down next to her. Cat registered the dipping of the cushion, the new weight at her side but she didn’t turn her head, still mentally criticizing the work of her CatCo crew.

“Cat. Please, say something.” Lois whispered and she hesitantly reached out to take Cat’s hand.

Cat recoiled from the contact and moved her hand away. She wasn’t ready for everyone to soothe her, even though she was certain she couldn’t survive the night.

Not when she finally knew Kara wasn’t coming back. Ever.

The realization suddenly came to her, full force, and it took her breath away before she broke down into muffled sobs and silent cries, bringing a hand in front of her mouth in a gesture of terror for what the revelation unveiled.

Kara was gone.

—

Days bled into weeks and slowly, into months.

Summer went away and the bright colors of autumn took over, hurting Cat’s eyes every time the light would bask her office with the strands of gold that reminded her too much of Kara’s hair.

Carter’s grades dropped drastically and he was fighting all the time now. She finally resolved to bring him to therapy but she still refused external help for herself. She wasn’t ready to share her memories of Kara with anyone, especially not a professional stranger.

Winter came around and Carter asked to spend Christmas with his father. Cat couldn’t even blame him, she knew he wanted to avoid the penthouse and the happy memories of the previous Christmas they had spent with Kara.

She arranged for Carter’s father to come pick him up at the penthouse a few days before the 25th. Christopher had been nothing but compliant ever since Kara’s death and she was mad at him for the timing he chose to be a better father.

Carter came back for New Year’s Eve and they went to Alex’s to celebrate it.

Alex and Lucy had finally let go of all their doubts and fears and they had moved in together at the beginning of winter. Cat knew, first hand, that wasn’t easy but somehow they managed, despite the fact Alex was drinking too much and Lucy was getting lost in her work too often, taking unnecessary risks.

Everyone was here, even Lois and Clark and Cat couldn’t exactly avoid them this time. Lois chastised her for not answering her calls and Clark stayed silent but he rolled his eyes at some point and the annoyance in the gesture almost made Cat smile. Almost.

The new year started with a bunch of half-hearted happy new years and then everyone went home.

Winter left and spring brought its fair share of grey, rainy days.

Carter began to heal a little, not getting into as many fights and working on his grades. He was silent now, more shell-locked than he ever was but Cat assumed it was a step up from all the anger he had carried around since last summer.

The beginning of summer brought back the usual heat waves and the flowery dresses and as the anniversary of Supergirl’s death drawn upon everyone, Cat became even more impossible than she usually was. She snapped at her new assistant without any apparent reason but she couldn’t stand the girl’s daffodil yellow dress, it was too close to something Kara wore once, on that weird day when she had awkwardly tried to pass off The Flash as her cousin.

A memorial ceremony was given in honor of the fallen hero and the mayor unveiled a statue that was so realistic it gave Cat a hysteric attack. She had to be checked into a hospital but she walked out barely an hour after having been brought in. She hated hospitals.

Lois picked her up and brought her back to the penthouse, without a word.

Eventually, summer ended.

—

Cat had come to hate her bed and she usually tried to spend as little time as possible in it but tonight, she was exhausted.

She was tired of getting barely any sleep, of having to deal with people all day long and of living in a state of missing Kara. She couldn’t even deny that’s how she’s been since the funeral because it was the truth. She missed Kara.

Every minute of every hour of every day, she was acutely aware of the bottomless hole in her heart, where Kara’s love used to be.

Unable to sleep but too tired to fight her body, she was sitting in bed against the pillow, typing at her ipad and trying to get the japanese CatCo crisis sorted. A chief editor made a huge mistake on the cover of this month’s magazine and it provoked a diplomatic incident worse than the time she refused to shake Donald Trump’s hand when she met him at the white house a few months ago. Once upon a time, she would have been beyond furious about such incompetence coming from her employees but in all honesty, today she was just welcoming the distraction without temper or tantrum.

She was finishing off an email for the CatCo Japan head of HR when something literally crashed into her bay windows, landing in a rain of glass shards on the rug at the feet of the bed.

She screamed and jumped out of the bed to run towards the door leading to the hallway, wanting to grab Carter and to put him somewhere safe. She was about to step onto the broken glass to get to the door when she glanced at what had made such damages.

She stopped dead in her tracks, her heart missing a few beats as she took in the blue suit, the red cape and equally crimson boots, the sunkissed curls and the ocean deep blue eyes.

There were scars all over Kara’s face, marring her features with red and white as it glowed a little under the dim light of the bed stand lamp, and she began to bleed from her nose before she slumped over the floor, desperately trying to maintain contact with Cat’s eyes.

She drowned in those ocean blue eyes she thought she would never see again and she saw apologies, regrets, doubts, pain and love. So much of it, she almost choked on all the love she could see swirling in the baby blue irises that threatened to close any second now.

It felt as if suddenly, the world was right again.

Only to get even worse when Kara suddenly passed out on the rug, bleeding as she lay in a sea of a broken glass.

—

Alex’s team was there within twenty minutes after Cat called and they took Kara away, transferring her body onto a hand-barrow bed and ushering her up to the roof through the elevator. Cat and Carter got in the chopper with Alex and the medical team, Carter holding his mother’s hand so tight she could feel her fingers become numb from the lack of blood but she didn’t say anything, using the touch to ground herself while her eyes never left Kara’s form.

The suit was ripped open across Kara’s abs, revealing some ugly infected wounds, a sleeve was missing, exposing an arm that had been burned, and the skirt showed multiples holes, burn marks and scrapes. They put an oxygen mask on her mouth and nose but even with it, the barely healed cracks on Kara’s face were impressives.

She wasn’t healing.

—

Alex ran a battery of tests as fast as she could before saying they needed to operate to remove the traces of residual kryptonite lodged around her heart, the ones that caused the lack of healing.

Everyone immediately fell into action. Alex prepared the medical team, Hank went somewhere else to be an active Director and Cat started pacing the floor outside the medical bay. Carter was asleep in a makeshift bed Hank had brought for him and she was glad he wasn’t awake to watch her dig a hole in the concrete floor of the DEO.

Lucy came running half an hour later, panting but already asking too many question at once and Cat snapped at her, cutting her off before apologizing. She was feeling exhausted and yet she was too jittery, nervous, anxious even and the mix of those feelings rendered her unable to act properly. She tried to answer Lucy’s question but she kept trailing off and losing her train of thought because she had too many questions of her own.

“She’s gonna be fine. She made it back to you … She’s gonna be fine.” Lucy offered with a smile and the bags under her eyes made her look terribly old, under the unflattering neon light of the DEO.

“She was covered in scars and she started bleeding, Alex said she has some residual kryptonite in the tissues around her heart but she … she flew through my window, breaking it before landing near the bed and … Where had she been? How could she fly with kryptonite in her system? Why didn’t she try to reach out sooner?” Cat asked, frustration overlooking both the fear and the relief she was feeling at the idea of Kara being on the operation table.

She was caught between so many contradictory emotions it was a wonder she was still able to just function. She was over the moon that Kara was back but she was terrorized she was finally going to lose her for good. She was angry because of all the unanswered questions swirling in her head, spinning around like a litany she couldn’t get rid of and she was exhausted, she felt it right into her bones. Her very soul was heavy with fatigue and emotional abuse and her heart was beating too fast in her chest, so fast it physically hurt.

She was used to high pressure, to stress and to go on on little sleep but this, this was too much even for her. She wanted the world to stop for a while, to allow her to breathe and to rest before going all crazy on her again.

Lucy didn’t even try to answer any of the questions Cat had just asked. Instead, she sat down on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs some agents brought when Hank ordered it.

She stayed there, quiet but awake, as Cat resumed her pacing.

—

Alex came out of the medical bay about three hours later, fatigue clear on her face as she staggered towards the little group of people gathered at the end of the hallway.

Winn and James had joined Cat, Lucy and Carter in the improvised waiting room and everyone looked up at Alex when they heard her footsteps.

The older Danvers immediately spoke, not letting anyone try to guess from what they could read on her features.

“She’s going to be alright. She fought, hard, she flatlined twice but we were able to remove all the remaining kryptonite from her body and blood. She’s in a coma now, too weak and vulnerable for us to do much now but we are going to put her under a sun powered lamp to heal the most important wounds. Then, I think it would be best to move her out under the actual sun, it’s more powerful than anything we were able to invent here to imitate its regenerating powers.” Alex explained, trying to be thorough as she elaborated on every details.

Cat stayed silent, her mind still reeling from the fact Kara’s heart had stopped. Twice.

“Is there any … indication, of what had happened to her?” Lucy softly asked, coming to stand next to her girlfriend to wrap an arm around her waist, silently inviting the older Danvers to lean on her.

“I don’t know exactly. I gathered that she must have been under the sun at least enough time for her powers to allow her to fly to National City but given the amount of Kryptonite we removed from her system, it’s truly incredible, bordering impossible. Her body is covered with scars and if most of them are healed, there are a whole bunch that need immediate treatment. Her lungs must have been crushed during the explosion, they are nowhere fully healed but it must have been enough to allow her to breath on her own … I didn’t have time to do a full, extensive check up so that’s all I know so far.” The older Danvers said, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath to steady her thoughts.

Carter jumped down from the bed he had been sleeping in for the past few hours.

“Can we see her?” He asked and he sounded so small, so vulnerable and so unsure it made Cat’s heart hurt. She moved behind him to put her hands onto his shoulders and he didn’t try to escape the contact. He even leaned a little against her, seeking support and warmth, reassurance.

“Yes, but she’s hooked up to a lot of machines and she’s not responsive, for now. Follow me.” Alex answered with a very thin smile, before turning on her heels to lead them into the medical bay.

James, Winn and Lucy stayed back, giving Cat and Carter some time alone with Kara.

—

Four days later and after a huge argument between Cat, Alex, Lucy and Hank, they finally moved a still comatose Kara into Cat’s beach house, settling her up in a bedroom that had a huge bay window overlooking the ocean and a balcony more than wide enough to welcome Kara’s medical bed.

Time moved slowly, ever so slowly, from that day on.

Kara was constantly basking in the sunlight, from the moment the sun was up and until the night reclaimed the world but she wasn’t waking up.

Aside from the slow fading of the scars across Kara’s face and body, there was no sign of improvement and Cat found very little comfort in the fact it wasn’t getting worse either.

Alex and Eliza were staying in the house as well, Cat gave them the guest rooms just next to Kara’s. As for Carter, he refused to go to school and she reluctantly gave up on the idea of making him go anyway.

Lucy would stop by once or twice a day, sometimes with Winn and James and sometimes alone.

A week went by and more than ever, Cat felt herself drown in her overwhelming feelings.

—

Carter was reading a chapter of Harry Potter out loud to Kara, sat on a chair beside the medical bed on the balcony, when he heard a familiar voice.

“You need a haircut.”

He dropped the book and jumped to his feet, his heart racing frantically in his chest. He turned his head so fast he almost got whiplash but then, he found a pair of ocean deep blue eyes staring at him, soft and sweet and with just a hint of sheepish humor.

“Kara!” He breathed, still not believing it was real.

Reaching out a shaky hand, he gently grabbed Kara’s and when he felt warm fingers squeeze his, he finally bursted into tears, burying his face into the superhero’s shoulder as he let go of a year of grief, anger and emptiness.

“I got you buddy.” Kara whispered into his ear and he felt an arm squeeze his shoulders.

The sound of broken glass caught both their attention and they looked up to see Cat, standing in the opening of the bay window, a hand over her mouth, eyes filled with relief and surprise and a puddle of the shattered remaining of a vase, water and flowers at her feet.

“Mom! She’s awake!” Carter stated the obvious, the happiness in his voice echoing in the air of the soft autumn afternoon.

Cat stepped over the flower and broken glass to come stand on the other side of the bed, eyes roaming over Kara’s face but then she let out a small sob and smiled.

“It was about time.” She managed to croak, trying to sound annoyed but not able to hide her relief any longer.

Kara arched a brow, unimpressed, before smiling and oh, how she had missed that smile. It was the sun itself radiating in a simple gesture and she bent over to kiss her, needing to know it was real, that it wasn’t another dream, that she wouldn’t wake up alone and crying.

It tasted like honey and life and Cat sobbed against Kara’s lips, moving her hands to cradle her lover’s cheeks and keep her close.

“That’s still gross, you know.” Carter’s voice echoed near them and they broke off the kiss to laugh at the familiarity of it all.

As Cat sat down on the edge of the bed, keeping Kara’s hand into her own, she realized she would never take any of this for granted anymore.

—

Alex brought Kara back to the DEO to run some tests, to make sure she was out of the woods for good.

Cat went with them, after having dropped off Carter to school.

He fought against her when she told him he needed to get back but Kara had gently asked him to, promising she would come to pick him up and that’s all it took.

“So. What happened to you? Where were you, for the past twelve months or so?” Alex asked as she fussed over her alien sister to monitor her heartbeat. Her voice was clipped and blunt, Cat almost winced at the harsh tone but she could relate. Everyone needed answers.

“It’s … I don’t have everything pieced back together yet.” Kara started, her brow furrowed into a frown as she tried to focus. “The blast of the explosion was so powerful it catapulted me halfway across the globe and I’m barely exaggerating. I vaguely remember crashing into the water, the ocean surely because there was salt and it made my whole body burn … I think at this point, I was barely alive and definitely powerless.”

Cat moved to come sit by Kara’s bed, reached out to grab her hand and squeezing it, offering comfort as much as she anchored herself to the reality of the hero’s return. She still had trouble believing it was real and she often needed to touch Kara, to make sure it wasn’t a dream.

“I … don’t know exactly how but somehow, someone found me and pulled me out of the water, dragged me on a shore and after the salt, it was the sand that added to my suffering and I probably passed out.” Kara breathed, letting Alex use a kryptonite modified needle to take her blood.

“I woke up … six months later, in a bed carved into the stone of a beautiful cave. I think, the lack of sunlight is what caused my body to shut down to preserve what was left of life in me … There was a woman, taking care of me. It took me a week to stop dozing in and off, to really focus on her and she spoke a language that, even me, I had never heard. It sounded … mythic, somehow. As in a language made for gods only, soft and sweet and it was like hearing a song lost in my memory …” Kara smiled softly and Cat tilted her head, curious but silent.

“I realized I couldn’t speak but she didn’t seem to mind and I swear, it’s going to sound silly but I swear she could read the words in my eyes because, she was answering me, my questions, my doubts, filling me in on to what had happened to me and how badly I was hurt. First in her language and then in English …” Kara trailed off and a pained expression twisted her soft features.

“She was pure and kind, truly. I was so weak … She told me my body was still glowing with a green substance and she had no idea how to remove it. I figured it was the results of the enhanced Valeronian blowing himself up … It took three months for her to finally get rid of most of the residual Kryptonite and eventually, she brought me outside the cave and into the sun. I was so weak and exhausted, I couldn’t stand by myself so she took it upon her to lay me out on the shore, near the ocean, for a few hours each day. I wasn’t healing properly, I could feel it. That’s how I knew there was still Kryptonite in my body, inside, out of reach. It makes total sense because I breathed in the cloud of the explosion and it must have gotten in my lungs or something …” Kara trailed off again and Alex nodded.

“The tissues around your heart, actually. It’s truly a wonder you survived for so long in that state.”

Kara winced but didn’t answer immediately. When she spoke again, her tone was slow and low.

“Eventually, I was able to speak again and we talked. She told me her name, when I finally asked for it. Diana, and I was on the island of Themyscira.”

Alex frowned and Cat blinked a few times, unsure if she could say something.

“Hum, Kara, that … It doesn’t exist. I mean, my knowledge of the world is not impeccable but I’m pretty sure that island doesn’t exist anywhere on the surface of Earth.” Alex finally said and Kara simply smiled to her.

“I know. It’s … well hidden from the world and for good reasons. I lost track of time there, but I knew that I needed to come home. Since the island is … isolated, to say the least, I had no choice but to fly. At some point, I thought I had gathered enough power … I wasn’t entirely sure I could do it but I had to try. I bid my goodbyes and I flew. Until … I crashed into Cat’s bay window.” Kara finished and in her baby blue eyes, there was a longing Cat didn’t know how to read.

Alex was staring at her sister , skeptical but silent. She stayed quiet while finishing running the tests on Supergirl and in the end, she sat down on the edge of the bed and sighed.

“I’m … I thought you were dead. For a whole year, I thought you were dead, we had a funeral, a memorial ceremony even … I … “ Alex trailed off, her voice breaking and tears shining in her eyes.

“I know, I am so sorry, Alex.” Kara whispered, reaching out to hug her sister and Alex sagged against Kara’s shoulder, finally allowing herself to cry.

It wasn’t going to be easy, Cat thought, but it was a start.

—

“How exactly are you going to reintroduce yourself to the world?” Carter asked and his question, in appearance innocence, made everyone stop what they were doing.

The whole group of friends and family was gathered in the living room of the beach house, a week after the all clear from Alex.

Winn and James, sat on opposite couches, were teasing Kara about all the movies and shows she had missed on during the previous year. Eliza, Alex, Clark and M’gann were animatedly talking about aliens related sciences and religions, gathered in the armchairs on the porch, just outside of the bay window and Hank would occasionally chime in but he was content to stay silent. Lucy, Lois and Cat were coming back from the kitchen with drinks and appetizers for everyone when Carter, who was sitting next to Kara, had spoke.

“What do you mean buddy?” Kara said, tilting her head to the side as she looked at him with a questioning look.

“I mean, Supergirl died at the same time as Kara Danvers, a little over a year ago. It will be suspicious if they suddenly both return from the dead at the same time. Are you seriously saying you didn’t think about it?” The disbelief in the teenager’s voice echoed across the silent room.

“Actually … I didn’t? It’s been a busy couple of weeks lately and … I didn’t think about it no.” Kara slowly replied, frowning at the realization she hadn’t thought about Supergirl since she woke up.

No one was talking in the room around them and Carter looked at each of their face with surprise.

“Seriously?” He snorted and his face hardened, fear and anger suddenly exploding in his deep blue eyes.

Cat chose that moment to jump in, voice soft and clear.

“Well, I never explicitly said Kara Danvers died. As far as everyone is concerned, she was reported missing while following a lead for that mafia case Snapper ordered you to drop just before the alien bombing …The police considers it’s a cold case but I’m sure detective Sawyer can be persuaded to make something up …”

Carter’s eyes snapped up to meet hers.

“That’s fine and all but what happens when Supergirl show up in the sky the same day Kara returns to CatCo?”

“What if … “ Kara replied and she looked unsure for a few seconds. Taking a deep breath, she smiled at Carter and finished her sentence. “What if Supergirl didn’t return? At least … at least for a while? I mean … National City survived without me for over a year. A few month or more won’t make too much of a difference, right?”

Cat’s breath hitched and she almost dropped the bowl of chips she was holding, flooded with surprise and hope as she searched for Kara’s eyes. The smile on the hero’s face told her everything she needed to know and she returned the gesture.

“I … I think … I’d like that.” Carter answered after a while, a smile slowly gracing his lips as he moved to hug Kara.

—

“Did you mean it?” Cat asked in the darkness of the bedroom, Kara’s arms wrapped around her and holding her close.

“I did. I do.” Kara answered without a trace of hesitation, her breath landing on Cat’s naked shoulder, making her shudder.

“You’re going to miss it, being Supergirl.” Cat whispered softly, knowing her lover by heart.

“I know. I never said it was a forever kind of arrangement, though. Someday, I will return to being Supergirl, National City champion but for now, I’m happy to be just Kara Danvers.” The hero replied and Cat shuddered again when she felt Kara’s lips on her skin, at the back of her neck.

“I’m still angry at you.” Cat’s tone was serious and lined with the remnants of her fears.

“I know and it’s okay. Carter told me the same thing and even though Alex is trying to act as if everything was alright, I know it’s not. It will take time, for us to heal.” Kara’s voice sounded a little distant but confident, betraying her bubbly, optimistic nature that the events of the past year didn’t seem to alter.

“It’s not your fault, we all know that but … “ Cat tried to justify her anger, feeling a little guilty for putting Kara through this but she couldn’t help it.

“I know.” Kara simply said and Cat sighed when the hero’s arms closed a little tighter around her silhouette, breathing in the familiar scent and relaxing against the warm, soft skin.

The brush of sunkissed curls upon her shoulder was the last thing she felt before she fell asleep.

#supercat #sentences prompt #kara x cat #supercat fic #supercat ficlet #supercat fanfic #supergirl fic #supergirl fanfic #supercat prompt #alex danvers #lucy lane #alex x lucy #carter grant #angst with a happy ending #angst #nascar anon

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feelingsdusk · 8 years ago

Note

Thanks for the wonderful fanfiction! When you read so much as I had it's such a treat to find new author who writes everything excellently! I just scroll new steter on ao3 and then "hey, so good, is it a new author?" and then "nope, it's again feelingsdusk!“. I also saw a post about promts... It's idea from “runes and...". That Stiles is meant all his life to help Scott. What if Stiles thought so, but then time-travel with Scott, human!Scott and "nope, my turn to be awesome!“

So as you can see, I completely failed and didn’t manage to complete the prompt challenge I issued for myself. In my defense, I was up to my ears with work and these damn prompts aren’t collaborating with me. Seriously, this is more than 12k and another one is already at 10k and I’m not even halfway! Sigh* Anyways, I’ll keep working on them till I finally finish them, however long that takes.

—

Inevitable

Prophecies are tricky things. They are vague, short and can have three or more different meanings that apply to things already past that followed the prophecy to the letter and may make it appear already fulfilled, but in the end may refer to something completely different altogether. They're also as incredibly rare as the existence of the seers that can vision them and more often than not the ones on the receiving end don't even acknowledge them as the prophecies they are.

Not that Stiles knows any of this when he's a seven year old kid and witnesses the announcement of two prophecies on the very same day and mere seconds apart. But, then again, he doesn't know anything about the supernatural world, period, so it's not surprising that he won't think the words prophetic for a very long time.

He's on his way to school with Scott on a Tuesday morning, both of them on the same bike because Scott's has a flat tire. It's starting to drizzle and Stiles is trying to pedal faster so they can escape the storm that's rapidly approaching, if the dark clouds and distant thunder are anything to go by. Scott is the one that notices the red light, Stiles too focused on controlling a breath that is already coming in short gasps, and shout at him to stop. He startles so badly that he screeches to a halt at the crosswalk so abruptly that they nearly fall from the bike. They start bickering and aren't really paying attention to their surroundings, so to them it happens so fast that neither of them will never have a clear memory of how it occurred, but suddenly there's a car swerving at the corner and Stiles is pushing Scott out of the way and then both of them are screaming for help terrified.

When they approach the heavily smoking car, there's a dead man at the wheel and two identical twins strapped at the backseat. Both of the kids look younger than Scott and Stiles and aren't responsive to their frantic calls even if they're clearly still alive. Scott's mom is a nurse, so they know better than to move them, but that doesn't stop Stiles from grabbing their hands and holding on tight.

(Gingers, hazel eyes, a long line of freckles over their upturned noses. Bloody. Their faces won't blur in their memories for a very long time afterwards.)

"Change comes in red," chokes out one of them, face bloody and eyes dangerously vacant.

"A true leader, the catalyst-" starts to whisper the other before his eyes roll to the back of his head and his head falls forward limply.

Both of them die before the ambulance arrives, joining the man at the front, whom apparently had had a stroke while he was driving and had died almost instantly upon impact. Scott cries for a week, Stiles stops talking for two. After that, both of them try to consciously forget about everything that happened.

But change starts to come in red for Stiles and he can't.

Stiles' mom is wearing a red cardigan the first time she loses sight of reality and he never can feel secure when he's alone with her ever again. She's also wearing red pants the last time she tries to attack him, right before his dad decides that she has to be interned at the hospital. A red car rams into his dad's cruiser when he's taking them both to visit her at the psychiatric ward, forcing his dad into bed rest for two weeks and Stiles to visit his mom alone during that time. Red is his mom's blood when she dies and red is his dad's face every time he shouts at Stiles drunkenly for the next six months. Red, red, red. Always the unavoidable red.

"Stop it, Stiles," Scott scoffs at him for insisting he remembers what he buried deep down a long time ago. "I don't want to talk about this!"

"But look at what's happening!" Stiles protests, desperate for a companion in this impossible belief. "Didn't you say your dad was wearing a red sweater when-"

"I said stop it! Besides, if you're so afraid of red why do you wear it all the time, huh?"

"Because if change comes in red then I'm gonna bring my own change!"

If red inevitably brings despair to his life, why not harness that power as his own and take the reins?

"That doesn't make any sense! And I said I don't want to talk about it!" Scott shouts. "And if you can't respect that, then leave!"

Over the course of the next two years, they have this argument six times and Stiles inevitably leaves angry and hurt, stays away for a week, vowing to never bring it up again, and then ends up breaking his word every single time when red brings a tempest into his life once again. Every single time, that is, until that sixth time, when he finally follows through. Until, years later, Peter Hale comes with his alpha red eyes, bringing change with him and Stiles has to bring it up again, because surely Scott can see it now? Unsurprisingly (sadly), he gets rebuffed again, stays away a week and he comes back with his mouth shut about the issue no matter what happens.

And then the alpha pack with their red eyes comes, Scott turns out to be a true alpha, with his own set of red eyes, and he can't deny it anymore.

(Stiles doesn't say I told you so.)

So they work together through it all, coming always on top but just by a hair's breadth, Scott struggling to be the true leader and bring his change in red towards the better, and Stiles striving to help him in any way he can and manage to survive through it all as intact as he possibly can. But their efforts aren't enough in the end and they fail, losing everything they love (and themselves) in the process.

Stiles, who has never taken anything quietly (not even when he's truly at fault), searches for a solution. Because there are werewolves, mermaids, shamans, druids, witches, sparks! There are charms and spells and rituals, so there must be something! Anything! Anything, because they've lost almost everything and they're about to lose the only thing they have left, which is their lives. And, to be honest, at this point it's not like they care about living anymore, but they're not going to make this easy for their enemies. They're going to take them with themselves when they go down and die knowing that they avenged their pack, their family. So Stiles searches.

And when Stiles searches, he more often than not finds.

It's a stupid plan and they know it. Stupid, crazy and nonsensical, but they're out of options and they don't give a damn about personal harm at this point as long as they kill the bastards. So they prepare everything, they implement the plan flawlessly and they go out with a glorious bang, managing to catch their furious, incredulous faces as they die, right before fire and brimstone rains on them too.

(Change started with red fire a long time ago and now it finishes with red fire again. The irony isn't lost on them.)

---

They are in burning agony one second and then completely pain free the next. It's jarring and they look at each other wide eyed and confused, clinging to each other. Besides the overall discordant change in appearance, Scott can tell immediately that he's human again when he gets assaulted by an asthma attack that he doesn't know how to react to any more, and it takes Stiles a fraction too long to frantically search for an inhaler, only to find one in his own pocket. Panic claws at Stiles' throat for a moment when he finally realizes that the constant pain in his lungs is as gone as the tattoos and scarring in his body and he fights to control his own breathing. Before they can even regain their footing, a howl that brings back a barrage of memories pierces the night, and they realize that they're fifteen years old again, out in the woods the night they went in search of a body and found something else entirely.

After all that's happened, they're used to reacting immediately when faced with impossible decisions that they have little time to ponder about and this time is not any different. And so, Stiles lets himself be caught by his dad while Scott chooses to get bitten this time.

Afterwards, they spend about two days trying to grasp what the hell has happened, because travelling in time was not the intended result when they went on this self-appointed suicide mission. Then, with no answer in sight but not willing to look a gifted horse in the mouth, they move on. So, armed with the advantage of having so much information about everything (the timeline, their enemies, their allies), they think themselves unbeatable this time.

(Spoiler alert: they're not.)

They know the pain of being burned alive now, so when they finally decide, after a lot of deliberation, to kill Peter (unsurprisingly, Scott was all in while Stiles had a lot of reservations), they go for the painless route. And so, they poison Peter before he can be any more of a problem, thus proving what they already knew beforehand: killing the creator won't make a werewolf human again. Part of Scott mourns that truth even though he has been a wolf for more than ten years and he had come to terms with the loss of his humanity a long time ago, which was more than proven already with the fact that faced with the option of being human again, he chose to get bitten without even thinking anyways. Part of Stiles (the part that secretly enjoyed their research sessions) mourns the death of the man even though what they have killed isn't even a shade of the Peter of the last few years. They bury him in the preserve and vow to take care of Kate and Gerard Argent in his place.

When Kate makes an appearance, they go the same route as with Peter and simply poison her drink one day at the mall. It turns out she's with Allison, and the poor girl, who is still her classic Disney princess self at this stage and not the battle hardened one, has to suffer through seeing her aunt suffer a heart failure in front of her. Scott is horrified and paralyzed on the spot, and Stiles has to sweep in instead to covertly knock the table down and grab the incriminating glass as he makes a 911 call and he tries to help.

Derek never turns Isaac, Erica, Boyd and Jackson, and he also never kills Victoria Argent. He mysteriously disappears after he (not so) coincidentally hears them talking about how the police files say that another Hale escaped the fire and which were her suspected whereabouts. Ironically, when the alpha pack inevitably appears, their hostages are Derek and Cora precisely and both Scott and Stiles want to bang their heads against a wall in frustration. Knowing where they would be hiding in advance, though, they had already prepared a trap for them, so rescuing both of them is easy in any case. Scott tries talking to them to make them see reason against Stiles' opinion and it goes spectacularly bad, even if he manages to become a true alpha again. It's a messy affair that leaves them both feeling sick and makes the Hale siblings flee out of town the moment they're free of their mountain ash prison. There's still the problem of hiding the mess in the vault and their resident darach, so they don't have time to dwell on the near disaster, though. They clean the vault first, and then Scott insists that they talk to Jennifer Blake, because they've achieved what she wanted in the first place, so there shouldn't be any problem.

There is.

(Surprise, surprise.)

Alpha pack or no alpha pack, her power has corrupted her soul and they nearly die trying to fend her off. Stiles leaves the site frustrated and angry, but he doesn't speak about it with Scott. They avoid each other for two days, not acknowledging the problem, before going back to normal like nothing happened.

In the interim, Stiles fakes a ton of evidence against Isaac's dad to make an anonymous report to the police and also takes the opportunity to drag Deaton and Marin Morrel to help purify the Nemeton under the threat of denouncing her to the druid council. Knowing what will happen to her if he does, they comply. With two druids and spark performing the ritual it goes without a hitch. As for the nogitsune, it tries to posses Stiles again, and since the only way to cleanse it is to give him a corporeal form first, he lets it. It's a disgusting experience that leaves him vomiting black goo for hours before he can set it free.

Stiles is still only halfway recovered from the entire ordeal when Scott comes back with Allison in tow. An omega attacked her so he has told her everything, he says, and for a moment Stiles wants to scream. Then it turns out that everything means just everything about the supernatural world not about the time travelling thing and his fury abates. He nods to her and she nods back unsurely. Stiles sighs internally, hoping it all turns for the best but somehow suspecting it won't, because there's still psycho grandpa Gerard to take care of and he doesn't know how Scott has thought he's going to wade through that. Never mind the secret assassination of her favourite aunt that Stiles just knows that is going to make her fall off the rails of the original timeline look like a walk in the park if she ever catches wind of it. This just can't end well.

What's done is done, though, so they can only move forward now and somehow use this to their advantage (if they can, which Stiles doubts by the way). So with the threat of the druid council over their heads still, Stiles makes Deaton and Morrel look into Eichen House too and when they have the information they need, they go to the Argent's house to get them to facilitate a way to contact the Tribunal. Before the end of the week, Stiles' dad is grumbling about some special division of the FBI that has invaded the BHP station and looking into Eichen House.

At this point, they're convinced they're going to make it easily because everything is going perfectly. No crazy Peter, no kanima, no Alpha Pack, no darach, no nogitsune, no dread doctors and no werejaguar Kate (because Peter never killed her with his alpha claws). Everyone is still alive, and even if they will never have the relationships they used to have with some of their peers (Erica, Boyd, Jackson, Lydia, Liam, Parrish...) they're fine with it so long they're safe. They only have four more things to take of (Gerard, Malia, the desert wolf and the bastards that forced them through all this journey) and all will be over.

And of course, inevitably, everything starts going to hell when Kira comes into town.

Scott chokes on his own spit where he's sitting holding hands with Allison and Stiles does a double take. Not only they didn't expect her to appear yet, but this is not the Kira they knew. She's darker, angrier, with a wall of fury and resentment separating her from the rest of the world. Her eyes zero on Stiles almost immediately and he has to control the urge to flee right this instant. She purposely sits on the empty seat at his back and he spends an entire hour feeling her glare at the back of his head and wanting to flee to the toilet for a reprieve. With ten minutes to finish the lesson, he can't take it anymore and he does just that.

He nearly dies in that toilet.

She follows him there and closes the door behind her. He doesn't understand what's happening and he tells her so. It only serves to make her more furious and she screams at him that he killed her mother so she's going to take his life in exchange. Scott intervenes at the last minute, saving his life, and she leaves, saying it's not over.

Scott is furious. Why didn't he kill the nogitsune? Why of all times did he choose to talk to it? What was he thinking when he freed it? Stiles is enraged because Scott precisely doesn't have the right to recriminate him for that.

Everything deteriorates even more. Kira is relentless and after two failed attacks, she doesn't care about collateral damage. Stiles' dad has to get involved when an entire building explodes, finally learning about the supernatural, and gets seriously hurt, ending in a coma at the hospital. As if things weren't complicated enough, Gerard arrives into town, just like he did the last time (even if later in time compared to the original timeline), and he targets Scott, wanting the bite, again, like the last time. He captures him and Allison calls him to let him know. They quickly devise a plan and she feigns sharing her grandfather's ideals to get him out.

Except he has the security feed of the mall of the day Kate died and he tortures the truth about her death from Scott, making Stiles' predictions about involving her come true.

Stiles manages to smoke the house out and to free Scott, leaving the enraged Argents behind. They hide.

They don't know what to do now. A social worker is hounding Stiles because his dad is not looking like he will make it, Kira wants to kill him and the Argents are after both of them. Also, they've completely closed up the ally route with Morrel and Deaton, there is no pack and Scott's mom doesn't even know he's a werewolf. They're completely doomed.

And, of course, the bastards choose to appear now, right when they think that nothing else can go wrong, that they have reached rock bottom in a one swift move, and it somehow leads them to that very same clearing, with the very same stupid desperate plan.

And fire and brimstone rains on everyone.

---

They come back to consciousness with a gasp. Again in the woods, again fifteen, again untouched. They sit there with shaken souls and trembling bodies, unable to let go of each other despite the anger and resentment that had been filling them to the brim mere minutes ago.

A howl pierces the night and they tremble even more, but they force themselves to let go, Stiles to get caught and Scott to get bitten.

They sit silently in the cafeteria the very next day. They haven't talked about it, but by tacit agreement, Scott has made no move to make contact with Allison.

(They both secretly wonder if they're inevitably doomed to fail, if that was what the prophecy was really about.)

They poison Peter, they leak Cora's information, they poison the alpha pack (Scott again becoming an alpha in the process) and they kill Jennifer. They debate about what to do about Kate and end up following her one night and nearly dying trying to kill her. They report Isaac's dad and force Deaton and Morrel to purify the Nemeton and then trick the nogitsune into agreeing not to kill its original jailer in exchange of its freedom. They take care of the omega before it can attack Allison and then slip into the night before she can even notice them. They already have the information they needed about Eichen House and a way to contact the Tribunal, so they don't coerce Deaton and Morrel this time and they just inform the organization about the dread doctors through a burner phone that they get rid of afterwards. Stiles' dad grumbles again about his station being invaded a week later.

At this point, they've reached the part when everything went to hell last time and nervous can't even begin to cover how they feel right now. They don't talk to each other either, because they're still smarting about what happened in their last timeline and they only interact when out of necessity.

A subdued Kira appears. Her mom got into an accident and she's been confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her life. They have a lot of medical bills so his dad had to accept the first moderately well paying job he could get his hands on despite having to move for it, she explains shyly to Scott, whom glares at Stiles the moment she's not looking. Gerard also comes into town and ends up abducting Scott again. When Stiles is trying to liberate him once again, he ends up setting the house on fire without meaning to. He frantically calls 911 but only Allison survives the fire. Scott calls him a monster and won't talk to him. After a week he comes to Stiles and tells him he can't live with his conscience just as deputies invade his room to arrest him.

His dad won't even come to see him, to hear what happened exactly, no matter how many times he begs.

Stiles gets screamed and insulted as he's being moved to a police van. Monster, monster, monster, they chant furious, the sound even coming through the closed doors. The van never makes it to its destination, though, because it gets attacked. Allison points a gun to his face the moment she gets the doors to open, uncaring of the two police officers already dead at the front part. She forces him to get into her father's SUV and then drives back into the preserve, holding him at gun point.

He tries to explain what happened once and she hits him with the gun. He grabs her hand and wrestles for it. She loses control of the car and they fall out of the road. When the world finally stops spinning, she's dead and he's not.

He cries.

He takes her phone and starts dialling his dad's number. He cries even more when he picks up, because his dad is trying to convince him to give himself up instead of listening to him. He tells him so and his dad says he'll listen, to please talk to him and he'll help him. Stiles explains. Or he tries to anyway, because halfway he realizes that his dad is just trying to keep him on the phone enough to track the call. Stiles calls him a traitor, says he's not surprised that he's not there for him, because he never was, so why would this be any different? He hangs up, throws the phone to the ground and runs.

Scott finds him just at the same time the bastards appear.

Inevitably, fire and brimstone rains.

---

Stiles is still crying when they come back to themselves .

When the howl pierces the night, by mutual accord, they decide then and there to sit this one out because there's no use in trying when their defeat is so obviously set in stone. They don't want to talk to each other either, their friendship is over. Stiles bites his tongue, but Scott doesn't. He says Stiles is a monster, that the nogitsune just enabled what was already there, that he let go with Donovan too, that he'll be watching and if he gets out of line, he'll intervene. Stiles punches him just as his dad catches them, angry tears sliding down his face. Scott has an asthma attack just then, and to his dad's utter astonishment, Stiles takes out the inhaler of his pocket and throws it at him just as he leaves. When John tries to stop him, he shakes his arm, throwing such an angry and hurt glare at him, that he's left at loss of words.

At this point, Stiles doesn't care about anything. He lets time pass, ignoring everything he sees. To hell with it, let the world inevitably burn to ashes, see if he cares. That is, until he suddenly can't because his dad disappears and he has to ally himself with Scott, whose mom has disappeared too. Stiles cuts Jennifer Blake's throat in front of everyone in that cellar and then proceeds to set Deucalion on fire. Peter, who is apparently still the alpha in this timeline, takes the opportunity to take care of the rest of the alphas with his pack. Stiles spies Derek, Cora, Isaac, Erica and Boyd as he helps his dad to the jeep, but he's tired of prophecies, the inevitable and being hurt all the time by the people he's been burned alive to protect thrice, and he's sitting this one out, dammit, he just doesn't care. As he's rounding the car to get into the driving seat, Scott tries to say something and he simply flips him the bird. He catches Peter looking at him hungrily and he flips him too. He leaves and doesn't look back.

John confronts him when he can finally move enough to corner him. Stiles explodes and brings up everything that he kept pent up through his childhood and three different timelines. His mom, the alcoholism, he doesn't leave anything out. He's crying angrily by the end and his dad is horrified. Stiles goes to his room and changes clothes, because despite everything he rushed after his dad clad just in his batman pyjamas. As he goes to the door, he spies his dad filling a tumbler in the kitchen, and he feels sick. He slams the door with all the force he can as he leaves.

Peter finds him at the park. He stops right in front of the swing Stiles is sitting at and just stares, alpha red eyes shining in the dark. Stiles sneers at him, fed up with true leaders and change that comes in red already, and simply tells him that if he doesn't leave him alone, he won't give two shits about setting him on fire. He's courting death, he knows, but he simply doesn't care at this point. However, Peter just smiles that dangerous smile he used to sport when they researched together and they ribbed each other out to the point of contemplating the other's very painful demise. The familiar sight makes him subconsciously relax and Peter arches an eyebrow at his reaction.

"I quite like you, Stiles," he says, like he did once, a long time ago. "Do you want the bite?"

"No," he answers, this time completely sure of his decision, "I don't."

And, again, just like he did once, Peter leaves.

When Stiles comes back home, his dad is still sitting in the kitchen with a full glass. He seems to snap out of it when he sees his son's back and then, quite pointedly, he gets up to throw the alcohol through the drain. Stiles simply climbs the stairs to his room and closes the door behind him, because punctual gestures mean nothing to him.

The next day, Isaac, Erica, Boyd and Cora sit with him at lunch and Stiles sneers, gets up and throws his food to the trash on his way out. He's not that hungry anyways. Except they repeat it the next day, and the next, and the next, and the next... By the seventh day this happens, he throws a disgruntled glare at them but doesn't leave. He spends lunch throwing fries at them whenever it strikes his mood, but they have wolf reflexes, so they just catch them and eat them, or in Isaac's case, he passes them to Cora so that she can have them.

They continue trying to insert themselves in Stiles' life relentlessly for almost two weeks, not reacting at all when he retaliates out of pure unadulterated irritation, and finally he snaps. He finds out where Peter lives and goes there one afternoon after school. Unsurprisingly, it's what used to be Derek's loft and everyone is there. Luckily Stiles doesn't give a damn about the audience.

"What the fuck is your game?" he snaps, arms crossed and glaring.

"My, I don't know w-"

"Cut the crap," Stiles snarls. "You think I was joking when I said I would set you on fire? Newsflash, I wasn't. So tell me what the hell do you want from me, right now."

"You're such an angry little thing, Stiles, maybe you should look into getting help for that?"

"You went on a killing rampage that ended with five deaths, one of them your own niece, you don't get to lecture me about anger management issues, Peter."

"Ah, so you do know about that. I had wondered," he muses calmly, throwing Stiles off balance at the unexpected reaction. "In any case, I was left packless and trapped in my own mind after nearly burning alive, what's your excuse?"

An abusive sick mother, an alcoholic father, a traitorous best friend, years and years of supernatural bullshit that included one possession and several tortures, and three deaths in which he was burned alive by fire and brimstone, he wants to say. And guess what, he didn't go on a killing spree after all that.

"Don't dodge the question," he snaps instead.

Peter looks at him thoughtfully for moment, as if he can somehow feel the weight of what Stiles has left unsaid. "I want you in my pack, of course," he answers simply instead of pursuing the matter.

"And I already said no," Stiles snarls, hands now fisted at his sides to help control the temptation of resorting to violence.

"You said no to the bite. And in all honesty, I'll have you in any form or capacity."

Stiles gapes for a moment, caught off guard, before he recovers his footing. "I said no to everything! Engrave that into your mind," he snarls furiously. "I only intervened because that bitch took my father."

"Understood then," Peter replies placidly and Stiles feels even more off kilter.

"Then stay away," Stiles snaps finally as he turns to leave.

And they do.

For a week.

Isaac is the first to come back to his lunch table. He's silent and Stiles can see he still has a lot of unresolved issues. Somehow, even though Stiles tries to make him leave with his sharp tongue, they end up snarking back and forth, both of them throwing painful jabs at each other that would leave others in tears. Isaac seems to relish in having someone that won't tiptoe around him, that somehow seems to understand the abuse he went through and doesn't think him made of glass because of it, but of hard diamond in spite of it.

Then one day one of the basketball team tries to make fun of Isaac, because in this timeline, Peter never let him go into sports so as to not expose himself and he's still a loser, and Nathan Jones and his little clique are nothing but the epitome of the stereotypical jocks. They crowd on him outside the gym and threaten to throw him into the dumpster. Now, Isaac is a werewolf with enough force to power lift all of them together but Stiles doesn't need to be a genius to know that he's in some kind of flashback with the way he freezes up.

There's a very good reason no one messes with Stiles in this school and those jocks get reminded of it when he intervenes before he can really think of it. Afterwards, he grabs Isaac's hand and pulls him towards the toilet first and then, when he has snapped out of it, to the rooftop to skip the rest of the afternoon classes.

The rest of the pack join his lunch table again the very next day and Stiles just sighs resigned to accept the inevitable. When Cora talks casually about how Nathan Jones and several others got caught with weed in their lockers and how they got suspended and kicked out of the team for it, Isaac's lips twitch and Stiles sighs again, knowing there's no way he can get rid of them now. Erica's smirk and Boyd casually exchanging his water for his own pineapple juice (which Stiles loves but they were out when he picked his lunch) just confirms it.

Scott glares at him from beside Allison and Stiles simply pops the straw inside the juice box and sips.

It's obvious now that sitting it out won't work, because change in red still comes to Stiles (he eyes Isaac's red scarf), whether he likes it or not. When he was a kid he used to wear red all the time, convinced that by doing that he would control what change came into his life. Why did he stop? Maybe it's time that he starts harnessing red as a weapon again.

When school ends, he drives to the loft again, Isaac on the passenger side, languidly flipping through the channels of the radio, never seeming to find anything he likes enough to settle on. Stiles is too immersed in his own mind to care, though, so he lets him do as he pleases.

Stiles glares disgruntled at Peter when he spots his self-satisfied smirk, which only makes it widen into a smile.

"We're going to blackmail Deaton and Morrel," he states simply after a moment.

"We are?" Peter muses placidly.

"We are. But just because I need your red eyes to move it along and plucking them out of your sockets would be too much of a hassle," he grunts and he would swear he just heard some muffled snickers in the background, but he ignores them in favour of maintaining eye contact with Peter.

"Hmmm... And what do I get out of this? Have you changed your mind about joining the pack then?"

"You get a purified Nemeton that stops attracting all this shit towards Beacon Hills and some psycho bastards that will cause a lot of trouble taken care of. How about that?"

Peter blinks slowly.

They blackmail Deaton and Morrel and purify the Nemeton. Peter spouts something about nogitsunes being needed for the balance, so, against his better judgement, Stiles decides to try again to save it, but this time he extracts a promise from it to not kill or harm its original jailer in exchange of its freedom. Peter is against it (even though he reluctantly sees the practicality of it), but they contact the Tribunal to take care of the Eichen House problem again.

Somehow, at one point between hearing his dad grumble awkwardly about his station being invaded by the FBI and Gerard's appearance, Stiles becomes part of the pack without even realizing it. It gets somehow driven home when he finds himself holding a gun to Gerard's temple while the rest of the pack releases Peter. Scott, who apparently was having dinner with them is horrified, but not by finding Peter detained precisely. He can't believe that Stiles is saving him and this time Stiles is the one to call Scott a monster, shocking him speechless.

The Tribunal is still managing the fall out of Eichen House, so Stiles finds it incredibly easy to make all the dirt he has on Gerard get to them with the surprising help of his dad, whom is still trying to make amends. News of Gerard Argent being arrested by the FBI travel like wildfire through their small town two days later.

Kira comes to town in a wheelchair herself, her dad dead and her mom looking older and more worn down than Stiles ever seen her and he despairs that he's been out-thought again. Scott is furious once again and he tries to confront Stiles about it. It nearly evolves into a full out war between the pack and the hunters, whom Scott is now part of. Only the presence of the Tribunal dissuades the situation.

Stiles ponders about what to do next when the whole issue finally dies down. Despite the situation with his dad and Scott and the surprising fact that he's crazy Peter Hale's emissary, he likes this new timeline.

Peter is sassy and has a very dark humour that matches Stiles' to the tee. He looks forward to their research sessions, to when Peter surprises him with a new ancient tome that he has gotten from who knows where. He likes that Peter isn't afraid of doing what needs to be done for the safety of their pack and that he doesn't look at Stiles as if he's a monster for exactly that same reason. He also likes that the man listens and treats his words as something valuable and important. Isaac looks up to him, comes to him when he needs help and effectively treats him like an older brother, bickering included. Derek has somehow found his peace and Stiles doesn't know how it happened (even if he suspects that it has to do with Cora's appearance), but his presence is calming now. He's still a little dour but more in a exasperated way, and Stiles loves when he manages to get his huge nerdy side to come out and play. Also, his protective side is of the size of the sun, and being on the receiving end is heart-warming. Cora's humour is wicked and she's super competitive, which matches Stiles' own competitiveness and makes their Mario Kart tournaments with Erica a sight to behold. Just like her brother, she's really protective of her own and will go to great lengths to keep them safe, even if she'll call them idiots all the way. Erica is a spitfire lady that brings life to Stiles' life. Again, she has a wicked humor that's somehow in the middle ground between Peter's and Cora's. She's a cuddler too and Stiles secretly loves when they are watching a movie and she shamelessly moves into his personal space and pulls Boyd, who is also a secret cuddle lover like Stiles, into it. Boyd is Stiles' source of calm. When he's stressed, he will pick up a book or simply lie in the couch beside him. Stiles will inevitably wake up hours later, not even remembering when exactly did he nod off and with his head on his lap. If he's lucky enough, Boyd will be absently running his hands through his hair (which is going through the awkward stage of being spiky and not long enough as he's trying to grow it out) and both of them will feign that Stiles is still asleep.

This is what he has now and he doesn't want to lose it, but apart from Malia and the desert wolf, there's only the bastards to take care of, and this is the fourth timeline both Scott and Stiles have gone through and they still haven't found out who the hell they are and why they are attacking them. It leaves Stiles nervous and unsettled, but he can't do anything about it except to keep an eye out and to be careful.

They find Malia on an outing Stiles suggests to bond, and Peter is floored. For a few weeks, Stiles (and the pack in general) is constantly amused by their dynamics and Peter is equally constant in the disgruntled glares he shoots at Stiles for his cheek. They retrain Malia to be able to act as a human again and join society, and Stiles is reminded of how sharp she is (as sharp as her dad) when she's ready in a little over a month to join them at school.

Then, one day, the FBI comes knocking at their door in the form of Raphael McCall, who asks Stiles to come with him none too gently. Stiles, who still can't stand the man even though now he can't stand the son, refuses. The next moment he's being dragged outside, pushed against the wall and handcuffed. Peter is there less than a second later and Stiles finds out it's Derek the one who is keeping Stiles uptight as he's trying to wait the ringing in his ears and the dizziness out minutes later.

McCall is pointing his gun at Peter, who looks like he's calculating how to drag the man inside and then dispose of the body. Stiles loves what he has now and he won't lose it for anything in the world, so he has to talk everyone down before everything slips through his fingers. He doesn't even have time before more agents bust through the windows and before he can even count to ten they have all the pack subdued and arrested.

They drag them to the police station and push them into the cells. Stiles pleads to Peter silently to just bear with it until they can understand what the hell is happening. They let them sweat it out in the cell, but Stiles has lived through a lot by now and he isn't even fazed, so he uses the time to calm Isaac, Cora, Erica and Boyd, who don't deal well with being confined in tight spaces anymore.

Much later, they forcibly pull Stiles out of the cell and from under Derek's arm, and into an interrogation room down the hall. Before they can even start, Stiles' dad bursts into the room and demands an explanation, because, for starters Stiles is a minor and he received news of the arrest through his own deputies. They grudgingly let John stay in the room.

They ask him about what has he been doing as of late. Stiles is confused about the line of questioning but answers truthfully, because apart form the supernatural aspect of it all, he really hasn't been doing much else than helping Malia, doing homework and playing with his friends the last two, nearly three, weeks. They drill him on that and he still answers truthfully, again with nothing to hide. Then McCall gets in the room and slams some pictures in front of him.

There's a ring in his ears and he can't breathe and then he's puking his guts out into the ground while John shouts at the agents enraged. The next thing he knows is that he's calling for his pack because his father is not enough. He needs Peter, Malia and Cora's vicious protectiveness, Derek and Erica's fierce one, and Isaac and Boyd's powerful one. He needs them now. The next thing he knows is that someone has let Peter in and he's talking him through his panic attack while Derek simply holds him.

Afterwards he's left violently shaking and crying, because Scott is dead. McCall found him, Melissa and Allison torn to shreds and Stiles' name had been written on the wooden floor, as if Scott had used his last strength to write it with his own blood. Everyone knows that lately they hated each other for some reason no one has been able to find out, so the next logical assumption was that Stiles did it.

Stiles turns into a vicious creature that lashes out when he's hurt and scared, so he doesn't waste a moment to tell them how stupid they are for thinking that, and, among other things, did they get their badges in a raffle? John tries to curb his tongue but Peter joins in on the unstoppable train that is Stiles' verbal abuse, with Derek doing what he does best, which is glower at them darkly, until they call defeat and let him go, because he has a solid alibi for the night of the events.

It doesn't end there, because like the last three timelines, when something goes wrong, everything else follows in tow inevitably right into hell.

Stiles is in Peter's car after they leave the station, sitting on the backseat with the man close while Derek drives, when a shot comes through the window and blood splatters on his face. Derek screams as the alpha power transfers into him but hits the gas before jumping into the backseat, grabbing a screaming Stiles and pulling them both out of the still moving car. They land on Derek himself with a grunt, but he doesn't let it stop him and pulls Stiles into the safety of the woods.

Stiles tries calling the pack as they run but no one picks up. He contains a sob and he dials his dad next. When he does pick up, he rushedly explains what's happening and he hears him calling to the FBI agents because apparently he hasn't left the station yet. He's still on the phone with him when they reach a clearing, and it's a no moon night and completely dark, but he would recognize it anywhere and he knows what's inevitably coming. He closes his eyes to contain his tears and breathes in deeply. He tells his dad that he forgives him for everything, that he loves him despite everything that has happened between them and then hangs up.

Derek is wolfed out and trying to keep Stiles behind him, but they're coming from everywhere and it's just not possible. Stiles hugs him and tells him he's sorry, that he's so happy that he gave him a chance (that they gave it to each other, really) this time and that he loves him like a brother and he always will, no matter what happens.

Inevitable, as set in stone now as the fire and brimstone rains on them seconds later.

---

Stiles gasps into consciousness to the sight of a bewildered Scott that is trying to keep him upright and failing. Despite everything that has happened between them, Stiles pulls him into a hug right there sprawled on the forest's floor.

"Oh my God, you're alive," he chants trying to keep himself from having an anxiety attack.

"What are you talking about?! Of course I'm alive!" Scott exclaims confused and for some reason, dread starts to pool at the bottom of Stiles' stomach at the tone.

"Scott?"

"Oh my God, you're pale as a ghost! Are you going to faint? Tell me you aren't going to faint," Scott pleads.

"What happened?"

"What?"

"What happened at your house, Scott?"

"What are you talking about?! You're not making any sense!"

Stiles' throat closes on him just as a howl pierces the night. When his dad finds them, Scott is simultaneously trying to fight an asthma attack and to help Stiles. Nothing John says can calm him, so he ends up having to rush him to the hospital and they have to sedate him.

When he wakes up, Stiles is disoriented at first, but then he remembers everything and he can't stop crying. His dad begs him to tell him what's happening but he won't talk. Then, the most baffling thing happens when Derek Hale comes through the door and both of them look at each other as if they move first the other is going to disappear.

"Brother?" Derek finally grumbles awkwardly, looking ready to bolt or remain depending on Stiles' response.

"Derek," Stiles whines softly, bursting into tears again as he extends his arms towards him.

Derek springs forward and pulls him into a tight hug as Stiles spouts things that he shouldn't be talking about in front of his dad but he can't help himself. His dad looks speechless and like he doesn't know what to do, especially since Derek seems to be calming Stiles quite effectively while John has failed on every attempt. When Stiles can finally breathe without bursting into tears, he makes up a hasty explanation about how they met. It's a little sketchy but it won't make any alarms ring on his dad's head. They met on the Internet in a help group for people with anxiety issues. They helped each other, ended exchanging numbers and then Stiles met Laura, because she was important to Derek.

It seems to make sense to John (even if he's not happy that Stiles talked to strangers through the Internet, especially when he was so vulnerable), but he wants to know what happened on the woods, what made him break down and why the hell is Derek here if he lives in New York.

Laura wanted to come back to find closure, he explains, and Derek didn't want to ever have to set a foot in Beacon Hills again, so they decided that Derek would wait for her in Sacramento. Except that she hadn't answered his phone for two days, and while at first Derek thought it might be a coincidence, by the second day he knew something must have happened, so he forced himself to come back to Beacon Hills to search for her. And then Stiles went to the woods searching for a body and found one. Except he recognized Laura and he panicked. He called Derek but then it was too much and he had an anxiety attack.

It works.

Days later, Derek comes through the window late at night and Stiles tells him what happened and about the different timelines. They both agree that they want their pack back, so Derek tells him what happened on the part of the last timeline when he still was adamant on sitting it out.

Stiles is fed up with the whole time travelling thing, and true leaders that bring change in red. So he decides to go back to what he decided when he was just a kid and ended not maintaining, and dons his red hoodie to bring the change he wants and be his own true leader, no matter what the prophecy says or not.

First stop is Peter. Remembering what he did to Laura still makes Derek rage, he tells Stiles on the car well on their way to the hospital in the middle of the night, but he's older now, has come to terms with it and more importantly, he has died agonizingly slow in a fire now and knows how it feels. That Peter went through that and then had to suffer through years of slow recovery right after his pack abandoned him makes him feel so ashamed that he almost can't stand it. When Peter was shot and the alpha powers transferred to Derek, his first thought was to protect his pack. He reached for Stiles first because he was there, but the rest were in his mind too. He loves Laura and he always will, but she left Peter to rot when he needed her the most. And while at first she could do nothing else, they stayed away years, so part of the fault of what happened lies on her shoulders too. And his too, because he was so immersed in his own pain that he never spoke against it, and he has come to accept that. So now, subscribing to the whole better later than never adage, they go for Peter first.

It's awkward having to deal with a Peter that doesn't think twice about killing his nurse right in his own hospital room as opposed to the more controlled Peter they left behind on the last timeline, but they manage. It helps that Derek shocks him speechless when he tells him exactly the same that he told Stiles in the car (minus the time travel detail, of course) on the way to the hospital. Peter snarls enraged and squeezes Derek's throat while Stiles hovers behind worriedly. When Derek makes no move to free himself and simply averts his eyes, Peter lets go.

Slowly but surely, as time passes and the case about the mysterious attacks goes cold, Peter gets better. He arranges his come back to the living so to speak and leaves the hospital and the bafflement of the doctors and nurses alike behind. At some point he fakes leaving town to get plastic surgery and comes back a two weeks later looking as good as new.

Scott goes gaga over Allison when she appears and Stiles keeps his distance. Scott is hurt by it but Stiles, who remembers first being thrown aside in favour of others, being reduced to almost begging for scraps, being called a monster, betrayed and hurt by him or, more exactly what he can become, doesn't let it sway him. It's not fair to this Scott that has been nothing but a good friend, but Stiles won't chance it again, prophecy or not.

He tries approaching his dad after what happened in the last timeline, but the man's suspicions about his motives hurt Stiles to no end, and he accepts that he never will have the relationship he wants to have with him. He mopes for days until Derek forces him to sit through a horrendous chick flick whose argument they both end up verbally destroying not even twenty minutes in, to Peter's amusement.

When Kate comes, Stiles thinks a plan to let Peter have the final blow, but it's Derek who kills her, to everyone's surprise. Peter looks at his shaking nephew appraisingly and then squeezes his shoulder before hoisting her body to dispose of it.

He later finds Derek sleeping with Stiles in his room that night. He approaches the bed slowly and when Stiles, whom is still awake but just barely, merely blinks at him, he then squeezes the back of his neck gently, almost as if experimentally. When Stiles just sighs contented he repeats the action with Derek. He seems baffled when Derek subconsciously welcomes the gesture even asleep, and Stiles grins at his expression, prompting an eyeroll from the man.

Things progress after that, Peter becoming more grounded as time passes. When Stiles thinks he's ready he goes to speak to him about turning others and expanding their pack, his eyes glued nervously to his red sneakers.

"If you wanted to be turned," Peter says smiling indulgently, "you just had to ask, sweetheart."

"Me???" Stiles squeaks flustered, prompting an amused snort from Derek. "No, I mean others. Not that there's anything wrong with being a wolf, of course," he backtracks hastily at the man's raised eyebrows. "I'm your emissary, Peter! It would be a waste of my spark to turn me!"

"What."

"I mean, from all the research I've done, sparks lose their powers for some reason if they get turned and-"

"What."

Stiles looks at Derek wildly and he snorts. "I think we forgot to mention the spark thing, Stiles."

Stiles blinks. "Oh, sorry about that. I guess I kinda forgot?" he says sheepishly and Derek snorts again, earning a dark look from Stiles. "So yeah, me spark, turning is no no. A big no no. Anyways, here, I have a list of people that would be good wolves."

Derek snorts again at Peter's blown expression and unceremoniously proceeds to drag Stiles into the kitchen. He can't cook to save his life and he's craving pancakes now. Stiles whines about forced labour even as he takes the necessary ingredients to make them.

Over the next two weeks Isaac, Erica and Boyd choose to be turned. At first it's jarring that the people Stiles loves so much see him as a virtual stranger but he copes with it as well as he can. Both Derek and Stiles become so immersed in showing them the ropes that they forget about everything else they know is coming down the road. They get reminded of it abruptly when Erica and Boyd go missing, which is how they find grandpa Gerard is back in town. Stiles is more than fed up with him, so he doesn't even hesitate to set a trap with Peter as a bait to lure him out and blow his brains out with the man's own gun. Peter, who had been a little skeptic about the whole plan (because he didn't know that grandpa wanted to be bitten to cure his cancer because they couldn't explain how they knew) but had gone along with it anyways, confident in his ability to salvage almost any situation that may arise, is as delighted by the outcome as he is by Stiles' viciousness.

As he did with Kate, the man leaves to dispose of the body and when he comes back he finds everyone in a pile in the living room, still shaken and awake. He starts with Stiles, like he did last time too, and goes on to squeeze the back Derek's neck next, then Erica's, Boyd's and, finally, Isaac's.

Stiles and Derek vow to not get caught unawares again, but the alpha pack comes into town and Isaac goes missing. Stiles has never been more furious and Peter looks fascinated by the sight, which makes him want to slap some sense into the man but he refrains. He decides to poison them again, and because mountain ash is his bitch at this point they get it done in just one night and get Cora out of the whole ordeal.

On that very same night, Stiles sneaks out to kill Jeniffer alone, not wanting to give her the chance to kill anyone in this timeline. He comes back to the loft dizzy from blood loss at the same time Jennifer's house in the outskirts goes up in flames aided by an accelerant that no one will be able to identify. Everyone is angry at him, but Peter is beyond furious. Even more so when Stiles won't back down and accept he did wrong going alone.

He leaves the loft with the help of his mountain ash and stays away. He avoids everyone at school, he doesn't go to pack meetings, he lines his house with mountain ash. Everything is going to inevitably end in fire and brimstone anyway, he decides, so why the hell shouldn't he try to do everything alone this time and save himself the heartbreak?

He blackmails Deaton and Morrel, and purifies the Nemeton and the nogitsune with them. Even feeling like shit and having to stop to vomit black goo continuously, he bargains with Ikari (his name, apparently) the conditions of his release. He won't harm or kill Noshiko or the Yukimura family, but he will take her powers from her as compensation for all the years spent in captivity, being leeched from by the Nemeton. As for Stiles, he will destroy Eichen House for him in payment for the cleansing and for releasing him.

Stiles agrees to the terms, hoping that he hasn't overlooked any catch this time, and then crawls his way out of the preserve and right into Peter's presence. And then, before they can even start arguing again, Stiles proceeds to vomit on his probably very expensive shoes and faint.

"You're an ass," Derek growls when he comes back to consciousness at the loft, on what he guesses to be Peter's bed.

"Can it," he manages to snap back through his pounding headache.

"No, I fucking won't," Derek snarls back even as his hand circles Stiles' wrist and he starts leeching off the pain, dark veins crawling up his arm. "You're an ass," he repeats again.

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself! And besides, you of all people know why I had to kill her!"

"Of course I do, but that's not the problem! Put yourself in our place, Stiles! What would you have thought if I had gone alone?! Or Isaac or Erica or Boyd or Cora?! What would you have done?!"

Stiles' breath catches in his throat, because he would have been worried sick first when he noticed them gone and then utterly furious when he found they had gone to face Jennifer alone, capable or not.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, deflating, and Derek sighs, reaching to pull him into an embrace. "I'm so, so sorry. I just wanted to-"

"I know," Derek sighs against his shoulder, tightening his arms around him.

Even though everyone heard the conversation between Stiles and Derek, things are still tense for a while afterwards, right up until Isaac decides to sit with Stiles at the cafeteria again and to irritate him into a bickering match, even though Stiles is trying to play nice. Then the thing with Nathan Jones happens again and Stiles doesn't even hesitate this time to ruin the entire clique by planting weed in their lockers once again, which prompts an appreciative Cora to join them and to drag Erica and Boyd with her.

Still, Peter remains distant and cold, especially when Eichen House becomes rubble in just one night and he suspects Stiles has gone solo again. Stiles puts on both his red hoodie and red sneakers (to make sure) and tracks him down to apologize for the way he did things with Jennifer. He also explains what happened with the Nemeton and the nogitsune, including the bargain with him. Afterwards he waits nervously for Peter to talk but the man only drags him forward to scent him and squeezes the back of his neck gently.

Things return to normal slowly afterwards and finally Stiles gets his wish granted when he gets back his research binges with Peter, his movies with Derek, his Mario Kart tournaments with Cora and Erica, his bickering sessions with Isaac and his silent cuddling with Boyd. He's really happy about it but at the same time he's wary, because he's again at the point where only finding Malia and taking care of the desert wolf and the bastards remains. And again, another timeline and he still doesn't even know who they are or what they want.

This is also the point where things inevitably go to hell.

There's no use in panicking, Derek reminds him, and, with red sneakers on Stiles' feet, they go in search of Malia under the guise of a bonding outing through the woods. They find her again and this time around they go directly to what motivates her the most to ease her into socializing again. After a month, she joins them both in their classes and the extremely aggressive Mario Kart tournaments and it's bliss for Stiles.

Then they get invaded by pixies and both Stiles and Derek are thrown off kilter, because this hasn't happened ever before. They try to exterminate them but they reproduce faster than they can kill them, even after they grudgingly strike a truce with the Argents because they are as overwhelmed as the pack is by the invasion.

In the end, the Argents decide to call the Tribunal and when they arrive, Stiles finds himself pulled into hiding by Derek, to everyone else's astonishment even if they hide too at Derek's insistence.

"It's them," he hisses frantically and Stiles' eyes widen, catching on immediately.

"Are you sure?!" he whispers back, equally frantic and Derek nods curtly. "Fuck."

He observes them from his hiding spot, trying to process what's happening. He realizes suddenly that in every timeline, the bastards started hunting them after the Tribunal had been called to help in Beacon Hills for some reason or another. Every single time. But why? Why would they target Scott and Stiles? Was it because Scott was a true alpha? Because he doubted it was because Stiles was spark, as rare as sparks might be too.

He gets part of his answer a few days later, when they're staking out the Argent's house and Scott comes to have dinner, nearly giving Stiles a heart attack. Except he leaves a couple of hours later unharmed and days pass and Scott remains that way. He suddenly remembers what Scott wrote in blood red on his wooden floor that made the FBI think him the culprit. It's Stiles. Is it? Is Stiles what they have been hunting all this time? But if that's the case, why? It's ridiculous!

He's not. He's not losing everything again because of them, he doesn't fucking care about the reason. He has his red something on and the support of his alpha, with his own red eyes, along his whole pack.

He calls a pack meeting and explains everything he has found out and, after a slight hesitation, the time travelling issue, backed up by Derek. He's floored that they trust him so much that they believe him immediately and just ask what's the plan.

"So, mighty leader, what's the plan?" Isaac asks to everyone's amusement and unaware of how his words make Stiles' mouth go dry.

"What did you call me?"

"Peter might be the alpha, but you're always the one with the plan everyone follows," Malia explains with her usual matter-of-fact attitude, no tact at all, and Peter snorts amused, but doesn't correct her.

"It was that or red riding hood with your penchant for red hoodies," Erica mocks. "Or red everything, really."

"Our leader in red," Cora joins in.

"That sounds so wrong," Erica protests. "Our red leader? The true leader? We really need to work on that."

"Stiles?" Boyd inquires softly, leaning in to run his hand through his hair and effectively grounding him.

"I-I, yes, everything a-okay," he manages to stammer out, finally letting the hand that is squeezing the life out of Derek's thigh relax. "So, the plan." He launches into an explanation about the fire and brimstone and how he can change it so it doesn't take him this time. "But even if it does," he vows, "I'll repeat everything again and again until the pack is together and I find a way so they can't hurt us anymore."

(Fuck the inevitable.)

Later, he finds himself in that clearing again, except this time he's alone, because everything has gone horribly wrong and the plan has been shot to hell (he doesn't know why is he even surprised at this point, to be honest). Back straight and unafraid this time, he makes fire and brimstone rain on them once again.

Just as he's falling to the ground with his clothes on fire, Peter bursts into the clearing, and Stiles wishes and wishes and wishes that he reaches him in time to get pulled back in time with him, because despite what he said at the loft (home, his home now), he doesn't want to do this alone again.

---

He wakes up in the woods, clutching at Scott and desperately trying not to cry. He hopes that the Peter lurking not far from here is his Peter, even if he feels incredibly selfish because that will mean that he'll remember dying on fire again.

He trembles.

"Stiles?"

Except that's not Scott's voice but Peter's and he ends up crying anyways, because fire and brimstone rained on him but Stiles is still here and hasn't lost everything and gone back to the starting point once again.

Everything hurts and he can already see blisters forming on his arms. His legs feel no better and there are some spots on his face that feel like they are still on fire, but he throws himself at the man again anyway, and clings to him as his body shakes violently. It's going to be hell when the adrenaline leaves him but he doesn't care because he's still here (here!) and he would endure everything for that, even fire and brimstone a thousand times more.

Peter hugs him back, equally tight.

Days later, the doorbell rings at the loft and Stiles, who had stubbornly insisted that he could get to the kitchen on his own and is deeply regretting his decision right now, is the one that opens it and he regrets it even more than getting up from the couch and away from his silent cuddles with Boyd in the first place, if that's even possible, because if the woman on the other side isn't from the Tribunal, he'll eat his own red shocks. The only people at the loft with him right now are Malia and Boyd, and Stiles' mind goes into overdrive thinking a way to kill the hunter before she can get to them.

"Stiles?" Malia inquires, popping up from behind just as the woman takes a step back and raises her hands placatingly. He'd bet his ass that Boyd is out of sight but equally close, and has probably Peter or Derek on the phone already. "Your heart is tap dancing, everything ok?"

"Everything a-okay," Stiles replies, mind still running a hundred miles per hour.

"You're lying," she frowns. Then she takes in the woman and starts growling at her.

"She's leaving," he states coldly, glaring at her and setting his tattoos into motion.

"I am," the woman says simply and Stiles blinks, thrown off kilter. "I'm not here to harm you, just to relay a message from the Tribunal."

"She's not lying," Malia pipes in helpfully.

"Indeed," she nods. "The Tribunal wants to me convey their deepest apologies for what happened with a rogue faction that acted against our Code, and an explanation too."

"I don't know if I care for either of those at this point, to be honest," Stiles growls, suddenly incensed instead of wary.

"I understand," she nods, still keeping her hands up. "Just know that no repercussions will come from what happened at the forest because we understand you acted purely on self-defense, then, and I'll be on my way."

"Wait," Stiles says sharply and she stills. "Why me? What did they want from me?"

"They were deranged fanatics, Mr. Stilinski, and sadly there was no real reason why they chose you as their target."

"Bullshit," he snaps, because it can't be anything else.

She sighs and he sneers uglily at her. Five. Five completely different timelines and they inevitably went for Stiles in every single one of them, so there must be a very specific reason (deranged or not, nonsensical or not) why they targeted him.

"Nine years ago," she finally speaks, "a man that was imprisoned for crimes I'm not authorized to share the information of, suddenly went into convulsions when he was going to be moved to the court room to be judged for them. He started crying the same words again and again, then went into shock and died on the spot before medical help could come. The incident and the hunters involved in the move were investigated but there was no evidence of foul play, so the matter was let go and what happened was forgotten." She shifts minutely in place, clearly uncomfortable. "Or that's what we thought, in any case. Apparently, the hunters involved in the incident started noticing that things that happened to them followed the words that the man cried in his delirium and, over time, they were convinced they were prophetic." She can't quite contain the sneer that twists her features momentarily before smoothing out. She doesn't notice how Stiles' breath catches at her words or how he reaches to squeeze Malia's hand, prompting her silently to not comment on it. "From our investigation this last week, we've found out that they visited many... seers," she sneers again, "to consult them about what they were sure was some kind of prophecy. Mostly they simply got assured that the words were so vague that they could mean anything, but a witch passing up as a non supernatural seer gave them a completely different and much more detailed interpretation. Our guess is that she wanted to make profit out of selling to some idiots protective charms or potions, but it backfired on her. Not only they didn't buy anything from her but they ended up killing her without contemplations. And what's even worse, they also left the store thinking that a leader would bring the end of the Tribunal in a bloodbath and having a lot of false details that she had made up about said leader to identify them."

"And I match the description?"Stiles asks incredulous.

"Yes, sadly along the more than thirty people they've killed over the last six years," she nods curtly.

"So all of this happened because of a prophecy?"

"All this happened because some hunters got obsessed about the words of a delirious man about a true leader in red that would be the catalyst of change to the court, then got tricked by a witch, created an entire faction of fanatics within the Tribunal and went on a crazy killing spree that spanned over years." She visibly takes a fortifying breath before regaining her cool attitude. "Let it not be said that we don't learn from our mistakes, though, because the Tribunal will cease to exist by the end of the week." Stiles blinks surprised and she smiles chagrined. "We already knew that our method wasn't perfect, but we believed that it was a good enough one that worked, that it was the best we could get. When you defended yourself and uncovered the dirty faction of the Tribunal, you brought to our attention (quite spectacularly, I might add) that we were wrong. Apart from fanaticism, this happened because of ignorance, so if we want this to work, we have to work together with the supernaturals. So this is why the new organization will be formed in equal parts by humans and supernaturals."

"A lot of people aren't going to like that," he can't help but snort.

"To put this simply, they can suck it or face the repercussions of going against the Court's code."

"The Court?"

"A name to remember what brough us here," she explains simply.

She leaves after that and Stiles closes the door, letting his forehead rest against it as he tries to take everything in. He opens his eyes and looks at his red clad feet.

(Inevitable, huh.)

When Boyd starts pulling him towards the couch, he doesn't resist. He makes himself a ball and automatically relaxes when Boyd's hand finds its way into massaging his scalp. He sighs contentedly and smiles, feeling completely at ease for the first time since he got abruptly immersed in the supernatural world a long time ago.

Stiles is seven years old when he receives two prophecies and nearly sixteen when he finally fulfills them.

(Or, hopefully, that's the case, but only time will tell.)

(And also hopefully, if it comes down to that, this time without fire and brimstone inevitably raining on him.)

#prompt '16 #anonymous #my fanfiction #teen wolf

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batchaoticcollectionnight-blog · 6 years ago

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Explanation of getting a car insurance. PLEASE HELP?

"Explanation of getting a car insurance. PLEASE HELP?

Hello, i have recently bought a car (fiat punto 1999 16v sporting) and now looking for car insurance, everytime i try to get a quote i get crazy prices like 3k even when i put as secind driver. I want to put my mum as first driver and my self as second when asked for a relationship to the the first driver what should it be when it says: spouce friend or other of course when you put spouce it comes out way cheap is that right or it should be marked as other??????????? and does anyone know nice cheap car insurances esspecially for students?

BEST ANSWER: Try this site where you can compare quotes: : http://freeautoinsurance.xyz/index.html?src=tumblr