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sabraeal · 3 years ago

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Not Necessarily a Virtue

[Read on AO3]

Obiyuki AU Bingo 2021 Practical Magic AU

There hadn’t been a plan when Obi picked up the phone.

All it had taken was one rogue text-- another case assigned to his social worker, one that was enough of an emergency that it his behavioral issues seem tame in comparison. Her chair rattles when she stans, its plastic back hitting the filing cabinets with a metallic tang, but her hands tremble more.

“This will be just a minute,” she says, smile plastered tight to her face. And then she leaves him there alone, his file open on her desk, flaws left out for the world to see.

It doesn’t bothered him. There’s no point, not when he already knows: he’s trouble with a capital-T, each failed family drawing him closer and closer to being unplaceable. Some people have a face only a mother could love, but Obi-- Obi has that for his personality. Though considering how each of his six almost-moms signed him away with a sigh of relief, walking out the plate glass doors without even a glance back, maybe he has the sort of personality that makes people reconsider whether they could be a mother.

So here he is again, freshly abandoned, back in the sterile halls of social services for the seventh time without a place to call home. He’s not even twelve.

Not that these people aren’t trying to change that-- he’s not some cat left at the shelter, free to a good home. Unless Kerry or Janine or the girl at the desk he didn’t get to read the name tag of wanted to sleep on their couch, they have to find someone to take him for the night. And he knows from experience, there’s always a family that believes they can change him. A young couple who thought all problem children needed was just a little extra love. By the time Kerry came back, there’d be good news waiting, a miracle crafted by three people who didn’t want to miss the Masked Singer finale. They’d pack him into the back of a car and ship him off to a new place to fail. Because no matter how many homes they tried to make for him, it’d never change how he felt.

Obi had tried, at first. He was just a little kid, wanting to be loved, but every home he went to itched like hives in his head, a constant buzz that set his teeth on edge and made him do anything, try anything to leave. He belonged somewhere else, somewhere not here, and he knew it like he knew Kerry’s other case had overdosed on a bottle of sleeping pills in his foster mother’s cabinet-- with an inexplicable certainty.

He waits thirty seconds after she leaves before he slides off the the plastic seat she’d put him in. They love these things, oddly shaped and in primary colors that make the little kids giddy, but Obi hates them. He’s undersized, and putting him in these kiddie rooms always makes people treat him like he’s eight instead of eleven, asking him about Blue’s Clues.

But that’s not why he gets up, not entirely. There’s a buzzing in the back of his brain, a knowing, and it makes him stand, his hand straying to the glass door. He can’t see anything outside, at least not anything besides more kiddie chairs and offices, but he steps out nonetheless. He steps out and, unerringly, turns to face the girl waiting for him down the hall.

“It’s you.” Her tawny hair stresses the elastic she’s trapped it in, too thick. It’s not one of those hair ones either, but one of those thick rubber bands they use on the produce in grocery store. It hurts; he knows because it’s common sense, but also because he just...Knows. Their eyes meet, and even though he doesn’t her name, they’ve known each other forever.

His mouth is dry when he asks, “Do you know me?”

“I saw you in a dream.” She takes a step toward him, her sneakers scuffed and worn, just like his. “You��re Obi. I’m Torou.”

He doesn’t know this girl. There’s a hundred ways she could get his name; one of them is sitting on a desk behind him right now. But when she looks up at him with eyes he’s only ever seen in the mirror, he holds out his hand. “Come here.”

His heart pounds with each mincing squeak of her sneakers on the tile. She’s taking too long and she’s coming too fast; each terrible second convinces him he’s making a mistake at the same time he’s doing what he was always meant to do. By the time she slips her hand into his, he’s trembling, but it doesn’t matter because they both are and this--

This is right. And he knows exactly what to do.

It’s holding her hand that he picks up the phone. He fucks it up the first time-- he gets that gross digital buzz before he notices the sticker beneath the speaker, informing him 9 dials out-- but the second one his fingers guide him, releasing the number he has no reason to know. A number he has no reason to believe will work, that could have just come from the weird recesses of his mind but--

But he’s not surprised when a man picks up. “Who is this? Do you know what time--?”

“We’re here,” Obi says, and it shouldn’t be enough, but it is. “Come pick us up.”

A specter arrives on the front walk at noon.

Obi knows by the hush in the office. Or really the weight of it-- it’s been quiet like this since last night, since he and Torou sat down on the big bean bag couch in the waiting room, and Obi announced they wouldn’t be letting go. His case worker had crouched in front of them, that sweet smile plastered to her lips, and told him that they’d only have to be separated for a night. But he’d known-- the way he always did-- that every word was a lie. His fingers tightened in her grip, narrowing his eyes until the woman shivered, and that was that.

Kerry stayed with them, of course; she’d slept in her office, under a blanket it’s clear she’s never used and had only just discovered wasn’t comfortable no matter how many Sesame Street characters were on it. They’d been tucked under another by a younger girl with trembling hands, her eyes darting between them as she smoothed out its edges. He’d heard them through the walls this morning while the rest of the office filtered in-- government buildings like this were always cutting corners, leaving things like this paper thin, stuff that would go up like tissue in a fire.

Do you think they’re twins? one asked. Trembling hands, he guesses, since her voice does as well, like a chihuahua in a sweater. I’ve heard about this happening with twins. They look and just know.

Can’t be, we have their birth certificates, says another. Kerry, probably; she might be a liar, but she’s one of the only people in this place that has her head screwed on right, too. Two different sets of parents.

And the man they called last night? This one is stern; their manager maybe. He’s not really sure how this all works; he’s not even twelve, and he can only just know so much. Who is he?

There’s a heavy pause. I...I don’t know.

So when he arrives, dressed like an undertaker and holding an umbrella beneath the bright New Mexico sky, the whole place goes quiet. When he walks it’s stiff, like it took a hundred volts to get him up off the table and he’s only just gotten used to the idea. Obi casts a look down at Torou, at where her hand is white knuckled in his, and thinks about how he knows things, and wonders just what she might be able to do.

The man enters, umbrella folding in a single neat motion, before he says. “I am Lata Forenzo. I believe you have my...niblings.”

Niblings, Obi learns, is like siblings, only sideways.

“It was a simplification,” Lata says, his voice a deep, hesitant gravel. He casts a speculative look at the taxi driver, adjusting the gloves on his hands. “Niece and nephew is an unwieldy phrase, and time, after all, is of the essence.”

“Is it?” Torou’s eyes are wide, and for the first time since last night, her hand leaves his, gripping on to the cloth at Lata’s knee. “Is there something after us? Those bugs, they’re not--”

“No.” Obi’s known his uncle for barely more than a half hour, but he knows he isn’t a tactile person. Even still, Lata looks down at Torou, his not-gold eyes somehow softer, and puts two fingers over the bones at the back of her hand. “But it is time to bring you home.”

Home is an island. It takes the whole night to fly in, and when they land the sun is just barely scratching the sky. Even still, there’s no stopping; Lata bundles them straight into a cab, shushing them before they can make much more than a peep.

“We’ll be home soon,” he says, and the next time he wakes them, salt stings Obi’s nose, and he’s being carried over a threshold.

“Are we here?” he slurs. The house is weird-- angular, really, with a hall so narrow he could kick out a leg and stop them up like a cork. He nearly does, just to be cussed, but he catches Torou still wrapped up in her blanket, lolling on the couch, and says instead, “Can you let me down?”

Lata hesitates, fingers stiff where they wrap around his knees and shoulders, but he nods.

Obi’s feet-- just wearing socks now, somehow-- press on the floor, and he knows: he’s home.

“Oh,” he breathes, hands flying out to steady himself. “Oh.”

When he looks up, Torou’s eyes meet his, round and wide. “I felt that.”

Her own feet swing down-- bare-- and the moment she touches the wide old planks--

“Oh.” Lata braces himself against the wall, the sound bitter on his lips. “So it’s true. There will always be two.”

They aren’t his words, Obi knows, but they’re important. They’ve got that feel, the same as when Torou said she dreamed of him. The sort that are going to be life-changing, one way or another.

But Obi’s had enough of that today. Enough of it for a lifetime. He glances over at Torou, and she nods. “Can we go outside?”

Lata blinks, eyes pulling from the wallpaper to fix on him. After a long moment, he says, “You know where the door is.”

Obi does, somehow, and when he opens it--

It’s paradise.

Home has rules too, loads of them. It’s quiet time from nine to eight, though Lata doesn’t much care if they’re sleeping, so long as they’re in bed. Teeth have to be brushed twice a day-- he’d glowered when Obi said he had good teeth and only needed the once, standing over him for a week morning and night to see the rule stuck. There’s only one dessert after dinner; Obi balked at that one, until he’d learned that a limit on quantity wasn’t the same thing as size. He and Torou find three old sundae dishes in the cabinet and pile them high with ice cream and every topping they can find, and when they slap Lata’s down in front of him, cheeks bulging with their own towers of sweets, all he’d does is give them that small, reluctant twitch of a smile and dig in.

They have to make their beds and pick up after themselves-- this house has treated us well, Lata tells them, it’s only right we take care of it in return-- and they have to tell him if they plan to play in the yard; but in return their sheets are always clean, and dinner’s promptly at six. When they come back in, sweaty and exhausted from the summer heat, there’s always a bowl of fruit waiting for them and cold drinks.

He’d known, in the way he always does, that this couldn’t last. So when summer’s heat began to cool, he’s not surprised to see Lata waiting on for them on the veranda, mouth pulled into an even grimmer line.

“It’s time,” he says, “for a Family Meeting.”

“School,” Lata says with the sort of relish and derision only a professor like him can summon up, “is starting. Which means there are new rules.”

Fingers brush at Obi’s, and when he reaches out, Torou’s fingers knit in his. He knows what rules these will be-- his parents had them to, the only ones they’d ever made. His mother had gotten down on her knees the night before kindergarten, nails digging into his shoulders, and used a voice so dark, so unlike her, he’d dreamed of button eyes staring into his for a week. His father had tossed out their Coraline DVD after that.

“Forenzos,” Lata starts, already sounding weary, “look after each other. So you’ll walk together, both ways, and if one of you gets into trouble--” he fixes them both with a stern look-- “I expect both of you to run.”

Obi stares. “What?”

“You’ll come back right after school, unless we have previously discussed plans,” Lata continues. “You’re far too young for...cellular phones, so I expect that if you make plans with friends, you will discuss them with me the night previous, or you will come home first and ask permission. Not,” he murmurs, just barely audible, “that I expect you’ll have much trouble with that.”

“Is that...” Obi’s jaw works. “Is that all?”

“I expect you to keep up your grades.” Lata’s brow furrows, taking them in, as if he’d never once questioned whether or not they would be stellar students. As if most people don’t look at the both of them and see future high school flunk outs. “If they are slipping, I’m afraid I’ll have to limit your free time until we are able to bring them back to an acceptable level. Homework is to be done at the table, and once you are done, your time is yours until dinner.”

Torou’s hand squeezes his. “We?”

Lata blinks. “Excuse me?”

“You said ‘we.’“ She clear her throat, eyelashes fluttering with nerves. “If our grades are bad, you said we would, uh, fix them.”

“Of course.” His mouth pulls at the corners, annoyed. “How could I possibly ask you to rectify such a thing on your own? You’re already doing the best you can, if you still struggle, then it’s clearly something we both-- oh my,” he murmurs mildly, “she’s leaking.”

“Sorry,” she sobs, pink burning on her cheeks, the way it never did on his. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no.” Lata flails out, yanking a tissue from the box, shoving it into her hand. “I just...hope that you find this all fair. I was always quite good at school, but my sisters--” he glances at them, wary-- “varied. I hope I can only...encourage you to your best.”

“But what about...” Obi snaps his teeth around the words. If he doesn’t ask, then it won’t become a rule, and his uncle can’t be disappointed when he breaks it.

The pictures on the wall prove that they’re family, that Lata truly is his mom’s brother, even if they don’t share much more than a hair color. But Obi’s never seen it, the way he does in pictures of Torou’s mom, where there’s a flick of the hand or a cock of a hip that says they spent their childhood together, inextricably intertwined forever in ways they would never understand.

But Lata raises a brow now, and he sees it, that small thread that ties him to his mom, that says brother. “About...?”

“The other stuff,” Torou blurts out, coughing down a sniff. “He wants to know what we...”

Her words peter out too, like she can’t figure out what to do with them. He can’t stop knowing, and she can’t stop dreaming, and the thought of having to pretend they can is...tiring this time, in a way it never was in the system.

His mouth wraps around the words with a curious sort of wonder. “Other stuff?”

“You know,” she mutters, so small. “The weird stuff.”

Lata jolts in his chair, spine as straight as a poker. His hands press flat against his knees, and when he looks at them, the gray in his eyes in thunderous.

“This is the most important rule,” he tells them, voice oddly resonant, “you must follow it. Promise me.”

Obi’s heart sinks into his stomach, but he nods, fingers squeezing Torou’s tighter.

Lata’s hand presses heavy on his shoulder, leather flexing over cotton. “Don’t ever hide yourselves. Not for anything. Not for anyone.” Obi dares to look up, and Lata’s gaze is waiting to catch him. “Being...normal is not necessarily a virtue. There is no shame in being who you are, none at all.”

Or what you are, he doesn’t say, but his eyes do, loud and clear. He doesn’t say what that is either, but--

Obi knows. Just like he always does.

And if he didn’t, well-- he would have found out soon enough.

It’s a small island; small enough that K-12 are all squeezed into one school, though Lata tells them that by the time they go to senior high, they might have built another. It’s still not small enough for Torou and him to be in the same class, so he drops her off at the door with promises to find her at lunch and moseys down to his own. It puts him a little behind schedule, the school bell ringing on his heels, and when he steps in--

The room goes silent. Twenty pairs of eyes stare at him, round and wide, not a single person daring to do much more than breathe.

“Forenzo,” the teacher says, faint. “You must be...the Forenzo boy.”

“Yeah.” He grips at his shoulder. “Obi.”

“You can take your seat...at the back,” she says, before hurrying to the board, eager to put her back to him.

“I thought my mom said all the Forenzos died,” a boy whispers as he passes. “Except the old man, of course.”

“No, they just left,” says the one next to them. “Chased out. Because they’re, you know...”

Obi does; he always had, even before he had a word for it.

“I don’t think a boy can be a witch,” a girl says, thoughtless and thoughtful at the same time. “They’re wizards, or something.”

“Warlocks,” scoffs another. “Don’t you know anything? And they do blood magic with little girls--”

Obi grits his teeth, eyes forward. There’s two empty chairs in the back, one in the corner by the window, and the other next to it, and he steers toward that one-- window seats always get him in trouble--

And the boy next to it scoots away, fear bright in his eyes. Obi looks back at the teacher, but she’s writing her name on the board real slow, like she’s hoping this might solve itself.

Fine, he can take a hint. He takes the window, sliding in behind the desk. The girl in front of him scoots forward too, making sure her chair doesn’t touch his desktop, and he sighs. At least they’re all getting this out of the way first.

A bag drops, right next to his seat.

“Ms Kino!” There’s a girl there, smaller than everyone else, though her voice makes her twice as tall. In the morning sun, her hair burns bright like the horizon. “Can I change my seat?”

“Shirayuki?” The teacher blinks back at them, and Obi could swear she breaks into a cold sweat. “Shirayuki, I’m not sure that’s--”

“I can’t see the board from over there,” she says, every syllable digging in its heels. “There’s glare. Because I’m so small.”

Ms Kino squints back at her, and really-- there’s no denying how small she is, at least a head below Obi and he’s nothing to write home about either. “If you’re sure...”

“Great.” She drops into her seat with a thump as loud as thunder, setting out her notebook and pencil with the sort of purposeful efficiency that says there’s no doubt she’s here to stay.

Obi slips his out of his backpack too, so quiet so the other kids will stop looking at him like he’s going to set the place on fire, but he hears, “You’re new, right?”

He looks down, and there’s the girl, smiling across the aisle. “Yeah. I’m--”

“Obi, I heard.” She leans toward him. “I’m--”

“Shirayuki.” His mouth twitches. “I also heard.”

Her smile stretches towards a grin. “You know, Ms Kino likes group projects.”

He blinks. “Does she?”

She nods. “Would you like a partner?”

“She hasn’t assigned one yet,” he says, a little lost.

“She will,” this Shirayuki says, confident. The way he is, when he knows.

He nods, slow. “All right, so for the next one.”

“To start.” She fixes him with a look he can’t get out from under. “Are you eating lunch with someone?”

“Ah, yeah.” He feels guilty about it now, for some reason. “My um. Cousin.”

She brightens. “Great. I’ll show you guys the best place to sit.”

He’s been adopted, he realizes, like the way the cats around the house aren’t. And this girl means to keep him.

For once in his very short life, Obi doesn’t mind knowing. Just like he always does.

#obiyukibingo21 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #practical magic au #ans #there is so much to be written for this fic and i desperately want to write all of it #like honestly consider this a teaser for a fic i COULD write #one that would involve shirayuki obi and torou being childhood friends #and obi casting a spell of forgetting #and later shirayuki finding obi and torou again #after they have possibly murdered the resurrected then killed again torou's ex #and obi trying to hide that secret at the same time he's trying to keep shirayuki from remembering #while also desperately wanting her to remember because sure this Zen guy seems rich and nice but ALSO MAYBE YOU COULD LOVE ME???#like the notes i have for this potential multichap are CRAZY i wish to UNLEASH them #also LATA/GARRACK #and also Lata ruminating on love and loss and the complicatedness of inherited trauma #but uhhhhh with magic you know how it be

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hpkinktober · 4 years ago

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Almost a month after HP Kinktober ended, I have finally created a complete masterlist of the wonderful Drarry works we were gifted with from this astoundingly creative community. Since I am only human, please let me know if anything is wrong with this post (broken link, mispelled author name, etc).

Day 1: Foreplay

Love Me Like Red Wine by @triggerlil (M, 290)

Harry prepares a meal, but Draco can't focus on the food. It's not his fault that Harry's so damn attractive.

Foreplay by @ladderofyears (E, 100)

In which Draco wears sky-blue, lacy bikini knickers.

Kiss Him All the Way Up by @chuckweasley (M, Digital Art)

Is Harry into feet? Does he want to kiss Draco on every square inch of his body? Is he kissing a trail from his toes up? You decide!

Water Spirit by @laurisophi (E, 703)

Harry wants to surprise Draco for their anniversary and show more of himself.

"You look like a lake spirit, bath by the moon, covered in green.” He kisses your shoulder and one hand slides over your back, your side, your hip.

A ficlet for the first day of HP Kinktober 2020: foreplay.

Day 2: Instant Darkness Powder

Under the Cover of Darkness by @manixzen (M, 2k)

Thanks to Pansy, Draco's stuck at a party with a whole bunch of drunk Gryffindors. And now they want to play party games. If only Draco can slip out unnoticed before this gets any worse.

Instant Darkness Powder by @ladderofyears (M, 116)

Auror Partners Harry and Draco are trapped in the dark. Flirting ensues.

A Smoke Afterwards by @chuckweasley (M, Digital Art)

I wonder who’s holding the lighter...

Day 3: Polyjuice

Prompt: Polyjuice by blackswingsblackwords (T, 349)

In which there is (supposed to be) roleplaying.

Polyjuice by @ladderofyears (E, 100)

Harry takes Polyjuice Potion so Draco can fuck himself.

Polyjuice by CuriousEmWanders (E, 985)

In which Draco lets his curiosity and obsession get the best of him. He just needs to know what Harry looks like. How else is he supposed to find out?

Day 4: Amortentia

Occupational Hazard by @ladderofyears (E, 100)

Potions Master Draco has been brewing Amortentia.

Prompt: Amortentia by blackwingsblackwords (T, 463)

In which there is a secret relationship.

Smells Like You by CuriousEmWanders (E, 3.1k)

Draco may not smell anything in his Amortentia, but that doesn't stop him from taking it to help him submit to his Dom de jour.

Day 5: Spell Play

A Magic Number of Orgasms @ladderofyears (E, 100)

Harry and Draco experiment with a sex spell.

Just Let Go by @manixzen (E, 3.4k)

Draco struggles with letting go of his need for control, both at work and at home. Harry can help.

Prompt: Spell Play by blackwingsblackwords (T, 1.1k)

In which an exhausted dad dates a smitten hero.

Day 6: Parseltongue

Lucky Bloody Serpent by @ladderofyears (G, 100)

When Harry gets a pet snake, Draco gets (a tiny bit) jealous.

a simple thank you can go a long way by @crimsonhead-ache (E, 2.7k)

The one where Draco needs to thank him and Harry allows him.

Also Parseltongue.

And dicks.

Draco’s Favorite Thing by CuriousEmWanders (E, 1.2k)

Draco has a thing for when Harry talks to him in parseltongue, and he's glad Harry doesn't know. Or does he?

The Hottest Parselmouth by @chuckweasley (T, Digital Art)

Draco cannot handle how hot Harry is when he’s speaking parseltongue, even though he has no idea what Harry’s saying.

Day 7: Creature!Fic

I’ll Huff, And I’ll Puff, And I’ll Blow Your House In... by @ladderofyears (M, 100)

There’s a Werewolf on the loose and he’s out to get Draco!

Thirst by @fluxweeed (E, 4.4k)

The path of Malfoy’s scent is obvious; Harry hasn’t fed for days, so his senses are sharp. Deadly.

And Malfoy smells so good.

Day 8: Imperius

Imperius by @ladderofyears (E, 100)

Harry and Draco are put under the Imperius Curse.

Non-con warning

Day 9: Legilimency

Legilimens by @ladderofyears (E, 100)

Draco shares his sexual fantasies with his lover Harry.

Day 10: Dark Magic Ritual

Reanimation Ritual by @ladderofyears (M, 100)

Draco performs a Dark Magic ritual to bring his dead lover Harry back to him.

A Moment of Intent by @manixzen (E, 4.6k)

Auror Harry Potter and Curse Breaker Draco Malfoy are on another case, this time a Dark Arts Ritual gone wrong. Surely, they won’t botch up yet another crime scene.

Day 11: Invisibility Cloak

Tryst Behind The Tapestry by @ladderofyears (E, 1k)

It's Eighth Year and Harry and Draco enjoy some very sexy - and very invisible - fun after dark has fallen at Hogwarts.

Invisibly Arouse (E, Digital Art) by @chuckweasley

The boys get frisky under the cloak!

Day 12: Duelling

Duel by @ladderofyears (M, 365)

Harry and Draco practice duelling and things get a little heated.

Prompt: Dueling by blackwingsblackwords (T, 534)

In which a lesson is learned.

Cut Me Open (and use me) by @triggerlil

Draco is the heir to the throne of England. Harry is a nobleman who wants to reclaim his honour. Somehow, these two things are intimately linked. Enter a sword, a dagger, and the hands of God, and you have a story about two men with tongues like knives, learning to lick love off sharp edges.

Day 13: Mirror

Deep Dark Truthful Mirror by @ladderofyears (E, 2k)

Draco shows Harry a very old, very powerful magical object: a mirror that will show his deepest, darkest sexual desires.

Getting Ready for Harry by @chuckweasley (G, Digital Art)

Harry likes Draco in glitter and cozy sweaters...don’t we all?

Day 16: Magic Sex Toys

hot damn, hot water, hot shower by @crimsonhead-ache

Harry was more than ready for a long soak, a nice glass of firewhiskey, and twelve hours of sleep.

Too bad life never works out the way it's planned, or is it?

Colour, love? by @choulatte (E, 7.7k)

Holding Harry’s gaze, Draco took out the lube and let his fingers dance over the golden cockring he'd previously kept hidden, liberally coating it in the slippery substance. He watched how Harry’s eyes followed his movements, a desperate groan escaping the other man when he finally recognized his fate.

Draco merely smiled.

Both by @chuckweasley (E, Digital Art)

Harry knows Draco likes to be filled.

Day 17: Room of Requirement

No Fantasy Required by @manixzen (E, 4.1k)

The Room of Requirement has never quite recovered from the war. It seems hell-bent on fulfilling every need of students and faculty alike, in or out of the room itself. Professors Potter and Malfoy really wish it would stop trying to do the students’ homework, though.

The Room Of Requirement Always Provides by @ladderofyears (E, 100)

Just a hundred words of Draco and Harry having some smutty fun in the Room of Requirement.

Day 18: Herbology

Knowledge by @ladderofyears (E, 100)

Harry and Draco inhale sex pollen.

Day 19: Hair Pulling

Yeah, Pull it Harder by @chuckweasley (E, Digital Art)

The sex is very good.

Day 20: Veritaserum

Neither Of Us Have To Say A Single Word by @ladderofyears (T, 365)

When Draco is being badly bullied, Harry steps in and looks after him. Pre-slash.

A Bit of Honesty by @manixzen (E, 3.6k)

A Hogwarts ball, a spiked punch, Professor Potter and Professor Malfoy on chaperone duty… what could go wrong?

Day 21: Dragonhide

Dressing Up by @ladderofyears (T, 333)

The Potter-Malfoy family negotiate the tricky issue of Halloween costumes.

All Wrapped Up by @chuckweasley (E, Digital Art)

The boys take care of each other the best they can.

Day 22: Gillyweed

The Shape Of Love by @ladderofyears (E, 200)

Harry and Draco take Gillyweed and make love in The Black Lake.

Day 25: Tattoos

Tear it down piece by piece by moonstruckmuse (E, 7.8k)

Draco just wants to get rid of this stupid Dark Mark. Why is this so complicated?

His to Adorn, to Cherish, & to Keep by @maesmora (E, 1.4k)

Draco Malfoy is many things: calm, collected, in control. At least until Harry Potter gets his hands on him, and those aren't the only things Draco lets Harry put on his body...

Day 26: Exhibitionism

how can anybody have you and lose you and not lose their mind too? by @crimsonhead-ache (E, 3.8k)

As soon as he received that letter in the post last week from Potter’s boyfriend, he knew he would be in for it.

Day 27: Formal Wear

I guess that’s just me, honey, I guess that’s how I’m built by @crimsonhead-ache (E, 4k)

The way they adorned Potter’s body like they were made for him made him want to kiss his seamstresses’ feet. The lines, the colors, brought out his skin tone like nothing ever could.

Well, except perhaps the ropes Draco keeps in the bottom drawer of his bedside table.

Harry Potter and his Great Big Suit Kink by @swisstae (M, 2k)

Harry really doesn’t want to say it. Not because he thinks Draco will judge, mind you, but because it’s so embarrassing. Harry Potter—Saviour of the Wizarding World—turning into an incoherent mess at the sight of his boyfriend wearing a suit.

Waste Not, Want Not by @dragontamerdame (M, Art)

Harry may have gone a bit too far.

Day 28: Floo

the rush I get touchin’ you is somethin’ else by @crimsonhead-ache (E, 3.1k)

Harry frowned though; instead of feeling his joggers that had adorned his lower-half, now he felt the air hit his bare legs. He was going to murder Draco.

come through the fire my love by @triggerlil (T, 534)

Harry prepares for date night with Draco... until the man calls him through the floo to tell him he'll be late. Draco's just lucky Harry has a thing for fire.

Day 29: Wandless Magic

Without a touch by moonstruckmuse (M, 207)

Learning to do wandless magic.

#hpkinktober #hp kinktober #harry potter #draco malfoy #draco/harry #harry potter/draco malfoy #draco malfoy/harry potter #drarry #kinktober drarry #drarry master list #drarry fic post #fic recs #drarry fics #drarry fic list #drarry rec list #harry/draco

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gay-jesus-probably · 4 years ago

Text

What's up fam does anyone want to hear my new theories on Paranatural JUST KIDDING YOU'RE GETTING THEM ANYWAYS

Okay so first things first: of all the medium's we've met so far, I think that Isaac and Johnny are the only normal ones. And also maybe Walker? Cause during the flashback at the start of Chapter 7 he uses his mute powers with his bare hands, and doesn't seem to use a tool to fight. It'd explain why his flashback aesthetic is so aggressively 70's even though the flashback is set in the early 00's and his usual style is 'cowboy' - makes sense if his flashback look is a symptom of possession.

...That's not the point. Flashback Walker being a medium is completely unrelated to this.

Anyways.

When Possessed Max was threatening Doorman in ch 3, the Doorman immediately identified it as 'a broken god'. Given that the spirit mentions it "didn't end up with the sense of humor", the broken part is probably very literal. Then later on while talking with Nin, Doorman says that Max is "unaware that he carries one of the s-". While the last word is cut off, my guess is it's the start of a number, and refers to how many pieces the Broken God is in.

So that leaves us with three major questions: 1. What is the Broken God and why is it broken? 2. Where are the fragments? 3. What do they want?

Under the read more, because this is 3k words and I’m not an animal.

What is the Broken God, and why is it broken?

While it was whole, the Broken God was a terrifyingly powerful entity with apocalyptic levels of power. It might have been a spirit all along, or it could have started as something else entirely. If that's the case, then the act of breaking might have 'killed' it, turning the fragments into spirits. Whether it was originally a spirit or not, it couldn't be destroyed completely, but being shattered left the fragments weakened and gave the rest of the world a chance against it. It's possible that it hadn't done anything to warrant being attacked, and it was just shattered out of fear of what something that powerful might do, but I think it's more likely it was a very active threat that needed to be brought down.

So who broke it?

Ron Swanson; it burned his hand so he punched it

Bad jokes aside, I think something that powerful would push the Godzilla threshold enough to make a lot of groups put aside their differences to bring it down. Judging by what we've heard about them so far, I assume that early versions of the Cousinhood of Man and Paranatural Activity Consortium were involved. The two organizations might have actually been founded in response to the crisis, or were originally a single group that had a schism after. I don't think it was just them, but I do think the Cousinhood and Consortium were major players in the whole mess.

Which brings us to...

Where are the fragments?

I can't say for sure how many pieces it's in, but judging by the Doorman's comment, my guess is it's a number that starts with S. That's a lot of options, but I'm guessing six or seven, because any higher numbers that start with an S would just be ridiculous - six or seven is manageable, but double digits or higher is way too much to keep track of, the story would never be able to give all of them the focus they deserve.

So we've got six or seven fragments of a broken god. Where are they?

Fragment One: Possessing Max, which is the only thing currently confirmed by canon. This is a very recent development, as Max isn't showing any physical symptoms, was able to cross the barrier to enter Mayview, and his spectral abilities didn't kick in until his first day of school. Given that Johnny starts seeing shades roughly twelve hours after his possession, that implies that Max was possessed the day he moved into Mayview.

I think Max's fragment was stuck outside of Mayview, and looking to get in. It came across the Puckett's heading towards Mayview, and hitched a ride by possessing Max. This is backed up by the fact that Max began to awaken as a spectral before having noticeably interacted with anything supernatural - on his first night, Max could hear Hissin' Pete, saw PJ as a shade, and PJ was able to physically interact with him. If we compare that to the timeline of Johnny being possessed around midnight and seeing his first shade by lunchtime the next day, Max would have been possessed at some point in the late morning of the day he moved to Mayview.

Max's fragment is not Scrapdragon. I think that Max is a little like Mr. Spender, in that he's a medium whose also wielding a tool. Max's fragment is very chatty, revealing itself to the Doorman with no prompting, speaking in long, eloquent sentences, and even talks at Isaac about the concept of school buses and his own morality. On the other hand, Scrapdragon's communicated only in angry screeching so far. Also, Scrapdragon is obviously the source of Max's magnet powers, and he can only channel them through the baseball bat that Scrapdragon's possessing. I don't think Scrapdragon likes the fragment either - despite being a grudge, it seems fairly neutral towards Max, and only gets angry when he accidentally hits it. I don't know if Scrapdragon is trying to oppose the fragment the same way Lucifer fights the Shadow, but I don't think Scrapdragon wants to hurt Max, and it might end up helping him.

Fragment Two: Alright so now we're getting into speculative territory. I'm not numbering these by order of introduction btw, from here on out I'm looking at this via connections.

Boss Leader is possessed by a wight that the Consortium's been studying for a very long time, and is fairly non-hostile. Although it can't communicate clearly, it can express its emotions to BL, and she seems to have a lot of trust in it. Despite Boss Leader's shenanigans, it's been repeatedly shown that she takes the safety of spectral kids very seriously - if she thought there was any chance her wight would be dangerous, she never would have introduced it to two teenagers and a toddler, especially not just to explain the concept of a wight. This is also backed up by the wight's actions during that conversation - it's clearly paying attention, but it doesn't show any hostility, and the only thing it says is "PLEASE DON'T BE SCARED". Hell, it even seems to be a little disappointed that nobody reacts to the wight/white pun.

Despite this, I believe that Sandman is a fragment of the broken god. Not so much because of how it acts, but because of its connection to other possible pieces.

Fragment Three: Dr. Gwen Burger and her husband got stuck inside the prison of an unknown Wight. It was imprisoned by the Consortium before the current Boss Leader took power, it's lonely, dangerous, and really wants out. If it escapes, the results probably won't be pretty, time works differently in its prison, and its dream is connected to Gwen's. I think that Gwen might be its medium, given how warped her appearance is in the dream world, and that the wights prison relies on it being bound to a medium.

Gwen's wight is seemingly hostile, given that it attacks the group at the first opportunity, but what it wants is hard to say - its only line so far is "LOOK AT ME", and it may have been responsible for the demise of Gwen's husband. It also looks very similar to Sandman, implying a connection between them. Given that it's already been established that a Broken God is out there, it only makes sense for Sandman and Gwen's wight to be more fragments.

And more importantly, they're both very clearly connected to another powerful spirit.

Fragment Four: The Shadow, which has been possessing Richard Spender for at least thirteen years now. It's obviously powerful, given how much it scares Spender and Lucifer, and how being its medium has affected Spender's reputation. Given how he reacts to Forge saying he 'defeated the strongest spirit', that likely refers to Mr. Spender's past experience with the Shadow, and the circumstances that led to his possession.

Apart from its power, the main reason I think the Shadow is a fragment of the Broken God is because of its connections to Sandman and Gwen's wight. With Sandman, they look incredibly similar - the Shadow's face resembles a sun and is noticeably missing an eye, while Sandman's face resembles a crescent moon, and its only clear feature is a single eye. This suggests that Sandman and the Shadow are directly related to each other. As for Gwen's wight, it's connection to the Shadow is made clear by Rick's reaction to being attacked by it - while everyone else reacts, Rick freezes up and starts shaking in terror, either recognizing it as being similar to the Shadow, or having a flashback to his obviously traumatic possession. Probably both.

There's also the reactions of Sandman and Gwen's wight. When the group is attacked by Gwen's wight, the framing of the scene heavily implies that it's reaching out to grab Spender - Boss Leader and Walker are moving to defend the others, Gwen's almost completely hidden behind Walker, Mina's reflexively shielding Rick and Ed, Ed's hidden behind Walker and Mina... and Rick is perfectly centered at the back of the group. Furthermore, the way the wight attack contrasts to Rick's flashback heavily implies that it's reaching for him specifically. Meanwhile when the kids are introduced to Sandman, while it's kinda hard to track its line of sight, it seems like it might be staring at Rick the whole time. What the two wights say could also be interpreted as them speaking directly to Rick - Gwen's wight wants him to look at it, while Sandman begs him not be scared. If the two wights are fragments of the Broken God, they might be able to recognize that Rick is the medium of another one, and react accordingly. Gwen's wight wants him look at it, possibly realizing that he's frozen in terror and wanting to keep him that way so that he's an easy target. Sandman also realizes that Rick is traumatized and keeps its distance, asking Rick not to be afraid, as it doesn't want to hurt him. The point is, the Shadow, Sandman, and Gwen's wight are obviously connected to each other, and the most likely reason is all three are fragments of the Broken God.

I believe the Shadow was imprisoned at the bottom of Mayview Lake, though not by the Consortium. Thirteen years before Max came to Mayview, its prison was somehow broken by group that wanted to free the Broken God, though they were widely disorganized. Somehow a young Rick Spender wound up in the lake as the Shadow got free, and it pulled him under before possessing him. Given that Spender dying would free the Shadow, it's possible that the Shadow needed to possess a medium to escape its prison, and was trying to drown Rick right away to free itself. Lucifer intervened, pulling Rick out of the lake, and the two of them have been imprisoning the Shadow in Mr. Spender ever since.

Fragment Five: The Angel of Mayview.

Yeah, I know, she's definitely an enemy of Max's fragment and seemingly means well, but hear me out. When she speaks with Nin and Doorman, she pretty much immediately says she doesn't deserve to be called master. She also seems invested in Forge getting a second chance, not just to advance her goals, but also just for his own sake. These two details give me the impression that she's done some seriously bad things in the past, and is actively trying to make amends for it. Being part of the seemingly evil Broken God would qualify.

My other evidence is what Max's fragment says in Chapter 3. It specifically says that it "didn't end up with the sense of humor", implying that it's unable to find things funny. And right after that, the fragment and Doorman have this exchange: Doorman: Your return changes nothing, schemer. My master does not fear broken gods. Fragment: She should. Would if she could. The comedy your ignorance breeds is wasted on my ears.

This suggests that the Angel isn't scared because she can't be scared. Like she didn't get the ability to fear things, because another fragment has it. Max's fragment also suggests that it knows more about the Angel than Doorman does, and that considering her an enemy of the Broken God is ridiculous. All of this heavily implies that the Angel herself is another fragment.

Fragments Six and Seven: At this point I'm mostly out of obvious suspects. There's really only two major players unaccounted for, and while I do think both are fragments, I think they might both be fragments I've already discussed.

The great power that sleeps in Mayview is heavily implied to be a Big Deal. That being said, I think we've seen it already - who do we know that's a suspected medium for a fragment of the Broken God, and is permanently asleep? Yeah, I think the sleeping power is referring to Boss Leader. Her physical body is comatose, making her completely defenseless in the real world, and if Sandman is a fragment, Boss Leader is obviously very powerful. If Boss Leader's real body is in Mayview, then she's definitely the sleeping power.

Alternatively, it might be referring to the Shadow being imprisoned in Mayview Lake. Forge hasn't been in Mayview in a long time, so it makes sense that he wouldn't know the great power he's seeking was released over a decade ago. His attempt to command the pixelhounds also makes it clear that he's not above using evil methods to try and do what he thinks is right, so it'd make sense that he'd be willing to try and take control of it to help the Angel. It'd also explain why Mr. Spender starts laughing when he hears that, despite the fact that he's literally being tortured - Forge doesn't realize that the power he's looking for is right there. Mr. Spender also calls Forge misinformed right after that, suggesting that he knows what the sleeping power really is. Could be that he knows it's Boss Leader, but it could also mean he knows it's him. Either way, Forge is looking in the wrong place, and Mr. Spender knows it.

As for the other unexplained mystery, we have Penny Spender and her white spectral energy. That's a trait unique to wights and their mediums, which suggests that Penny is the medium of a wight. And given that all wights seen so far are probably fragments of the Broken God, it's likely that her wight is as well... but I think her wight is the Angel. We know fragments can speak through their mediums if they want, and the Angel hasn't made any personal appearances yet, only speaking over the phone. And the reactions of Nin and Doorman imply that's normal for her. Penny's obviously hiding that she's a spectral, so the Angel might be hiding that she has a medium to protect them both. As for why the Angel is possessing Penny, well Richard and Penny are obviously siblings, and Rick first got possessed when he was thirteen. If Penny doesn't know there's something horribly wrong with her brother, I'd be very surprised. I imagine we'll find out more about her, but whether or not Penny's possessed by the Angel, I think she's somewhat aware of her brothers situation and is trying to save him. Whatever her situation is, I'm looking forward to seeing more of Penny Spender, and I really hope she appears at some point in Chapter 7.

So now that we've got a rough idea of where the fragments are and why, that brings us to our final question.

What do they want?

I don't think they all have the same goals. Max's fragment saying it didn't end up with the sense of humor is an extremely informative sentence if you think about it - it means that the different fragments got different aspects of the Broken God's personality, and therefor will want different things.

The Angel and Sandman both seem to be non-hostile (for now at least), and the Angel is actively opposing other fragments. She also seems to be trying to make amends for the Broken God's actions, and feels deep shame over her past, leading me to believe that the Angel has the Broken God's remorse. The other pieces don't feel bad about what they've done because they can't. Likewise, I think Sandman might have inherited its fear, as it almost looks like it's trying to hide itself under blankets, and putting its medium's in a coma allows it to hide from the waking world.

Given their actions, I think the Angel and Sandman are against the Broken God's original goals, and are fairly benevolent. They do not want to become whole again.

Meanwhile, the Shadow, Gwen's wight, and Max's fragment all seem to be hostile. I believe Gwen's wight definitely wants to rejoin with other fragments, given that it seemingly tries to grab Rick. Max's fragment is harder to judge; it's definitely opposed to the Angel, but the Doorman's words imply that it's not really a powerhouse like the others. Max's fragment is the manipulator, the schemer - not the fighter. If it's the weakest of the bunch, it makes sense that it would want to become whole again. As for the Shadow, given that it's first move upon getting free is to attack Max and Isabel, it's definitely an active problem. The fact that it's indirectly described as 'the strongest spirit' implies that it got the most raw power out of all the fragments. I don't have any evidence that it wants to become whole again, but something about it gives me the feeling that it does. Here's hoping Mr. Spender realizes Max is possessed before either of their fragments makes a move. And no, I don’t think the Shadow realizes Max has another fragment yet; he’s still in the early stage of possession, so I think the only way for Max’s fragment to get caught is if it exposes itself. But Max’s fragment definitely knows where the Shadow is after chapter 4, so that’s bound to turn into a nightmare at some point.

Also on a probably unrelated note, the Shadow is a spirit of darkness that chooses to look like a sun, and if you look closely at Rick's memory getting possessed, you can see the Shadow had a massive slasher smile as it reached up to grab him. So uh... I think I know which fragment got the sense of humor.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk, I look forward to being proved wrong about all of this. But I also kinda really hope I’m right. Either way, if anyone writes fanfic using my theories, I will love you forever.

#paranatural #rick spender #maxwell puckett #boss leader #gwen burger

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trivialqueen · 5 years ago

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39. Hero

{Here’s the next section of that original story. Still currently, and creatively called, Hospital Romance Drama. As always, I’m neither a doctor, nor British. I’m just a girl who fancies herself a writer and likes slow burns, smart women, and tall men.}

“No, not to be so odd and from all fashions As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable: But who dare tell her so? If I should speak, She would mock me into air; O, she would laugh me Out of myself, press me to death with wit. Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire, Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly: It were a better death than die with mocks, Which is as bad as die with tickling.” Sofia Grace stopped so abruptly she almost spilled her flat white. As it was the jarring motion broke the perfect little heart Helen had made with the milk. Slowly she approached, just to confirm what she was fairly certain she was hearing. It sounded like Magnusson, baritone with just a hint of Scandinavian coloring his otherwise impeccable English. It sounded just exactly like Director of Surgery Felix Magnusson reading the part of Hero from Much Ado About Nothing.

“Yet tell her of it: hear what she will say.” A younger voice replied. Sitting up in her hospital bed was a young woman, maybe sixteen. She was focusing very intently on reciting from memory her lines. Beside her sat Felix, glasses perched on his patrician nose which was firmly wedged in a tatty script copy of the Bard’s comedy.

“No; rather I will go to Benedick And counsel him to fight against his passion. And, truly, I'll devise some honest slanders To stain my cousin with: one doth not know How much an ill word may empoison liking.” Magnusson read. He made no effort to change his voice in any way – adopt an accent or sound more feminine. Sofia couldn’t decide if that was better or not. She couldn’t imagine the man adopting a falsetto and yet just thinking about it she desperately wished he had. She honestly also wouldn’t have imagined him sitting in the middle of his day with one of his patients to help her memorize lines either. And yet here he was.

“Line?” The girl had sat quietly for a few moments, staring hard into the middle distance.

“You know it, just try.” Felix looked up at the young woman, his tone encouraging. There was something different about his voice. About him. It was the same gentleness he’d shown Addie, a sort of parental mien that occasionally popped out in unexpected places. He was capable of patience, of kindness, of all the fatherly virtues. Just not when it came to anyone he worked with. Tamara had been crying in the bathroom on Harvey earlier. She didn’t even want to cry in the bathroom on Irene, just in case. Tamara had only been out of school a few months and literally looked like she was twelve. One would think such a combination would bring fatherly Felix to the fore. That was, however, not the case, apparently.

“She cannot be so much without true judgement--” the girl began. Felix clicked his tongue.

“Not quite. The line begins, ‘Oh, do not do your cousin such a wrong’.”

“Got it.” The girl gave a decisive nod. “O, do not do your cousin such a wrong. She cannot be so much without true judgment-- Having so swift and excellent a wit as she is prized to have--as to refuse So rare a gentleman as Signior Benedick.”

“Very good.” He returned his attention to the script. “He is the only man of Italy. Always excepted my dear Claudio.”

And so they continued, ‘Ursula’ reciting from memory and Magnusson correcting her as necessary. It was not a good performance by any means, both were too flat for that and the setting left something to be desired, even by ‘random adaptations of Shakespeare’ standards. Nonetheless Sofia felt not great urge to interrupt them. Nor was she ready to walk away either. In the midafternoon sun and the overhead light Magnusson looked relaxed, almost charming. The rays glinted off the slight red gold undertone in his curls. He must’ve run his hands through his hair recently, and frequently, it was not as tamed as it usually was. The gel was broken up and his hair was almost Byronic. Adding to the image of the hero, his aubergine colored tie was slightly loosened and the top button of his pale blue dress shirt was undone.

“… I'll show thee some attires and have thy counsel Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow.” His fingers were long and slender sprawled across the cover of the script. In another context one might say he had musicians’ hands.

“She's limed, I warrant you: we have caught her, madam.” ‘Ursula’ looked up from her middle-distance staring and caught her watching. She colored brightly, her ears turning scarlet under her mop of professionally caramel colored hair.

“If it proves so, then loving goes by haps: Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.” Magnusson did not notice her, nor his patient’s embarrassment and finished the dialogue as evenly before. He slid his glasses off his nose and into his pocket. He looked up to ‘Ursula’ and then followed her gaze to Sofia Grace. Their eyes met and she could see his ears tint, yet he arched a brow as if challenging her to say something.

“What fire is in mine ears?” Ms. Hale was smirking, her cayenne lips twisting smugly and her eyes twinkling with delight.

“Ms. Hale.” He shouldn’t feel embarrassed, but her eyes pinned him.

“Go on!” Bridget chirped. She’d gone from embarrassed to intrigued in seconds. Ms. Hale smiled brightly.

“Can this be true? Stand I condemned for pride and scorn so much?” She had the delivery of a thespian, which he was hardly surprised. Her every day comportment was dramatic, why should she be anything less than theatrical when actually reciting Shakespeare. “Ummm…” And then she paused. Looked thoughtful for a moment. And sipped her coffee to buy some time. Being lefthanded logos on mugs never faced out when she drank out of them, but he could tell it was her Wonder Woman mug. As far as Felix could tell she didn’t own any other mugs. “Contempt, farewell! And maiden pride, adieu! And that’s all I can remember.” She gave a charming shrug.

“No glory lives behind the backs of such.” The script was still open loosely in his hand, so it was easy to check Beatrice’s next line. She stared at him for a moment and he read on, “And Benedick, love on-”

“I will requite thee!” She jumped in, clearly her memory jogged. “Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand: If thou love, my kindness shall incite thee to bind our loves in a holy band; for others say thou dost deserve, and I believe it better than reportingly! HA! Nailed it.” She exclaimed with a fist pump.

“Ah! Not quite.”

“What?” Both surgeon and student stared at him.

“If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee to bind our loves up in a holy band…”

“Oh, come on! After twenty years you’re going to ding me on two words? The spirit is the same!”

“Let’s apply to the director then.” Bridget looked between them both.

“I’d say that’s good enough after …twenty years?!” Ms. Hale gave him a cheeky smile over the rim of her coffee mug.

“I know, right?!” She preened.

“It seems like it should be longer ago, doesn’t it?”

“Hey!” Bridget dissolved into peels of laughter. Felix could feel the smile spread across his lips. It was perhaps not the best dig, but it was so perfectly set up. “Just because you’re jealous of my theatrical chops-”

“I would have you know that I made a fine Thespian in the sixth form.”

“Who were you? The messenger boy?”

“Sir Andrew Aguecheek.” Ms. Hale visibly chocked on her coffee. He couldn’t blame her; it was not the role he’d have cast himself in either. But Aguecheek was supposed to be a ridiculous man and at sixteen he had been all arms and legs and knobby, awkward angles.

“WHAT?” She chocked, thumping herself in the chest like it might help. “Was this one of those instances that it was for a class and they had to cast everyone, even if it meant combining or breaking up parts to get the right numbers?” It had been for class credit, but he would never admit that. Instead he stood and handed the script back.

“Bridget, if you need further help with your lines, I think it’s obvious who you should ask.”

“You’ve been a big help, Mr. M.”

“You haven’t forgotten our three o’clock appointment I see.” Magnusson commented as he keyed in the five-digit code to his office door.

“How could I, you’re in check!”

“Not for much longer, Ms. Hale. Not for very much longer.” They had been at this particular match for the last three weeks, ever since the machines incident and her opening move. A normal chess match should not take so long, however, they had yet to play even fifteen minutes in a single sitting. Emergencies had no concept of time so even with all the planning, getting to be in the same room at the same time was difficult. She hadn’t even realized she’d put him in check until later, she’d been distracted by her pager when she’d made the move. (Not that she’d admit that to him).

She follows him into his office, it is more familiar to her now, almost as familiar as it was when Charlotte was DOS. Over the course of their several chess moves (it’s hard to call them matches when they don’t even last as long as a cup of coffee sometimes) she and he have developed a routine. Upon entering his office he would immediately turn on the hot water kettle he kept in a discreet corner by his desk, he would then empty his pockets, carefully placing his cellphone on his desk, and then he would bring his tea set to the table. Magnusson took his fancy leaf water quite seriously, carefully choosing the tea he wanted from a selection of loose-leaf options, measuring it out precisely into the teapot, and occasionally going so far as to get up and adjust the water temperature on the kettle. The tea set would always include the tea pot, a single cup and saucer and a 350gram jar with three beautiful biscuits in it. And not the store-bought kind either, biscuits clearly made by an individual.

While Magnusson carefully matched his tea to whatever sweet treat he’d brought with him that day (florentines with Darjeeling, palmiers and chamomile, shortbread with earl grey, gingerbread and lemon tea) Sofia Grace would kick off her heels and snoop examine his artwork. All of the photos on his walls were signed works, the vast majority taken by an Ingrid Karpe. He had a small collection of sculptures as well, all contemporary looking and rather abstract, although the one on his desk was clearly a fish. Just like the photo on his desk was clearly his son. Magnusson would never say anything as she examined his small gallery, but she was aware that he was aware of where she was looking. If he wouldn’t offer, she wouldn’t ask, even if it did pique her curiosity – why did so many of the photos have seemingly the same subject? Where was that dark-haired little boy now?

Eventually, when it looked like Magnusson’s little tea ritual was nearly finished Sofia Grace would return to the sofa, curling into one of the corners, her bare feet tucked up under her as she’d lean on the arm. Rather than face off against one another over the small conference table in his office he moved his chessboard to the end table between them. He stopped offering her tea early on, since she always brought her coffee. And so coffee versus tea, black versus white faced off. She would accept his biscuits, however.

“Is that a bakery digestive biscuit?” It was. A lightly brown, crunchy-tender semi-sweet meal biscuit. It was thicker than the digestives from the store, but it was unmistakable. “Holy shit, I didn’t know you could actually makethese. You have got to give me the name of your bakery.”

“I’m allowed to have some secrets.”

“Oh, come on.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He gave her a smug smile over the rim of his tea. It was the sort of expression that told her he wouldn’t pressed further. At least not at the moment.

“You’ve acquired a new nickname.” They had settled into the game, digestives devoured. Magnusson had deftly saved his king for checkmate and they were now back to a nearly cat game. During her yearlong recovery she had had nothing to do but play lots of chess, learn German, and read many, many trashy romance novels. Sofia Grace knew she was good at chess, but Magnuson was something else entirely. (Not that she’d ever tell him that).

“If you going to try to get people to call me Sir Andrew Aguecheek, I’m going to have to draw a line.”

“Ooo, I hadn’t thought of that! Brilliant!” Her eyes sparkled at him, like stars dancing. It was perhaps the first time those dark eyes sparkled at him. He had seen them sparkle before, for others. But at him they only ever spat fire, or at best, flinty sparks. And now they were sparkling for him. The sight whipped through him like the first cold wind of winter – he was completely unprepared; his breath caught; senses tingled. He could feel it cut through him to the very core.

“Don’t you dare.” He felt slight pride in being able to speak like he was unaffected. Ms. Hale’s white knight retreated slightly, smartly. She smiled.

“In addition to Sir Andrew Aguecheek, you’ve acquired a new nickname.” After thoughtful deliberation he moved his bishop to C4. Felix had expected her to be as rash a chess player as she was a person. He’d heard tell that she’d once incited an abusive husband of a patient to punch her in the face in the middle of the hall so there was more concrete evidence pointing to his violent temper and to buy time for the man’s partner to finish giving their statement to the police. She had absolutely no sense of self-preservation, as far as he could tell. And yet when she played chess, her moves were anything but impulsive. He had expected this game to be over by now, but she had surprised him as an opponent.

“Don’t people have better things to do?”

“It wouldn’t be a hospital without gossip.” Her quip was only halfhearted as she studied the board. He sipped his tea and waited – for either her move or his apparent new nickname, whichever came first.

“Well, what is it?” She’d studied the board for what felt like an hour before she carefully moved her pawn. “It can’t be worse than ‘Björn the Slasher’…” A few of his monikers had made their way to his ears. None of them were good – they were both disdainful as well as lazy and stupid. A smörgåsbord of Swedish stereotypes peppered with some tortured reference to his height.

“That one’s hilarious.”

“It makes me sound like a camp horror villain.” She gave him a look over her mug that clearly said, ‘well, aren’t you?’ “If you’re going to tell me about ‘Fucking Felix’, I’m aware.” Alliterative, yes, creative, no.

“That’s hardly a nickname and more a general reaction whenever we have to work with you.” He stared blankly at her, for want of a response – other than to note that their colleagues were more than a little dramatic.

“Well what is it then? Is it the abominable snow man? The Snow King, perhaps? The Ice Giant? Felix the Herring? Hurdy Gurdy – which I really don’t get by the way. Dr. No perhaps?” And then there were the more hurtful ones like Dr. Death or the Angel of Death. But it was truly ridiculous the names he’d been called in the short time he’d been at Saint Sebastian’s.

“Don’t forget the good humor man.” She added brightly. Ah, non-literary irony. He thought sarcastically. They lapsed into temporary silence as they studied the board.

“Doctor Damocles.” Ms. Hale said after carefully removing his captured pawn from the board. It made him start.

“Dr. Damocles – That doesn’t even make sense!” He was well familiar with Damocles, the obsequious courtier of Dionysius II of Syracuse and the moral anecdote about him.

“You’re the harbinger of impending doom! Looming about, threatening everyone’s job, scaring people half to death. You’ve made five people cry since you’ve gotten here – three F1s, two F2s, plus Tamara Aquilarios just this morning!” Ah, that interpretation of the tale, he remembered it well – and paid dearly for it. Just listening he could feel the sting of his father’s hand across his cheek. His first summer home from boarding school his father had insisted that rather than make noise around the house he dedicate his time to something useful and worthwhile – translating all five books of the Tusculanae Disputationes. Every night his father had marked his translations. There had been no room for error. There was never allowed any room for error. It was one of his earliest lessons.

“But that’s not the point of the parable at all. The sword doesn’t just represent, oh, something terrible is going to happen, but it’s about realizing that what looks like an enviable life – a life of wealth, power, and luxury is, in fact, fraught with anxiety, terror, and possibly death.” She stared at him blankly for a long moment.

“God, you really are an insufferable pedant, aren’t you?”

“I’m just saying, the nickname is fundamentally wrong.”

“This would be why we call you ‘Fucking Felix’.” He had nothing to say to that and so he returned his focus entirely to the pieces on the board and his mostly consumed cup of breakfast blend (a choice he made as it complimented his biscuits, ignoring the fact it was after three o’clock). For a move they were both quiet. Focused.

Ms. Hale licked her cayenne lips, they were slightly faded, the color having transferred from full mouth to the rim of her mug in a distinctive kiss, making the cup as hers more than the motif on the outside could. There was some intimacy in seeing her without that flawless signature color, even if it was a fleeting moment before she touched it up and returned about her day.

He was distracted by the red bow of her mouth rather than listening to the words coming out of it.

“But seriously,” She was saying, “we can’t go on like the anymore. The cuts, the redundancies. Everyone in this hospital is running scared. You can’t run a hospital like it’s some company, we’re here to make people better, for God’s sake, not turn a profit.”

“You know that the hospital is not a for profit company, and I know that the hospital is not a for profit company,” She looked at him skeptically, both forgetting the chess match for a little while. “But it has been made abundantly clear to me that the Foundation Trust board does not care. They are interested in seeing healthy profit margins, strong financials in general, efficient staff, and an impeccable reputation. The austere, and only the austere, will survive.”

“Making nurses cry, terrorizing the staff, you think this is going to make Saint Sebastian’s a better hospital, this is how we achieve FT status?”

“Ensuring that the staff are fulfilling their roles and obligations, that nurses are performing proper procedures and tests and running effective bed checks will go a long way toward our Foundation Trust application, particularly since Sir Stewart Frazier, Angus Black, Tristan Guy will be looking over our shoulders for the foreseeable future. They start their on grounds audit Monday.”

Sofia Grace felt herself choke on air. Monday?! The audit starts Monday?!

“The audit starts next week, and you didn’t think to tell us yet?” She was incredulous.

“I myself did not know until this afternoon when Sir Stewart called me.”

“And you decided to read Shakespeare and play chess rather than inform us of this?!” Magnusson sat his teacup down on the table, she momentarily worried that it would have broken, the thud was so heavy sounding.

“I am not one to just fire off emails, saying whatever it is I’m feeling as I feel it. I think before I speak, and in this case, I wanted to think quite carefully about what I should put in such an email. Rest assured, there will be notification by the end of the day regarding this development.”

“You can’t just keep secrets from us!”

“I am hardly keeping this a secret.” His tone was as frosty as Lappland. “Everyone will know by the end of the day, once I have time to sit down and draft the email. Didn’t I ask you to have some faith in me?” She opened her mouth to protest, it was hardly a lack of faith when he literally said he would inform people when he felt like it. He cut off her retort, however. “Regarding Nurse Aquilarios, on the topic of having some faith in me, did you bother to find out the context in which I apparently made her cry?” His delivery was nothing like any rant she was familiar with, certainly nothing like her own style which built and built and built until she exploded like a steam engine without a valve. Instead he was cold, even, and brooking no interruption. “I asked her why a patient hadn’t had a pregnancy test performed. She had skipped the routine procedure in order to save time and because the patient had said they were not pregnant. It’s how she has been able to get such good bed check times. It turns out the patient was actually pregnant, which of course meant an entirely different treatment plan.”

“Your asking had her in tears in the women’s loo! She’s only been out of school six months you know.” Ah, to be young. She wouldn’t do it again for a million dollars. Tamara was maybe 23. It seemed so long ago now but the fear was something she’d ever forget.

“Then it should be fresher in her mind than others that routine procedures become routine for a reason: they serve important purposes and it’s not for us to arbitrarily decide what really is or isn’t important.”

“She’s a good kid, cut her some slack.” Sofia Grace was still skeptical about his just “asking” Tamara rather than yelling at her – the young nurse had been a mess of runny mascara when she had stumbled upon her in the toilet, but she was inclined to agree with Magnusson on the general point. Running a pregnancy test on anyone with a uterus was an important habit to have. There were a surprising number of otherwise competent people who nevertheless weren’t 100% up to date or correct about their current health or health history.

“She has all the makings of an excellent nurse, if she could master the basics of routine procedures and confirming what we think we know, rather than assuming or simply taking someone’s word for it.” It was perhaps the nicest thing she’d heard him say about anyone, except for perhaps immediately after she impressed him with her trick to avoid cracking the chest of a young chef to repair their punctured artery.

“Have you considered telling her this?”

“I censure when there is a need to censure and I praise when there is reason to praise. I won’t go out of my way to do either.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to be nice, you know.” Perhaps it would, it was so hard to tell. There were moments. Flashes of kindness in him. And then, well, he made grown men cry. For a long time they just stared at each other, chess match forgotten between them as a battle of wills took all of their strategic thinking. Without his glasses it was easier to see his eyes. They were nice eyes - sable colored, with long, thick dark lashes – the kind mascara companies were forever trying to replicate.

A shrill beep broke the silence – and their eye contact. Both reached for their pagers.

“Schiße.” He was grateful for the interruption, as piercing as it was. Her eyes had stopped dancing and they had taken a hard, flinty expression. They unnerved him, her eyes. He knew they could steal his soul. They were eyes that could lead a man to hell.

“I’ve got to go.” She began putting on her shoes. “Same time tomorrow?” He stood with her. In her smart heels she was still a head shorter than he was. It was noticeable when they stood next to each other, but so easy to forget given the size of her personality.

“I will have to check, there are some meetings for me to attend before the board begins their audit.”

“Well, you have my number.” She gave him a polite smile, her face a mask of professional focus. Once she was out of his office and off to Harvey, he carefully cleaned up the remnants of his tea and then sat heavily at his desk. With a sigh he opened a new message.

Dear Colleagues…

#Hospital Romance Drama #Cait writes #original fiction #Sofia Grace is Chaotic Good chaffing under Lawful Good Rules #I know nothing about Chess #much ado about nothing #Much ado about the Bard

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tonicandjins · 7 years ago

Text

one last time (for old time’s sake)

pairing: kim mingyu/reader (au)

genre: angst

warnings: cussing

word count: 10,950

note: this is for my anon “f”!!!! i cried a little at the end part so yeah..... dont say i didnt warn u

summary: you receive an invitation for the worst day of your life.

P r e s e n t

Jesus Christ, you hate the rain.

You sigh, repeatedly banging your head against the headrest and attempting to mute the sound of your windshield swiping back and forth from your head. There are only a few superficial things in the entire universe that get in your nerves, and two of which are at your presence at the moment: the rain and the sound of your windshield.

You had forgotten your umbrella. Banging your head a bit harder with your eyes closed, you remind yourself to take your mother’s advice and buy a separate umbrella for your car so if cases like this occur, you’d have one ready.

You have been sitting inside your car twelve minutes now. You open your eyes and divert your sight to the digital numbers displayed by the stereo system. It tells you that it’s 10:54 in the evening and you sigh in annoyance again, because all you really want right now is to rest.

So you decide to make a run for it.

One of your hands holds your bag over you while the other is tightly clutching your coat together in hopes of keeping your clothes underneath dry. You run, nearly slipping before you could even get to your apartment complex’s entrance.

Mr. Lee, the hardworking security guard, greets you, a worried look ghosts over his face. You shake your bag a little, droplets of rainwater spluttering on the floor.

“Y/N,” he approaches. “You know my number. Had I known you were outside…”

“Mr. Lee,” you reply, touching his forearm once he’s in front of you. “It’s all right. I made it alive, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but you always hated the rain,” he remarks.

A small laugh escapes your mouth because you realize you never said it to him, but having been living in the complex for over four years, he must have noticed. And it confuses you a little because you have always been known for having mastered the art of concealing how you feel, yet standing there, you realize there’s still a hint of transparency in you.

“Thank you for remembering that,” you say with a sincere smile. “I’d love to chat, but my head’s in a glitch at the moment from the lack of sleep. My editors have been keeping me busy.”

“Ah, you must be so tired,” he guesses with a sigh. It’s only when he hands you a small pile of papers and envelopes that you notice the small bandage on his wrist. “A few of your subscriptions came it today. I think there are mails in there, too.”

You nod and take the pile from his hand. “What happened to that?”

“Just a sprain, nothing your old man can’t handle,” he jokes. “The nurse from 4A was kind enough to wrap it up for me.”

“Mr. Lee, you’re not getting any younger. Please take care of yourself,” you worriedly say. He nods and smiles.

“I’ll let you go then. But you have to promise you’ll come hang out here with me again. Been so boring lately.”

“Will do, Mr. Lee,” you reply, winking at him before walking away. “Goodnight! I’ll see you in the morning!”

You punch your apartment’s floor on the elevator buttons, shaking your slightly damp hair. It doesn’t take long until you hear a ding, indicating that you’ve reached your floor.

Once you entered your apartment, you switch a light on, quickly drop your bag and mail on a table, and slip out of your wet shoes and coat. Your phone rings before you could even walk past the desk you put your bag on, so you take it as you walk around to switch on the rest of your apartment’s lights.

Wonwoo, you read. You sigh for the hundredth time in the span of a few hours because you know exactly why he’s calling. He had been calling you daily for the past three weeks, checking up on you and insisting to come to visit you at work or at your apartment. You always decline and make up an excuse not to see him—or anyone else for that matter.

“Why haven’t you been answering?” is the first thing that you hear from the other end of the line.

You drop your body on the couch before answering. “Hello to you, too, Wonwoo.”

“I’ve been calling nonstop. I had a client meeting so I couldn’t come see you,” he mumbles. “I was worried…”

“I was writing until half past ten,” you reply, eyes closing. “You could have visited me at my department. And I can’t answer the phone while driving, idiot. What would you worried about?”

“That you’ve seen it,” he answers. “I didn’t want you to be alone when you do.”

“See what?”

“Have you checked your mail?”

“The mail? Yes, I just got it but I’m too tired to go through it right now. What about it?”

“Mingyu…”

The said name made you bolt awake, the exhaustion suddenly disappearing from your body, and quickly stride over to the desk where you put your pile of mail and subscriptions. You pinch your phone between your ear and shoulder as you go through your mail. It seemed endless, the envelopes of bills and magazine subscriptions, but the second your hand touched the velvet envelope, your heart banged hard against your chest. You almost drop on your knees, but you hear Wonwoo call out your name.

“Are you there?” he asks.

“Y-yeah, I am,” you stutter. Your neck starts to hurt so you hold your phone and press it back to your ear. “It’s here.”

You flip the envelope, and you see a small strip of paper on it your name written in cursive. You touch it, letting your skin run over it for a second, and realize that it’s real. It’s here.

“It is.”

“I didn’t know it would arrive so soon,” you whisper to yourself but Wonwoo hears it.

“I was surprised, too,” he says. “I got a call from Mingyu as well. He told me he couldn’t get you to answer your phone and that he’s worried you’re overworking yourself again.”

You hum, slowly walking back to your couch to sit. Running your fingertips over your name for the last time, you painstakingly open the envelope, careful not the rip it.

“He’s worried still,” Wonwoo continues. “That you might feel alone now since… you know. And I told him numerous times that he need not to worry because I’m only, like, five blocks from you. I told him I could basically run to you if something happens, unlike him who’s miles away.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath as you slowly slip the card from the envelope.

“Y/N?” Wonwoo calls, but you do not hear him, because in front of your eyes are the words you have feared to see written in bold and fancy letters.

With great pleasure,

Kim Min Gyu

And

Jung Chae Yeong

Request the honor of your presence

As they tie the knot

On Saturday, May 26th

At two in the afternoon

There are more words written on the paper, perhaps details of the day you have been praying wouldn’t arrive so soon, but your tears have blurred out your sight, a loud sob escaping your throat.

“Y/N.” Wonwoo panics at the sound of you crying. “Y/N, I’m coming over.”

You hear him mumble words, but it doesn’t reach you further because your frail hands drop the phone and envelope on your lap. You shoulders shake and your chest tightens. Tears continuously flow from your eyes to your face, down your lap. You bury your face on your palms, sobbing your heart out. Like a child left alone in a crowded place, you bawl and weep your lungs out.

You realize this is the first time you had cried this loud, and you don’t even bother to end the call with Wonwoo. Your heart breaks even more when you realize that this is the first time you cried about this. This is the first time you cried since Mingyu told you he’s getting married.

You had been doing well, you thought. You have managed to keep it together for the past weeks, not even blinking a single teardrop from your eyes. You threw yourself to your job— taking project after project, working overtime daily and even during weekends, making sure you had no time to wallow over your pain. The tightness on your chest clenched day by day, but you never let it take over you until today. You guess that it’s because it never seemed real to you, Mingyu’s engagement. Perhaps your mind tried to trick you that it’s not real that’s why you were able to keep it together. But the invitation, it’s real. You realize now that it’s real and it’s happening. Too soon, you wail, but there was nothing else you could do.

The last thing you remember that night is the fingertips of Wonwoo’s girlfriend touching your face to wipe your tears. You hadn’t realized that your body gave up on you until Wonwoo carried you to your room and his girlfriend tended your needs, whispering things you couldn’t decipher.

And God, it angers you that even in your sleep, you are in pain. Even in your sleep, you are still very much in love with Kim Mingyu.

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

P a s t

“This is your chance, Y/N,” Wonwoo encourages as he hands you a plastic cup. “It’s about time Mingyu knows about your undying love for him.”

“I don’t love him!”

“Yet,” the boy corrects, grinning. “Stop lying, Y/N. I already know everything.”

You sip from your cup, coughing in disgust because you never really liked beer. Wonwoo’s phone vibrates from his jacket’s pocket. He grins even wider when he reads the message.

“He’s almost here,” he announces and you almost spit out your drink. “Get ready. You’re telling him about how you feel.”

Your stomach churns. “I can’t do it Wonwoo.”

“Come on, Y/N!” he cheers. “This is the perfect place to admit the feelings you’ve been holding for years!”

You look around. Members of Hansol’s fraternity are walking around, handing people drink after drink. A few couples are making out on the dance floor and three of their friends are already passed out.

“Why are we here again? We’re grown adults!” you shout over the music.

Wonwoo laughs, slipping his phone back in his pocket. “You graduated a year ago and now you act like you can’t join this crowd anymore. We’re here for Hansol, okay? It’s the first time he’s hosting as president of his frat’s monthly party.”

“Do you miss this?” you inquire. “Hosting frat parties, I mean. When I look at you now, I can no longer see you in this scene.”

“Why? Because I wear suits and tie at work now?” he jokes.

Before you could respond, Wonwoo’s squeals, eyes focused behind you. And you turn.

The loud music from Hansol’s speakers gradually mutes from your ears. You watch Wonwoo walk past you to reach his best friend and give him a quick hug before pulling him towards you. Wait, you read from Mingyu’s mouth. You couldn’t decipher the rest of what he said, besides the words is just meeting her friends outside.

Wonwoo looks at you, worry clouds his eyes, and then he’s suddenly pushing Mingyu to turn and walk away from you. You put your drink on the counter and straighten yourself to follow them. The crowd got bigger within a few seconds because you lost sight of them. Quickly, you trail out of the living room to find the two outside.

You bump into a drunk Seungkwan by the doorframe. He hugs you and gives you a wet kiss on your cheek and you laugh because even drunk, the kid remains goofy and sweet.

“You seen Wonwoo and Mingyu?” you ask. “They were just here a second ago.”

“Have you checked upstairs?” the younger boy slurs.

“No, I saw them walk here,” you answer. “And why would they go upstairs?”

“There’s a rumor,” he sloppily narrates. “When they were still members of the frat, that they’re in a relationship. Wonwoo hyung is always at Mingyu hyung’s room. They’re always together. Maybe they think we’re all drunk to realize they’re fucking right now.”

You laugh. “They’ve been in a relationship for three years,” you joke along and hush. “Don’t tell anyone I told you.”

Seungkwan gasps and then squeals. “I knew it!” Before you can say anything, Chan comes in to pull Seungkwan away from you. The younger one apologizes and promises he’ll see you later. Poor kid, you thought, he’s the youngest but he’s the one taking care of his older friends.

When you turn to continue searching for your best friends, a cold liquid runs on the front of your shirt. You cuss loudly, briskly taking a step back from the culprit.

“I’m so sorry,” she apologizes. You finally look up and a girl stands before you. You smile and apologize as well. “I didn’t see you. I’m sorry,” she says again. “I’ll get you another shirt.”

“It’s fine,” you reply. “It’s a cheap shirt.”

She protests and steps closer to wipe your shirt with her handkerchief. You step back quickly because she was too close for your liking, but she was already holding you in place.

“Y/N!”

You turn and realize that Mingyu’s calling you, a nervous Wonwoo stands behind him. You still wonder why Wonwoo’s mood suddenly changed. He was just overenthusiastic to see Mingyu minutes ago.

“Gyu!” you called, tearing yourself away from the girl who spilled her drink on you. You quickly walk towards your friends, throwing yourself at Mingyu for a hug. You have not seen the guy for almost two weeks because you both worked in different cities.

You and Mingyu graduated at the same time. (You smile at the thought of your picture with him in your academic dresses and cap on the day of your graduation.) Wonwoo and Mingyu were best friends since childhood. You and Wonwoo met through classes because you both took the same degree, only he is a year older. That’s how you met Mingyu.

By the time you got out of uni, you and Wonwoo stayed in Seoul because you both work for the same publishing company while Mingyu moved to Daejeon, where he was hired.

Things have been busy for the three of you. So busy that it’s become difficult to meet more frequently. You and Wonwoo worked at the same place but because of him being busier than you are, hanging out only meant you handing him a cup of latte and him dropping by your office to say hi. Wonwoo and Mingyu rarely get to meet these days as well, so it was quite a challenge to gather the three of you in the same place. Hansol’s invitation to his party is the perfect time and place for the three of you to reunite.

Mingyu hugs you back, wrapping both his arms around your waist. He lifts you up slightly before setting you on your feet to kiss the top of your head “I have missed you, my darling,” he says and your heart races.

“It’s been a while,” you pout, leaning for another quick hug, before taking a step back to look at him properly. “You lost weight, didn’t you? I don’t see you in two weeks and you’re already losing weight? Must be depressing,” you joke. “Not seeing me every day like we were in college.”

Mingyu laughs. “Not really.”

“How insulting!” you gasp. You look at Wonwoo, who still looks as worried. “You. What’s up with you?”

“I- uhh,” he stammers.

“You know why I’ve been losing weight?” Mingyu interjects, and Wonwoo looks like he’s gonna throw up. You look back at the taller guy. “You’ve met the reason why.”

“The… what?”

Mingyu grins widely and steps forward, walking past you. Your heart drops when he wraps an arm around the shoulder of the girl you were just talking to a minute ago. He kisses the top of her head, just like how he did with yours, only this time his lips lingered longer and his eyes beamed brighter.

“Chaeyeong.” He says her name like it’s his favorite word, the grin never leaving her lips. “This is my other best friend, Y/N. “

You look at the girl. You suddenly want to scream at her for spilling her drink on you.

“Y/N.” You divert your attention back to Mingyu. “This is my girlfriend, Chaeyeong.”

Since when, you wanted to ask. You can’t have a girlfriend, you wanted to say. I am in love with you Mingyu. This isn’t supposed to happen.

Wonwoo touches your back when he realizes you’re just shifting your sight from Mingyu and his girlfriend. He clears his throat when you remain speechless.

“I… I,” you stammer.

The girl steps closer to you. You step back. She shies away and looks at Mingyu. He smiles. “Our Y/N is a little shy,” he explains. “She doesn’t like her personal space being invaded. Only Wonwoo and I and a few other people can touch her.”

She nods and looks at you again. “That’s why you looked terrified when I tried to wipe the beer out of your shirt. Sorry for that again, by the way.”

You gulp and force yourself to talk. “It’s… uh, nice to meet you.”

She smiles, her pearly white teeth displaying, eyes smiling with her. “I’ve been dying to meet you, Y/N! My Gyu here has told me so many things about you and Wonwoo!”

Gyu, you repeat in your head. The nickname you made for him during your freshmen year. Gyu. She calls him Gyu.

You muster up another smile before turning to Wonwoo. “S-seungkwan,” you stutter. “He’s been looking for you. He wanted to know… he asked if… he—”

“Oh, yeah,” Wonwoo quickly agrees. “The thing. Yes. I told him I’d find him. You know where he is?”

You nod, eyes desperately asking Wonwoo to take you away from there. You don’t look back at Mingyu and the girl; you let Wonwoo quickly tell them about his thing with Seungkwan and that you and him need to find the younger boy now. Mingyu lets you go and reminds you to meet them at the lawn once you’re done. Wonwoo rapidly pulls you away from them and leads you inside.

Lost in your trance, you do not realize that you and Wonwoo are already locked inside Hansol’s room until he’s making you sit on your friend’s bed.

“Breathe,” he says, going down on one knee and holding both your shoulders. He looks up at you and realizes that you’re still lost in thought. “Y/N,” he calls and you finally look at him.

“M-mingyu,” is the only word your mouth could say before you’re sobbing on Wonwoo’s shoulder. Your friend hugs you and hushes you, stroking your hair while he does.

You do not know how long you stayed there with Wonwoo and how much tears you had cried or how you ended up cuddling on the bed—your face buried on his neck, his arm secured around you—but when you hear a knock on the door, Wonwoo helps you fix your hair and wipe the tears from your eyes.

Hansol looks shocked when he sees you sitting on his bed. He looks back at Wonwoo, then back at you and comes up with a ridiculous conclusion.

“Hyung,” you hear him whine. “In my bed? Seriously?”

“Fuck off, Hansol. It’s not like that,” Wonwoo defends before making the boy leave. He turns back to you and asks if you want to stay there longer.

The clock on Hansol’s bedside table indicates that it’s an hour past midnight. You shake your head. You feel bad that Wonwoo had missed the party because of you.

When the two of you meet your friends by the kitchen, Hansol was in the middle of narrating what he just saw. There’s a teasing smirk on Jihoon and Soonyoung’s mouths. Minghao claims he had known from the start. And you knew what they were talking about but you were too tired to deny anything. Mingyu and the girl stood in the corner of the kitchen, yet you don’t give them a glance.

Your friends hug you goodbye. Wonwoo keeps an arm around you and leads you to the passenger seat of his car. He helps you settle while you’re still lost in your own mind.

You do not realize that Mingyu and the girl are coming with you until the boy talks. Wonwoo drives and asks them the address so he could put it on his navigation. You remain quiet, head leaning against the window, eyes closed.

“So…” Mingyu starts, clearing his throat. “You two… since when?”

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo sternly calls his name.

“What?” the other defends. “I can’t ask anything? I thought we were best friends.”

“Mingyu, stop,” Wonwoo murmurs. “It’ not like that…”

“So,” Mingyu continues. “This is just a one-time thing, then? Between you two?”

Wonwoo sighs in response.

“I wondered why you two disappeared for more than three hours,” Mingyu rambles. “I mean, it’s fine. There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s not like we signed a pact that we shouldn’t be involved with one another in a romantic way or whatever you call it. It’s just that… it’s weird, seeing the two of you walk downstairs. Y/N’s hair is disheveled and Hansol said you two looked tired. But… it would have been nice to know. But if this is just a one-time thing or because it impulsively happened because you’re drunk, then it’s fine with me. You don’t have to be embarrassed. Just… tell me, okay?”

“My God, Mingyu,” Wonwoo groans. Mingyu’s girlfriend laughs.

“Don’t laugh,” Mingyu scolds. “This is a serious thing among us.” The girl apologizes. “Just…” he trails off. “Tell me if it becomes serious between you, okay?”

You keep your eyes close, hoping Mingyu would think you’re in deep sleep. You don’t really have it in you to talk to him. Wonwoo doesn’t answer. Instead, he turns his radio on and a melancholic song you’re not familiar with plays.

Nobody talks for the entire ride, or at least until you had really fallen asleep.

Wonwoo wakes you up and takes you to his apartment and lets you stay in his bed. He sleeps beside you soundly, while you stay awake the rest of the night until his alarm goes off. You insist to leave when he asked you what you wanted for breakfast. Wonwoo takes a good look at you and agrees because he knew you needed someone last night but now you needed to be alone.

He calls and pays for a taxi to drive you, even when you kept saying it’s just five blocks away, you could walk.

When you return to your house, your chest is still just as tight as it was when you heard Mingyu calling the girl his girlfriend. You realize that this was the first time that Mingyu had inflicted real pain on you. Whenever he touches you and says sweet things that made your head spin, there is a slight pinch in your heart that indicates love. This pinch is different. It’s love, you thought, unrequited, excruciatingly painful love.

At that time, you thought Mingyu couldn’t hurt you anymore. You thought it had been your greatest heartbreak. You didn’t know you were just in the beginning of the most agonizing and heart-wrenching ride of heartbreak in your life.

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

P r e s e n t

Wonwoo takes you to your favorite coffee shop two days after you receive the invitation. Joohyun, his girlfriend, sends you a text and promises to clear her schedule for the next week to hang out with you. You laugh a little because Joohyun calls watching you lose yourself in your own thoughts and tumble on your own words as “hanging out”. You feel bad, of course, that Wonwoo and Joohyun are sparing time out of their busy days to come “hang out” with you.

You’re looking through the window when Wonwoo comes back from the counter. It doesn’t take long for the waitress to serve your coffee. Wonwoo thanks her while you’re still staring blankly at the passing people.

“Y/N,” he calls you. You look at him. “We need to talk about it.”

You sigh and watch the way the steam of the hot coffee disappears as it moves away from the cup. You wish a lot more things disappeared as it moves away. You shake your head and wrap your palms around the mug, feeling its warmth, but not doing anything more. You don’t really feel like drinking coffee.

Wonwoo sighs, frustration clouding his face. He must think you’re annoying. A nuisance, you thought, because you’re being stubborn and a pain in the ass. But his eyes soften once he sees the emptiness in your eyes like a burned out light bulb.

“It’s in two weeks, Y/N,” he reminds you as if you’re not counting the days. “Mingyu wants us to be there ASAP.”

“You go,” you blankly answer. “You’re the best man, aren’t you? I don’t have business there. I’ll be attending if that’s what you are worried about.”

He takes a sip of his iced coffee. “I’ve already talked to Jun. He agreed to take you as his date.”

“You’re arranging my dates, now? Thank you, Wonwoo,” you reply in a monotonous voice, eyes still focus on the evaporating steam of your coffee.

“Because you’re not gonna do it if I don’t,” he answers. “There will be rehearsals. Mingyu wants you to be there, too.”

“I have work.”

“He asked if I could pull some strings and get you out of work this week,” he explains. “Y/N. This is for Mingyu.”

This is for Mingyu, you repeat in your head. What about me?

You look up from your coffee to look at Wonwoo’s eyes. He must be so torn about this—between you and Mingyu. He’s here comforting you and being an amazing friend, all while doing his duty as the best man. You heard from Joohyun that he’s been driving back and forth from Seoul to his and Mingyu’s hometown to help the groom-to-be. Your heart aches even more.

So you nod. “I’ll be there.”

“Not just at the wedding,” he interjects. “He wants us to stay at our hometown with him until the wedding. He even said you could stay at his home. Joohyun and I can stay at my parents’ house.”

“Wonwoo,” you trailed off. “It’s… too much.”

He sighs and thinks. “Okay. How about this: I go first and you can come after a few days. I can make up a lie about your work to Mingyu and say you can only make it until a few days before the wedding. And I can offer my home. You can stay with us. I’m sure Mom could find room for you. Does that work for you?”

You muster up a fake smile and nod. “Thank you, Wonwoo.”

“You can drive there with Joohyun,” he continues. “She has work as well so she can’t be there until the Tuesday before the wedding. Sounds good?”

Not really. “Sure.”

Wonwoo smiles a little and you catch the small sigh of relief from his mouth. He sips on his coffee as you watch yours. The warmth is slowly going away and you almost want to cry again because the comfort it gave you is short-lived.

You don’t really know where to find comfort nor happiness these days.

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

P a s t

“It’s been so long, hasn’t it?” Mingyu asks. “Since we hung out. Just the two of us.”

You nod, watching as his car passed by the buildings.

Wonwoo thought it was a good idea to ditch the two of you. He thinks it would be a good thing to leave you and Mingyu alone after so long.

It had been three months since you found out about Mingyu’s girlfriend. You had grown distant, but Mingyu didn’t. He still treats you as usual—exactly how he made you fall in love with him—and fails to realize that you feel more than how a friend should. He calls you, wonders why you haven’t been calling. And you tell him the exact same thing every time: busy at work. Once, he confessed that he’s hurt that you’ve been clearly avoiding him and said that if it’s about you and Wonwoo “hooking up” then you had nothing to worry about. Persistent, he is, and always so charming.

Wonwoo had promised he’d meet you after work. Mingyu volunteered to drive so he’d come pick you up. But when you knocked on Wonwoo’s office, only to be greeted by his assistant, telling you that the man had left three hours earlier, you scolded and reminded yourself not to trust Jeon Wonwoo again. You should have known he’d do something like this.

“Too bad,” Mingyu continues while driving. “I bought him his favorite burger.”

You stay silent.

“Hey,” he calls out. “Remember in freshmen year when we had no money to buy fast food so we always opted for the ramen from the convenience store?”

You let out a small laugh. “Yeah, I do. And when our parents finally send us money, we splurge it on alcohol and get drunk instead of storing our pantry with food. Then regret it in the morning.”

He laughs with you. “Why did we always choose alcohol over actual meals?”

“Because we were idiots,” you answer. “Wonwoo was the least idiotic among the three of us. If it weren’t for him, I don’t think we would have graduated honestly.”

Mingyu almost chokes on his own spit when you’re almost at the beach because of laughing. You had no idea how you managed to go back to the way you were with him—comfortable and silly—but Mingyu loves it. He pouts when he says he missed this—he missed you. You say you did as well but didn’t say every day.

The sun sets while the two of you sat on the opened compartment of his car, eating what he had bought. Mingyu offers you a bite of his pizza and you don’t think twice. You wipe the sauce from the corner of his mouth and you laugh at his attempt to impersonate Benedict Cumberbatch on Doctor Strange.

It’s picture perfect, you thought.

Gyu, you wanted to say, but he spoke first.

“Chaeyeong,” he says, a smile adorning his lips. “She’s really—she’s.. uh, anxious about something.”

The smile disappears from your lips for a second before you gather up your strength to fake it. “About what?”

“You,” he answers.

“Me?” you repeat. “Why? She doesn’t think we have something, does she?”

“No, no, not like that,” he replies. “It’s just that—she knows how important you are to me. You mean so much to me, you know that, right?” You nod. “She thinks you don’t like her.”

“W-what?” you stammer. “I do! I like her. She’s nice.”

“You always say that when I ask you about Chaeyeong,” he sighs. “I just—I need to know what you think of her, Y/N. You’re really important to me.”

“Why?” you ask.

“I just told you. You’re important to me.”

You laugh. “It doesn’t really matter, Mingyu.”

He frowns. “It does. What you think about who I’m with matters. You’re my best friend, Y/N.”

“I’m telling Wonwoo, your best friend since middle school, that you just confirmed that I am, in fact, your best friend,” you answer. He laughs a little before shaking his head and turning back to the question.

You look away from him and stare at the horizon. The sun has almost completely set. Picture perfect, you repeat in your head, if things were different.

“Do you like her for me?” he asks when you continue to stare at the sun setting. He shifts a little so he was facing the same direction as you are.

“And if I don’t?” you muse.

“Then… I—I would—“

You laugh. “You’re not gonna break up with her, Mingyu.”

“I really wish I won’t,” he says. You feel him look at you. The picture of him looking at you, the colors of the sunset on illuminating his face, is quite tempting, and you want to look back at him to complete the image in your head, then perhaps he’ll lean in to kiss the air out of your lungs, but then you remember why you shouldn’t.

“But,” he interjects. “If by any chance—I really hope not—you don’t like her for me, I would try to figure things out. If you’re uncomfortable with me being with her, then I could talk to her. It’s—it’s not really serious yet between us. That’s why I’m asking you this because we’re not on that stage yet. If I ask you later and we’ve become serious, it would be a bit harder to leave her.”

Your heart breaks. “You’d break up with her for me?”

He shrugs. “Why not? Like I said, you’re important to me. Equally as important as my mom and sister. Sometimes even more.”

You ponder and come up with another image in your head. Mingyu holding you close, exactly as he would, but this time with loving eyes and a brighter smile. You start to imagine how his lips would feel like against yours because you had always known how it does on your cheeks and forehead. Your name, will he say it like it’s his favorite word?

But then it snaps out of you when you realize that he wouldn’t be breaking up for Chaeyeong because he’s in love with you, too. He would be breaking up with you because you said so.

And then another image forms in your mind—Mingyu with crestfallen eyes, drunk and crying Chaeyeong’s name out. You think of Wonwoo trying to cater to his best friend’s emotions and you feel your heart break even more.

So you look back at him. The sun has completely set now; it’s the moonlight’s turn to illuminate Mingyu’s face.

“I do like her,” you sincerely say. “She makes you happy, right?”

Mingyu smiles. “More than anyone else in the world.”

Your heart breaks a little more and you try your best to fight the tears but fail. Mingyu panics and reaches out to wipe your tears but you stop him.

“These are happy tears,” you lie. “This is all I’ve wanted for you, Mingyu.”

Mingyu’s eyes soften at your words and he leans in to hug you. You bite your lip and close your eyes tightly as he does.

“Thank you,” he says as he hugs you even tighter. “This means everything to me.”

You hug him back and continue to fight the tears (and fail to do so as well), because you realize how much you really love Kim Mingyu. You wish you could put it in words, but how can one describe such great feeling?

If love was pain, then you were very much willing to feel hurt today and every day until all the love you have for him is gone.

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

P r e s e n t

Mingyu calls you eight days before his wedding.

“You’re really an asshole, you know?” he grumbles.

“That is quite an observation,” you reply, your phone pinched between your ears and shoulder as you responded to your e-mail. “I told you, I have work.”

“This is me we’re talking about,” he replies.

“Ah, Kim Mingyu, a narcissistic asshole,” you taunt. You hear him sigh from the other end of the line so you let out a laugh. “I’m just messing with you. Stressed?”

“Very,” he answers truthfully. You didn’t need to ask, you already knew by the sound of his voice. “Any chance you could come sooner? Not to help me out with the wedding… just to—you know. Just. Come here. I miss you.”

You stop typing, reaching up to hold the phone properly against your ear.

“You’re just stressed,” you reply, trying to calm your heart from beating so rapidly. “I can’t get off from work now. I’m sorry.”

“What time can you get off?” he asks. You think for a second.

“Ten, maybe?” you answer. “I’m working overtime these days.”

“Because of the wedding?”

“Yeah,” you lie. “I’m not really supposed to take a leave.”

“I told Wonwoo to pull some strings for you,” he mumbles.

“He did,” you confirm. “This is how far he can pull.”

He sighs. “I’ll pick you up after work.”

“What? No, you’re not! You’re, like, two hours away!” you protested.

“That gives me four hours until you’re done.”

“Mingyu, you are not coming here. You have a wedding to prepare for.”

“Watch me,” he challenged.

“You’re the asshole here,” you say, sighing as you felt defeat.

“You are, too,” he replies. “I guess that makes us even?”

He ends the call without waiting for your response. The next call from Mingyu rings, as promised, four hours later. He tells you he’s parked outside. You contemplate on wearing your heels or your office flats but winded up slipping the comfortable ones.

When you step outside your building, you immediately see Mingyu waiting for you like a chauffeur. He smiles at you, hands behind him, and bows at your direction.

“A taxi for Ms. Y/N?” he says. You laugh and hit him on the arm. He opens the door of the passenger’s seat for you and waits until you’re settled before shutting it.

“She let you drive to Seoul?” you inquire once Mingyu had settled his seatbelt. “Chaeyeong?”

“Please don’t mention her name or the wedding,” he pleads and you giggle. “I’m so stressed out. You have no idea. Advice: don’t get married.”

“Where are you taking me?” you ask.

“Convenience store,” he answers quickly. “I’m craving for cheap ramen.”

“You drove all the way to Seoul for ramen? From a convenience store?”

“Mhm,” he hums, turning the volume of his speakers.

“Go left,” you command. “There’s a convenience store down that st—hey! I said turn left! You missed it!”

“I’m not here just for any convenience store,” he says with a proud smile. You look at him and it clicks to you.

“Just like old times?” you ask.

“Just like old times.”

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

P a s t

“So, this Taehyung guy,” Mingyu trails off as he watches you move around your kitchen. “It’s serious between you two?”

You grunt when the pan touches you slightly, burning your finger. Mingyu sighs and walks across the room to check your finger. He pulls you by your hand and runs the cold water from your faucet.

“Stop being so clumsy,” he mumbles.

“Says the person who dropped another one of my mugs not even ten minutes since you entered my apartment,” you retort.

Once he’s done, he lets go of your hand and helps you cook.

It had been two weeks since you watched the sunset with him. And you could say that things are getting a bit better. You are still sad over obvious facts, but you now feel like you could act normal around Mingyu. Oblivious as he is, Mingyu says he’s happy you’re acknowledging your friendship again. He took a day off from his job at Daejeon and decided to spend it with you and Wonwoo. But since Wonwoo had a date with the girl he met through a client, it’s just you and the giant. You opted to stay home because… why not?

“You haven’t answered me,” he reminds when you started setting the table. “I’m not gonna pry! I just wanna know!”

“I’ve only been on two dates with him, okay?” you finally answer. “I don’t know if I like him enough yet. He’s charming and kind and all but—ugh, I hate you—I don’t know yet!”

“So you do like him?”

“I think. Yes but,” you pause. “I honestly don’t know! How do you know if you like a person like that?”

“Where’d you even get him anyway? A dating app?”

“Wonwoo,” you answer, pulling him so he could sit and eat. “He introduced Tae to me.”

“Tae, huh?” he teased. “You do like him!”

“I, ugh, I don’t!” you protested.

“Then why are you replying to his messages?”

“Because I’m trying to figure out if I really do like him!” you exasperatedly answer. “Mingyu, if you don’t stop asking these ridiculous questions, I’m gonna shove these on your mouth.”

“I just wanna know!”

“I’ve been answering you!” you shout. “Now stop. Eat.”

“Last question,” he asks. You sigh and nod. “You’re not doing this to spite Wonwoo, right?”

“To spite Won—what? Where did you get that idea?”

Mingyu sighs, reaching for a pair of chopsticks and a spoon. “Because you two didn’t work out? You’re not dating Taeyang—”

“Taehyung.”

“—to make Wonwoo feel bad, right?”

“Why on earth would I want Wonwoo to feel bad?”

“Because it didn’t work out between the two of you.”

“Us?” you ask. “Wonwoo? And me? Since when?”

“Since… Hansol’s party?”

You burst out into laughter. “Me? And Wonwoo? Oh my God, you really thought we fucked?”

Mingyu looks at you in confusion. “Y-you didn’t?”

You calm yourself. “No! Wonwoo and I would never!”

“But Hansol said—”

“He misinterpreted it,” you answer, wiping the tears from your eyes. “Wonwoo was comfor—” you stop yourself.

Mingyu looks at you, urging you to continue.

“I slept, and Wonwoo came in to wake me up,” you lie quickly. “That’s why I looked tired and my hair was a mess. Hansol was drunk and you all believed him? I can’t believe this. I’m gonna call Wonwoo later and laugh about this with him.”

“You’re lying. Then why did neither of you deny it?” he dares.

You shrug, “Like I said, I was sleeping. I was half asleep when we met you at the kitchen. I’m pretty sure I heard Wonwoo deny it a million times. None of you just believed him.”

You reach out to put food on your plate while Mingyu remained frozen.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, putting food on his plate.

“This whole time, I thought you and him had something,” he mumbles, reaching for the wine he brought and pouring some on your glass. “I can’t believe I thought Wonwoo was keeping the truth. He was telling me the truth all along.”

“Rule number one in our friendship,” you say. “Trust us.”

He sighs and sips from his wine.

“Why?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he answers.

But his eyes said otherwise. The entire night, even after dinner when you and him snuggled each other during the film you chose to watch, Mingyu’s eyes are clouded, like he’s thinking hard. You knew Mingyu well, and you were almost sure it’s regret that you see in his beautiful eyes. You ask me twice what’s bothering him, but he shrugs and fakes a smile, telling you to shut up and watch the film.

You continue to wonder what he’s regretting.

He tells you later that night that Chaeyeong is moving to his in a week like it’s nothing. You ask if it wasn’t too early and he shrugs and says she needs a place to stay in.

He suggests that you should tag along when he and Chaeyeong are in town in a few days. You make up another excuse why you can’t.

You tell him you’re tired when the clock hit twelve.

“Already?” he asks.

“Have been for so long,” you answer.

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

P r e s e n t

How you ended up at the basketball court at your old university at past midnight with Mingyu, you didn’t know.

Sometime after devouring three cups of ramen, two servings of rice balls, three spicy rice cakes, skewered sausages and fish cakes, steamed buns and cans of soda, Mingyu decided that it would be a good idea to visit your university in the middle of the night. The buildings were closed, of course, but the lights on the open basketball court were still switched on.

You remember watching playoffs with him here three years ago. Wonwoo rarely tagged along because he always preferred the library. Sitting on one of the bleachers beside Mingyu made you feel some type of way—longing, sadness, and just… pain. You used to wish you could spend one last time with Mingyu here for old time’s sake. You guess that this is it, the granting of your wish. And it’s happening literally. One last time. For old time’s sake.

“—and Mom misses you, you know,” he ended his speech.

You nod, heart racing. One last time. For old time’s sake.

You test the waters. You link your arm with him. Mingyu doesn’t protest. You lean your head against his shoulder. He lets you and turns to give you a soft kiss on your head.

“I missed this,” you mumble, already feeling the tears form on your eyes. One last time. For old time’s sake.

“Me, too,” he answers, kissing your head again. “It was a good decision to drive all the way here.”

“It is,” you agree. One last time. For old time’s sake.

He laughs a little. “I remembered something when we briefly talked about your dating life a while ago.”

“It doesn’t exist,” you murmur, reaching his hand to intertwine with yours. For old time’s sake.

He holds your hand just as tightly. “Remember when I genuinely thought you and Wonwoo had something special?”

You laugh a little and nod. One last time.

“I… I had regrets,” he confessed.

You hummed. “I knew it. But you said nothing was bothering you when I constantly asked.”

“Because… Chaeyeong… things were just starting to become serious between us.”

Your grip on his hand loosens for a second, but you tighten it as quickly as it was gone.

“I…” he laughs. “I dated Chaeyeong to make you jealous.”

You freeze.

“I was only seeing her for a week at that time. She was shocked, too, when I introduced her as my girlfriend. But that night, at Hansol’s party, I panicked. I didn’t plan it well so I let everything happen impulsively,” he narrated. “Believe or not, Y/N, I liked you a lot. Like, a lot. You have no idea.”

He laughs as he massages your hand with his thumb. “So much that it hurt me you didn’t see it. And I was too much of a coward to admit it to you. So I thought, why not do what boys in books do? I met her at work and just… asked her out even when I’m truly not interested. I brought her to the party to see your reaction and told myself that if you show a hint of pain, I’d confess. I didn’t even care what Chaeyeong would feel. I was willing to be a full blown asshole for you.”

You heart stammers loudly against your chest, and you’re certain that your palms are sweating profusely.

Mingyu continues. “I was happy for a second, when I saw the look on your face, and how you and Wonwoo lied about meeting Seungkwan. I said, ah, finally, I’m confessing to her. But I couldn’t find you after that.” His breath becomes uneven for a while. “And then Hansol comes in and tells me that he found you and Wonwoo in his room and you looked like you just hooked up.” He laughs again. “God, you couldn’t imagine how painful that was for me. I mean, why wouldn’t you and Wonwoo fall in love? You worked in the same place. I was the one who’s left out because I worked two hours away from you.”

You remain silent. One last time. This is it.

You ponder how you’d confess to him and scold yourself because you hadn’t prepared a speech about your undying love for him. You didn’t even plan on confessing to him tonight, but you guess, here it is, right? Here’s the moment you have been waiting for.

You’re going to confess. You are finally telling Mingyu how you’ve felt for the past years. And it’s irrational and selfish because his wedding is in a week, but you have kept this in your heart for so long. You are going to tell him about the first time you knew you fell for him and how he—

“But that was a year ago, wasn’t it?” Mingyu wakes you from your trance. “Things are different now. I truly believe that Chaeyeong entered my life in the best time. I was heartbroken at that time and you weren’t even bothered by the fact that I was dating someone. All you wanted was to spend time with Wonwoo and—” he paused to clear his throat. “—it hurt. Every waking day of knowing you preferred Wonwoo over me hurt. And then… you told me nothing happened between you two and—”

He paused again to reach up and wipe his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket.

“It hurt even more. Because I had a chance to love you but it was gone. You were starting to see other people, and I didn’t want to ruin that for you. So I told you Chaeyeong and I were moving. It’s funny because she didn’t even know. She had offered but I said I’d think about it. I made the decision while we were watching a film.”

You haven’t processed a coherent sentence to say.

“I’m glad I got over you,” he says. Your heart breaks. You let the tears fall. “Chaeyeong. She’s amazing. I never knew someone could love me like that.”

You start to quietly sob.

“She understands me.” I do, too, even better.

“She doesn’t take me for granted. She’s always thinking about me.” I always do, Mingyu.

“She does everything to make me happy.” I always have.

“And she does, Y/N. She does.” I hope I did, too.

You let his hand go and pull away from him. You look at him and he has tears in his eyes as well. He laughs a little and reaches up to wipe your tears, and you soften in his touch. You reach up to hold his wrists to get them to stay there touching your face.

You held his hands, kissed both his palms and looked at him. You smile lightheartedly although you felt otherwise.

“I’m happy that she does,” you say quietly, still holding his hand. “I’m happy you found her. I couldn’t have done half the things she did for you.”

Mingyu lifts your hands and kisses it the same way you did. He drops your hand and puts one hand on the back of your neck, he other wrapped behind you. He pulls you in and plants a long kiss on your forehead. He stays like that while you continue to quietly sob. He mumbles he loves you and you cry even more.

“I love you, Mingyu,” is the only thing you confessed to him. Because it’s the only truth he deserves to know.

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

P a s t

Mingyu drops it to you like it’s nothing. He’s been so good at that lately, announcing massive news like it’s nothing.

“Chaeyeong… and I,” he says while you, him, Wonwoo and Joohyun are having dinner. “We’re getting married.”

Wonwoo spits his drink. Joohyun almost chokes. You just remain silent, hand shaking, heart stopping.

“Mingyu!” Wonwoo scolds. “You can’t marry people that quickly!”

“Why not?” he shrugs. “We love each other.”

“But you’ve only been dating for nine months! Not even a year!”

“Wonwoo, don’t scream,” Joohyun calmly says.

“Mingyu!” Wonwoo shouts again. “If this is one of your pranks, I’m gonna hit you.”

“It’s not,” the other answers nonchalantly as he chewed on his food. “I told Mom. She nearly had a heart attack but said whatever made me happy was okay.”

“It’s too early, Mingyu. You just turned twenty-three!”

“It’s fine. I have a stable job and so does Chaeyeong. No one is complaining, Wonwoo. Just you.”

“Y/N!” Wonwoo calls you. “Say something! Get his head out of his ass.”

You remain quiet.

“See?” Mingyu says. “She’s not complaining. So everything and everyone but you are okay.”

“Y/N, you’re really not gonna say anything?” Wonwoo asks in disbelief.

You reach out for the glass of water to soothe your drying throat. You take a sip before answering with a shrug. “Whatever makes him happy.”

Wonwoo sighs in defeat and leans against his chair to watch everyone. Joohyun looks uncomfortable like she doesn’t want to be there. Mingyu is nonchalantly eating like this was a simple thing. You, on the other hand, are pretending like nothing hurt.

“How did you ask her to marry you?” Wonwoo asks calmly as he reached back for his chopsticks.

Mingyu shrugs. “She asked me.”

“That’s… a bit unconventional.”

“We were eating breakfast and she brought it up and asked me what I thought of getting married,” he continues. “And I said I’d like it. And here we are.”

Wonwoo doesn’t say a word. No one does until they all had to leave. They say their goodbyes and you hope Mingyu and Wonwoo wouldn’t fight on the elevator.

You didn’t cry at all—not a single drop of tear was shed. You promised yourself you’d wash the dishes when you wake up in the morning and brushed your teeth, then went to bed.

Game’s over.

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

P r e s e n t

Before you know it, the day of Mingyu and Chaeyeong’s wedding arrived.

You’re fixing Jun’s tie when Wonwoo interrupts you and says Mingyu needs you. You apologize to Jun and tell him you’ll find him later.

Wonwoo pulls you to the back of the church where Mingyu’s getting ready. When you step inside, you find him arguing with his mother.

“Mom, can you please leave for a sec? Seeing you nervous makes me even more nervous!”

“Y/N!” his mother calls when she sees you in a beautiful dress. “Sweetheart, I have missed you.”

You approach her with a smile and give her a quick hug. “I arrived yesterday,” you say. “I couldn’t get out of work. Had too much on my plate.”

“I’m still upset that you didn’t take the role as one of the bridesmaids,” she reminds you and you laugh.

“On Minseo’s wedding, perhaps?”

She gasps. “Oh no, your little sister is not getting married until she’s thirty! I’m already losing Mingyu and he’s only twenty-three?”

“You’re never gonna lose me, Mom,” Mingyu interjects. “Hi, Y/N. Nice to see you.”

You laugh and turn to him. “I told you I’d come.”

He gives you a quick hug. “You also told me you’d come earlier but you didn’t.”

“Got occupied by work,” you lie.

Mingyu looks at his mom and Wonwoo. “If you don’t mind…”

Wonwoo takes it as a signal and pulls Mrs. Kim with him. The two leave you alone and Mingyu immediately pulls you in for a long hug.

His breath turns ragged in a second and he’s suddenly shaking. You understand that his anxiety has gone through the rood and beyond. You wrap both your arms around him and press yourself closer, careful not to smudge your makeup on his white dress shirt.

“I can’t do it, Y/N,” he suddenly says. “Mom’s right. I’m too young for this. I can’t do this. I can’t be a husband. I can—”

“Hey, hey,” you console and pull away to look at him. You step back, holding both his hands. “Let me look at you.”

He sighs and holds your hands tighter.

“Where’s your suit?” He points beside the mirror. You take two steps to take it and you gesture him to turn around. “This should be Wonwoo’s job,” you mumble as you help him slip it on. He turns to you and you reach up to fix his tie. One last time. For old time’s sake.

Slowly, you did the tie for him. It’s the last time, isn’t it?

You look up at him for a second and realize that he’s staring at you.

“There,” you say once you’re done. You take a step back. “Now you can do it. You’re in full gear.”

He smiles and pulls you again for another hug. You hug him back just as tight.

“Do you really think I can pull this off?” he asks, words muffled by your hair.

You laugh a little. “Remember that one time we both got so shitfaced and we had finals the next day? I was prepared a bit because I did study a little that week. You, on the other hand, went to take the exam hungover. But you passed with flying colors, didn’t you?”

His chest grumbles when he let out a chuckle. “You believe in me way too much. Mom doesn’t even believe in me like this.”

“Because you’re an idiot,” you say. “And I’m an even bigger idiot for believing in you.”

Mingyu, with his hands on around your waist, starts swaying from side to side.

“Stop,” you say. “Your clothes.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he mumbles and continues dancing if you can call it that. “I don’t remember the last time I even danced with you. This could be a good memory.”

You do, though. You remember the last time you and Mingyu danced. It was at his company’s party. He asked you to be his date and you two acted like crackheads around professionals and started a dance party.

But you do not tell him that you do.

“Last dance,” you murmur, tears already threatening to fall from your eyes. You two are still slowly on the sound of nothing and everything at once.

“Not really,” he answers. “I’m still gonna ask you to dance at the reception.”

You shake your head. You pull away for a second and take his left hand with your right. You reach up to rest your left hand on his shoulder and let his other hand on your waist.

“Last dance as Y/N and Mingyu,” you say.

He frowns but continues swaying with you nonetheless.

“We’ll still be Y/N and Mingyu,” he disagrees.

When he lifts your hand a little to turn you, you say, “We both know that’s not true, Gyu.”

He stops swaying when you’re standing face to face. “You called me Gyu.”

“Good observation,” you joked, leading the dance this time.

“You haven’t called me that in a year,” he continues.

“Because you’re not my Gyu anymore,” you answer.

“Then why now?”

“One last time. For old time’s sake.”

You do not know how long you and Mingyu danced to the sound of nothing and everything, but it was cut when Wonwoo knocked and asked if the groom’s ready.

You hold both his hands again and look up at him, directly into his eyes. “Ready, Gyu?”

You want to hold his hands tighter because this is the last time. You wish time could stop for you a little. But it doesn’t.

Mingyu answers Wonwoo and says yes. Wonwoo and the rest of the entourage enter the room. Mingyu doesn’t let go of your hand for a while and you let him. You let him hold your hand like that for the last time. Wonwoo pulls you with a sad smile and tells you to go outside for the bride is on her way. Soon, you’re standing outside the door and leaning against it.

Game’s over, you say. For real this time.

You take three deep breaths and struggle to fight the tears. You could just cry during the vows and say it’s tears of joy. With your fists clenched and a fake smile on your lips, you slowly walk out of the hall and into the beautiful church.

You quickly find Jun seated among the people. You’re assigned in a regular seat because you aren’t a part of the entourage nor a family member.

Jun offers his hand and you take it. It’s funny because every single one of you and Mingyu’s friends knew how you felt for him. It doesn’t take a while before the rest of the boys and their dates, except for Wonwoo, Minghao, and Vernon who are a part of the entourage, to fill up the seats on your row and the one behind you.

Someone announces that the wedding is about to start. The people begin to chatter in excitement. When the choir starts to sing beautifully, you face the church’s entrance like everyone else. Mingyu enters, his parents behind him, with a nervous smile on his face.

Everyone’s phones are held facing him. You, on the other hand, didn’t really feel like keeping a memory of this day.

You watch him walk down the aisle. The voices of the choir and the melody of the instruments start to fade from your hearing. You forget that Jun is still holding your hand. You don’t remember feeling your eyes water. Because all you could see and hear and feel is Kim Mingyu.

He looks dashing in his all-white suit. For once, he styled his hair and is wearing clothes that aren’t wrinkled. His eyes are shining brighter and his smile is more mesmerizing than usual. Your eyes are glued on him that you do not realize that the bride has entered.

Mingyu grins even wider but you do not know that it’s for his bride. It doesn’t matter to you, though.

You expect a huge pang in your chest when the bride has reached him, but it never arrives. Your chest is heavy and you could feel your heart losing its feeling second after second.

“You okay?” Jun and Jihoon ask simultaneously when the ceremony began. You laugh and nod. Jihoon takes your other hand and holds it with both his hands.

Wonwoo looks back at you and gives you a warm smile, and then diverts his eyes to Jun like he’s signaling him something.

“Uh, Y/N, you wanna get some air for a sec?” the guy asks.

You do, but you shake your hand and decline his offer.

The ceremony starts like it should—smooth and beautiful and lighthearted. When the priest asks if anyone is against this marriage, Jun and Jihoon held your hand tighter.

“Speak now,” the priest says. “Or forever hold your peace.”

Forever I shall hold my peace.

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

P a s t

“Hey, Y/N,” he calls out.

“Yeah?”

“A random thought.”

“Shoot.”

He clears his throat. “You know how people say that you don’t know what you have until it’s gone, right?”

You nod.

“You ever lost something that’s not yours?”

You smile sadly. “Yeah.”

“What about people like us then?” he asks. “We know what we don’t have. How come it’s still painful when we completely lose it?”

You shrug.

“What do we do, then?” he asks. “What do we do about the things we lost even though they were never ours?”

“We watch them,” you answer. “We watch them with the person they belong to.”

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

P r e s e n t

It’s a beautiful day, their wedding.

Mingyu said some really cheesy lines during his vow and everyone cried. Chaeyeong looked the most beautiful and ethereal among all the times you’ve seen her.

When it was over, the bride and groom made the first kiss as newlyweds. You refuse to look away and you let go of Jun’s and Jihoon’s hand to hold your own.

Your eyes linger on Mingyu’s face longer. You realize that you’ve seen it enough; you’ve seen the happiness brought by Chaeyeong enough, the one he’s talking about. It’s in his eyes and in his smile. You look at his parents and it’s in them too. It’s everywhere.

You reach up to feel your heart, and it’s beating rapidly in happiness as you continue to look at Mingyu; you realize it’s in you, too.

You look at Mingyu once again—one last time, for old time’s sake—and he looks back at you this time.

You lock eyes for a moment and you worry that he sees something else other than happiness in your eyes, so you grin widely and give him a thumbs up. He raises his hand, the one where Chaeyeong put a ring on and smiles at you with an expression you cannot understand. You let a tear drop from your eyes and smile longingly at him.

I love you, Kim Mingyu, you mouth. Mingyu reads. It was quick but your eyes caught the way a single teardrop fall from his eyes. His attention is quickly diverted to the photographer calling his name.

You wipe the remaining tears from your eyes and excuse yourself from your friends. Jun offers to go with you but you politely turn him down.

No one else notices that you went out through the side doors of the church. You sit on the bench, looking over the garden. You realize that a spring wedding really is beautiful. The weather was with the couple because the sun was shining enough and the flowers are in full bloom. You realize that the entire universe is on their side for this day—perhaps ever since Mingyu and Chaeyeong had met.

You want to throw a fit and become angry, but the feeling never comes to wash over you. You hear the crowd inside cheer loudly, so you close your eyes and bask under the sunlight.

The flowers will bloom for you, too, someday. Someday.

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quarterfromcanon · 6 years ago

Text

You and Me, Always Between the Lines

Heather & Valencia - Femslash February - Day 18 - Right and Wrong [1,828 words]

Valencia opened a new message but hesitated over the keyboard. She chewed on her lower lip while she began to type.

Hey, girlfriend.

Highlight text. Delete.

Hey, girl.

Nine backspaces.

Hola, chica.

Valencia sighed and closed her eyes. She exited the app and returned to the home screen only to reopen messages immediately.

So, today’s the day. I’ve decided. I’m going Facebook official.

Her thumb tapped send. She gripped the case with white knuckles. Within a minute, a reply appeared.

Whoa. Big step. How’re you feeling?

Good but also freaked out. I’m overthinking.

Have you talked to Beth about it? Is she with you?

Not right now. Multiple meetings until like seven o’clock tonight. She’s been sending me supportive texts in between.

Maybe you could postpone until she gets back?

I thought about it, but the time of day is kind of important to me. It’s a whole thing to try to explain here. I don’t know. This is probably silly. I’m just not sure if I can wait that much longer by myself.

A pause.

Do you want company?

She gulped past the sudden lump in her throat and gave the honest answer.

Sort of. I don’t want to ask for too much, though. I feel guilty. You’ve had to help me so many times as it is.

Valencia wiped a fingertip across her cheekbones. She watched three dots fade in and out of existence.

You’re my best friend. Best friends are supposed to come through when you need them.

The breath she’d been holding left her in a rush. Fresh tears spilled down her face.

I’ve been trying with all I’ve got to keep it together, but I guess reality’s hitting me pretty hard right now. If you’re positive you don’t mind... I do need you.

What time?

12:30, if you can make it?

I’ll be there.

___

“The door’s open!” Valencia responded to the familiar knock.

Heather turned the handle and poked her head into view. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Valencia greeted in a tremulous exhale. Her entire body was tense. The rims of her eyes were a vivid pink from crying. She flipped the phone between both palms on autopilot, faster with each passing second.

Heather entered the apartment and crossed the room. She held Valencia’s hands in hers until her friend relaxed. “How long have you been sitting here?”

“Since eight, if you don’t count the floor pacing and bathroom breaks, so... four-and-a-half hours?”

Heather settled on the couch beside Valencia. She waited a moment to consider her advice before she voiced it aloud.

“V, listen, it’s like we toasted on your balcony that time, y’know? You make your own rules now. Whatever pressure you feel... This thing people have about online transparency...” Heather shook her head. She took a deep breath and met Valencia’s gaze. “It’s no one else’s call but yours.”

Valencia nodded, although the worry did not fully leave her features. Heather searched for the right way to articulate what she wanted Valencia to understand.

“If this is part of what you need to feel comfortable in your skin, it’s cool. If you don’t want everyone on your friend list to know your business, that’s okay, too. You’ve already had so many super intimidating conversations. Your sisters, your dad, your mom -- oh my god, your mom -- like, that alone is such a huge deal. You got through all that in less than a year. You’re really brave.”

Valencia smiled feebly, but then sobs overtook her. Heather spotted a box of tissues. She got up to pull a few free and brought them back.

“Thank you.” Valencia blotted her cheeks with the Kleenex. “I know I’m making myself sound like a damn liar, but I really do want to do this today.”

“I get it.” Heather shrugged. “People don’t make this easy. Even with ones who seem like they’ll be chill, you don’t actually know until you tell them. There’s always a moment of uncertainty. Also this many people at once? That’s a lot of variables.”

“Yeah.” Valencia pocketed the crumpled tissues.

“So what’s the ‘whole thing’ about the time?”

Valencia rested her chin on a throw pillow. “1 p.m. to 4 p.m. is the prime posting time for Facebook.” She grimaced and searched the reaction that flickered across Heather’s face. “It’s not to maximize likes or get more attention, I swear. It’s just that --”

“You’re doing the Band-Aid approach,” Heather realized. “Quick as possible, all at once. If you post during hours with less dashboard traffic, that means even more waiting for stragglers who might have something to say. You’ll keep checking for notifications over and over. Doing this now means dealing with most of it in one cluster.”

“Exactly.” Valencia noticed the clock at the corner of her open laptop. “Oh God. It’s five ’til one.”

She restored the minimized tab to confront the rectangular button on the page.

“Already set up,” she said, more to herself than to Heather. “Just a command away.”

She hovered the mouse over it, slid the cursor aside, and returned to the spot -- back and forth ad nauseam while Heather waited patiently beside her. Valencia withdrew her fingers from the touchpad like it scalded her. She rubbed the knees of her leggings and shook her head. “I can’t do it. I can’t press it. Here, you click it.”

She tried to push the laptop to Heather, but Heather slid it back to her.

“It’s gotta be you,” Heather insisted softly.

Valencia tapped once and then flopped sideways to hide behind Heather. “I did it,” she acknowledged in disbelief. “It’s out there for everyone.”

Valencia Perez is in a relationship with Elizabeth Brighton.

“Yep.” Heather twisted her arm to pat Valencia’s shoulder. “You stuck to your plan.”

Valencia clamped her eyelids shut. “Now comes the more difficult part: the wait for the first response.” She texted Beth with trembling fingers to tell her that the news was publicly shared. Then Valencia sat up, but she still couldn’t bring herself to peek at the top blue bar. “Is there a bubble with a number?” she asked while inspecting the ceiling. “Did someone say something?”

Heather looked up from her own cell phone. “Oh, hey, you’ve got one.”

Valencia verified the statement in a split-second. Her complexion went ashen. She touched the single digit with the cursor and gave the inbox a moment to load.

Heather Davis (1)

“You sent me a message?”

Heather could see Valencia in her periphery, turned toward her. She continued to sift through sites without actually reading anything and did not raise her head. “Yeah.”

“What does it say?”

Heather couldn’t suppress a faint laugh. “If I tell it to you out loud, that kinda defeats the purpose.”

Valencia returned her focus to the laptop. Heather glanced at Valencia’s face but then flicked to the screen instead.

I usually save this for major breakthroughs because it already sounds mushy and fake, and I don’t want it to lose all meaning, but today’s a milestone for you so it totally counts. I’m really proud of you, Valencia. I know everything about coming out has been so fucking hard, but you kicked ass. Congratulations. Digital high five.

Valencia scrolled up once more so she could scan the entire thing again. Heather decided to examine the plants on the balcony, but then Valencia’s arms were around her. “I don’t deserve you.”

Heather returned the embrace with some reticence. “I’ve gotta agree to disagree on that one.”

Valencia laughed and tightened the hug. Heather’s arms shifted to fully enfold her. A new red update appeared. She relinquished the hold and gestured to the laptop. “The bell’s got a number now, too.”

Valencia picked up the computer. She set it on her lap, clicked the notification, and beamed.

“What is it?” Heather prompted.

“‘Elizabeth Brighton commented on your post,’” Valencia read. “She says, ‘I’m a lucky lady.’”

Heather mirrored Valencia’s pleased expression. It didn’t quite reach her eyes.

___

Later, when Heather was back in her car, a couple of text messages sprang to life on her phone.

ROOMIE

Valencia’s dating a woman? HER VERY FIRST WOMAN? Since when???

ROOMIE

I’ve never even met Beth. Have I met Beth? Have you?

Heather sighed and retreated behind her eyelids. She folded her arms against the steering wheel to lean on them.

Incessant buzzing announced more messages.

ROOMIE

Do you think I was, like, her awakening?

ROOMIE

Holy crap. Who knew I had so much untapped bisexual influence? I PROMISE TO ONLY USE MY POWERS FOR GOOD. [wizard emoticon] [rainbow emoticon]

Heather peered at the ramblings without sitting upright. She bumped her forehead against her wrists in annoyance.

ROOMIE

Hey, where are you, by the way? If you’re already out and about, can you buy us some more eggs and coffee grounds? We’re running low. And by “low,” I mean I finished off both this morning. Don’t kill me! xoxo

Heather opened the conversation. She addressed only the most recent question.

I can get them on the way home. See you at the house.

She tossed her phone onto the passenger seat and left Valencia’s parking lot in the direction of the grocery store. While stuck at the first stoplight, Heather’s eyes began to bother her. A dull ache surrounded them. She blinked in an effort to calm it.

By the second intersection, her vision started to blur. “What the hell?” Heather rubbed furiously with the heels of her hands. “I’m trying to drive here.”

Her lungs burned as she rounded the bend.

“Can everything just chill? It’s kinda important for me to be in control of my faculties while I’m steering a three thousand pound vehicle.”

When the market was in sight, she heard an alert vibration.

“Rebecca Bunch, I swear...,” Heather mumbled. She parked and snatched up the cell. The contact name wasn’t ROOMIE this time.

Twelve comments, all positive. I can’t believe it. Thank you again for everything.

Heather’s eyesight swam until the letters were beyond recognition. She felt the warm moisture overflow and tumble down her cheek. A similar trail of water traced along her nose.

“Oh my god, stop.” Heather swiped upward with a curved finger and touched the irritated ducts. “What is going on right now? Get back in there.”

It was no use. The more she fought the urge, the more tears emerged to join the first two. Heather puffed out an exhale. She rolled her eyes skyward. “Okay. This is happening.”

She sat miserably still and permitted the unshakable emotion to rise. A faint whimper escaped the back of her throat, but she gulped it into silence. Minutes ticked by on her dashboard. “Ugh, get it together, dude.”

Heather dabbed the evidence away with her sleeves, picked up her phone, and texted back to Valencia.

See? The worst is over. I’m really happy for you.

She meant it.

Truly.

But it was some time before Heather regained her composure.

#H+V FF #CEG Writing by Me #Helencia #Heather x Valencia

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uncultureddirt · 6 years ago

Text

Night Shift - Park Jimin

"Isn’t it a bit late for you to come here alone?”

Note: Late night drives comes with late night hunger cravings. Enjoy this short fluffy story :)

[11:19]

Glancing over at the dash, you read the digital time; at night the numbers seemed to be glowing in the loudest shade of red. You groaned slightly to yourself as you fixed your eyes back up at the road. Long, lonesome drives were not your thing. You did not like sitting behind a wheel for hours, waiting to arrive somewhere. “Being impatient,” is what your mom would call it, and though you would tell her otherwise, you knew she was right.

It was winter break and you had been driving back from school. The air outside was thin and sharp and though you were sitting in the warmth of your car, you could still feel the biting cold seeping it's way in. No matter how high you were cranking the heat, occasional goosebumps would make their way up your arms. You held your hands firmly on the wheel while your eyes continued to scan the road. The highway was relatively desolate, the rare piercing headlights of a speeding car on the opposing side of the divider.

"A couple more exits. Come on y/n. You got this." You whispered to yourself.

You let your hand fall from the wheel and reach the power button on the radio. Flipping through the stations, the silence of the car began to fill with cheery Christmas music. And then, another sound was heard, which resonated an all too familiar feeling within you.

"Damn it." It was your stomach, which appeared to be trying it’s hardest to get your attention Hungry was an understatement at that point. You were craving food the whole car ride, but now it was getting unbearable. As you got off the highway at your exit, you began carefully watching each building pass, looking for some place to eat.

You hummed the tune of the music softly while your mind began to imagine all of the food you could possibly consume in the near future. It was all you could think about. As your occupied mind wandered, a blue neon sign came into your vision and caught your attention.

Riverside Diner

Immediately seeing the word 'diner' you took a sharp right turn into the parking lot. Your reckless driving was fueled simply by your raging appetite. You parked quickly and opened the car door to turn and face the establishment.

You stared the the building which stared right back at you. You shivered as you took it all in. It was small, with big windows in the front to reveal its dainty interior. The outside was covered in Christmas lights, an effective attempt to be festive.

As you walked towards the building, snow gently began to cover the top of your head, descending delicately from the dark sky above you.

"Had it always been snowing?" You thought to yourself while reaching the door handle. Right as you entered, you could feel the heat hit you and warm your cold body. You looked around, noting the vacancy of the cute diner. It was empty, despite three workers near the bar. One behind the counter and two in the tall wooden chairs facing him.

Christmas music gently filled the air as you spoke lightly, gaining the attention of the workers.

"Um, hello?"

The trio turned to face you at the sound of your voice. The tall one behind the bar smiled warmly.

"Oh hi," he laughed softly. "Just you?"

You nodded.

"Alright,” he pointed somewhere behind you. “Park, go bring the young lady to her table please."

One of the boys sitting at the bar nodded and stood up. He then walked towards the main desk, grabbing a menu and making his way towards the booths.

"Follow me," he said, beckoning you to come with his hand.

You trailed behind him and stopped short as he turned around to face you.

"You can sit right here." He smiled softly and placed the menu on the table, "I'll come back in a few minutes to take your order."

All you could do was nod as he walked off. You watched him walk away, your eyes grazing his boyish, toned build. You couldn't help but think how attractive he was. Almost instinctively, you checked out your own appearance. Grey sweatpants, grey sweatshirt, messy bun, and no makeup.

"Great," you thought to yourself, feeling slightly embarrassed. "Not my best look."

After a couple minutes of you thinking about your beautiful server and contemplating what type of pancakes you wanted, he returned.

"Hi," he smiled. "It's just you, huh? All alone?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Uh yeah... just driving back from school." You spoke calmly, looking back from the handsome boy to the menu in front of you.

"It's late. You must have been driving for awhile."

"Yeah, it's gets a little boring by yourself. All I could think about was getting home and eating."

He laughed and you watched his eyes light up with the rest of his face.

"I could only imagine. Speaking of, what can I get for you?" He held his pen towards the pad in his other hand.

You ordered and once again found yourself watching him walk away. You noticed yourself slightly relax after taking to him. Friendly people made you comfortable and you felt like you could be yourself around people like... what was his name? Park? No, that must have been his last name.

The boy returned to your table, but without your food and instead began to speak.

"Cute groutfit, you’ve got to be the best dressed person I've seen come in here today." He laughed while running his hands through his fluffy hair as you felt your cheeks get hot.

"Oh thank you...uh," you stopped as you went to say his name.

"Jimin," he filled in your sentence for you.

"Jimin. Thank you Jimin. I have to say, that coffee stain on your shirt is pretty flattering too."

"Oh, you think so?" His voice sounded as if it were testing you, and you nodded with a smirk.

He sat down across from you and you felt your initially relaxed state begin to tense slightly as you got a closer look at Jimin.

He rested his chin on his hands as he spoke. You took in his face, which was remarkable; his skin almost glowed in the light and you could feel your heart rate increase each time he smiled.

"Woah," was all you could think.

"What's your name groutfit?"

"Y/n."

"Y/n. I like that," he paused and smiled before continuing. You two talked for awhile and you almost began to forget where you were. Actually, you truly didn’t have an of idea where you were anyway. You were sitting in some tiny diner, in a town you never remembered hearing of, hours away from your home, and though that was the case, you were oddly okay with it.

"How long where you driving for y/n?"

"Five hours, I left at around six this evening.”

"Woah. You really must be hungry then. I'll go check on your food."

After your long conversation, he swiftly stood up and walked towards the kitchen. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as a smile was left tattooed on your face.

Jimin came back with his arms full. In one arm was your huge stack pancakes and milkshake, but in the other arm was another meal you didn't recall ordering.

Furrowing your brow, you spoke to the boy approaching you, “Hey, I didn't order all of that."

"I know you didn't. I did." He replied matter-of-factly.

"Huh?"

"It's almost the end of my shift, I get to eat,” he began to place the food down. "So I thought it would be nice if the two loners ate together." He paused and added, "I don't like eating alone,” before sitting down in front of you.

"Same here. I'm glad you could join." You locked eyes with him and smiled.

While making your way through your pile of pancakes and milkshake, you and Jimin continued to talk. You were shocked about how close you could feel to someone you've only known for an hour. The boy was a complete stranger, yet you felt as if you've known him your whole life.

Jimin wiped the final fry on his dish in the remaining ketchup, continuing to talk to you, "You know, I love it here. I really do, but I would love to do something more with my life." He leaned back and stared at you.

"Like what?" You were interested, and not in the fake ‘I’m just being polite’ way, but genuinely cared to hear what he had to say.

"I don't know. Travel? See whats outside of this place? I just know there's more to my life than carrying dishes and cleaning tables."

"Why'd you become a waiter?"

"Money. And not because I get paid well, but just because I had no money. I needed to help out my parents. I wouldn't call us super wealthy, if you know what I mean." He looked down. "Plus, I get good food here," he added, smiling lightly.

"I think you'll do it." You said, tapping his hand gently.

"Do what?"

"Travel. I think you will.” You interupted you’re own thought. “Actually, I know you will."

"How?" He grinned, focusing his eyes on yours.

"Well... hm. How long’s your shift?"

"Most days are twelve hours, but today I've been working since eight this morning."

You almost spit out your drink. "Eight A.M? Well, thank you for proving my point Jimin. You’re hardworking. You’re more than hardworking."

"And?" He laughed

"You’re working towards a goal." He still looked confused, so you went on, "You’re ambitious. Ambitious people don't give up. They have a set mind and they go for it. I can tell your life is more than where you are now. You’re gonna get out of here someday. Trust me."

"I don't think you know how much that means." Though he was boyish and strong, you began to notice the delicacy of his features and sweetness of his voice. "When I get out of here, do you know what the first thing I'll do is?"

"What will you do?" You leaned towards him, resting your face in both hands.

"Book a flight somewhere amazing. And do you know what the second thing I'll do is?"

"What?"

"Find the pretty girl in the groutfit, and tell her to come with me."

You stared into the eyes of this stranger who sat before you. The quiet Christmas music loomed around you two, serving as background noise for your conversation. You could sense the winter air pressing itself against the building, yet being repelled by the diner’s warmth. You found yourself wondering if it was the heat of the establishment or the warmth of the people that made this place so comfortable in the harsh December night. This boy was remarkable, unlike anyone you've ever met, and you began thanking yourself for driving so late and having the hunger of a bear.

How is it that your life can present you with the wildest of encounters? Each experience you have adds more to your existence, some things completely unexpected. We must believe in 'chance' and the idea that universe is working in a way out of our control, but in a way specialized for each and every one of us. There's a reason you got stuck in that traffic, and a reason for your hunger always consuming you at what seems to be the most inconvenient of times. There's a reason you found The Riverside Diner. There's a reason the handsome boy was working his lengthy shift and there's absolutely a reason he sat down across from you.

#g writes #hi ok so whats up #i hope you guys liked that #i was really thinkin about christmas and pancakes #and jimin ofc #and then the CRAZY idea of fate was hitting me and yeah #SOOO #ok i hope u guys like dis im sending hugs to you all #hehehhe lov u guys!#bts scenario #bts imagine #park jimin #jimin #bts jimin #jimin scenario #jimin fanfic #jimin imagine

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echoes-of-the-clockwork · 6 years ago

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Falcon of Detroit (DBH Connor Fanfiction) Chapter Ten

~Phoebe's POV~

Connor turned his full attention to me and I awaited to see what all he knew about me. "You graduated two years ahead of your class in college due to excellent performance and grades at Penn State. After graduation, you moved to Detroit. At the age of twenty-two, you became the youngest detective in all of Michigan. A few months after your instatement with the DPD, you solved your first case and placed one of Detroit's most dangerous serial killers in jail—Benjamin Atkins, or well-known as the Woodward Corridor Killer."

(Benjamin Atkins is a real serial killer from Detroit. He died in 1997, but let's just say he's alive and in jail in 2038.)

After the arrest, you and the Lieutenant became partners and you both have worked together since."

"You sound like a walking Wikipedia," I commented out of the blue.

"I did my research before CyberLife assigned me to be your partner and the Lieutenant's," Connor confesses. His neutral expression suddenly changed serious. "I'm... sorry about your parents, Phoebe."

"Don't be. They were killed when I was in high school."

"What happened?" Hank asked.

"Well, my parents were coming home and crossing one of the bridges in Pittsburgh. A drunk driver hit them and their car went over the side of the bridge. They didn't make it out of the car and drowned."

"Now I know why you never told me..." Hank sorrowfully sighs. "I'm sorry for asking.”

"Don't worry about it. That was twelve years ago."

Suddenly, Connor's LED changes to yellow. "I just got a report of a suspected deviant or rogue. It's a few blocks away. We should go have a look."

"You better eat faster, Hank, or we're leaving you behind," I tease.

"Just give me a few minutes and then we'll go," Hank said, taking a huge bite out of his hamburger and then another.

"Don't choke yourself!" I scolded.

He waved me off, taking another bite and washing it down with a swig of soda. I shook my head in disbelief and followed Connor to the car.

-A Few Minutes Later-

Just as Hank promised, he finished his burger in record time and drove us to an apartment building that appeared to be in poor condition. We rode the elevator to our destination and stepped off. When Connor wasn't following us, Hank and I exchanged confused glances. "Hey, Connor!" The man bellows, his eyes falling back on him. The android opened his eyes, meeting our muddled expressions. "You ran outta batteries or what?"

"I was making a report to CyberLife."

"Uh, well, do you plan on staying in the elevator?"

"No! I'm coming."

The android exited the elevator and walked beside me as we meandered down the dusty, dirty hallway. Hank led the way, questioning who our target was. "What do we know about this guy?"

"Not much. Just that a neighbor reported that he heard strange noises coming from this floor."

"Who the hell would live in this dump?" I scoffed, staring at the junk that littered the hallway.

"Nobody's supposed to be living here, but the neighbor said he saw a man hiding a LED under his cap," Connor answered.

Hank groaned. "Oh, Christ. If we have to investigate every time someone hears a strange noise, we're gonna need more cops."

I nodded in agreement. "Preach."

We reached the door at the end of the hallway and Hank leaned against the wall beside it. "Hey, were you really makin' a report back there in the elevator? Just by closing your eyes?”

"Correct," the android responds, positioning himself in front of the door.

"Shit. Wish I could do that."

"I'm more of a 'write-down-everything' kinda girl," I commented.

"What about essays?" Hank inquired.

"Hell yeah! I'm more creative with a pencil in my hand than typing on a keyboard."

"So that's why you still write your reports by hand."

Connor knocked on the door, ending our conversation. "Anybody home?" The machine knocked louder and harder. "Open up! Detroit Police!"

Hank laid a hand against his concealed pistol as we heard the sound of scuffling from the other side of the door. "You both stay behind me."

"Got it," Connor and I answered in unison.

The Lieutenant drew his pistol and kicked the door in. It flew open, the strong stench of fecal matter slapping us in the face. I winced at the horrid stench as the three of us entered the apartment. Hank holstered his pistol with a growl. "What the fuck is this?!" The entire apartment, minus the small rooms, were swarmed with pigeons. The birds were pecking at the floorboards and I assumed it was food they were eating. "Jesus, this place stinks..."

"Thanks for the info, Captain Obvious," I playfully saluted the man.

The three of us searched the apartment. Connor and Hank checked the living room and kitchen while I searched the small bedroom. With no clues, I wandered to the living room and heard Hank complaining. "Uh, looks like we came for nothin'. Our man's gone."

"Not possible. The only exit is the front door. The windows are either partially boarded up or entirely blocked off. Our man is hiding and I bet he can hear us," I stated.

Connor suddenly tore a poster off the wall and revealed a notebook. He flipped through the pages before closing the leather-bounded object. Hank peered at the android when he saw the item in his hand. "Found something?"

"I don't know. It looks like a notebook, but it's... indecipherable."

"May I see it?" I ask. Connor hands the notebook over and I flip through the pages. The symbols inside seemed to resemble large mazes with no signs of an entrance or exit. It was the same image I saw painted in the bedroom. Turning the page, I found a symbol that seemed familiar.

It resembled a key and I remembered where I had seen it before. I pulled out my phone, catching Hank and Connor's curiosity. "Phee, what are you looking up?"

"The newspaper from a few months ago when the first rogue appeared. This symbol..." I showed them the page while my eyes were scanning my search results. "I saw it in the picture that went with the article." I finally found what I was searching for and showed them. "The rogue used the blood from his victim to create it. Then, it was killed by police just after it finished drawing this symbol."

"It's possible the symbol is linked to Amadeus," Connor concludes.

"That's exactly what I was thinking, but... the symbol has only appeared in the first rogue case. The number of corrupted androids has increased since this incident, but this symbol has only appeared once."

"Is it possible we're dealing with a rogue?" Hank inquired.

I shook my head. "No. If we were, the android wouldn't be hiding right now. Rogues love confrontation and bloodshed. Deviants, on the other hand, are the complete opposite."

"I will check the bathroom," Connor announces, walking into said room.

Hank and I remained in the pigeon infested living room/kitchen area, both of us spotting the box of bird seed on the counter. I picked up the empty box and saw the logo of the store from where the android had purchased the feed. "Definitely a deviant. Rogues wouldn't go through the trouble of buying anything. And no human would welcome this many pigeons in a small apartment."

"Not surprised it was an android. No human could live with all these fuckin' pigeons," Hank stated.

Connor returned from the bathroom and told us he found a LED on the sink and the same maze-like drawings on the wall along with ra9 written over two thousand times.

"We found nothing new out here, except for a small pile of books on the shelves beside the closet. Sadly, none of them hold crucial information," I informed the android.

"Real books... I thought Phee and I were the last people in Detroit to keep some. Electronic books, you can't... smell the paper, see the pages turning yellow." Hank fell silent when Connor didn't react to his words. The man found his voice again and sighed. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

"Hardly doubt Connor would have an idea. He's only been in working condition for a few months and hasn't really explored the old ways. The only reason I still have physical copies is because I love the feel of turning each page. You can't get that same satisfaction with all this digital shit. And, you don't have to worry about charging a book or it not working."

"Ain't that the truth," Hank smiled.

Connor's eyes suddenly narrowed as he approached a hole in the ceiling. There was no light, making it difficult to see inside the cranny. As he was directly under the hole, the android we've been searching for tackles Connor and makes a quick escape, stirring up the pigeons as he dashed out of the apartment. "Connor, go after him! We'll be fine!" I shouted over the obnoxious sound of wings flapping.

The machine nodded and snappily took chase. Hank and I exited the apartment after the horde of pigeons had settled. I glanced down the hall, eyes glued to the decrepit wall. "I know what you're thinking, Phee," Hank said.

"We'll try to cut the deviant off and help Connor catch him."

"How're we supposed to know where the hell those two are?"

"Random selection. Let's go!"

"Hey! Don't push yourself! You've already torn your stitches once!"

"I'll be fine! We've got a deviant to catch!"

The two of us ran through the streets. We caught small glimpses of Connor and the deviant as they ran across the rooftops. Hank and I decided to ascend one building and saw the deviant coming straight towards us. The man quickly pushed me aside as the machine grabbed him and pushed Hank over the ledge of the building. The Lieutenant grabbed the ledge before he could fall to the ground below. "Hank!"

Just then, Connor arrived and assisted Hank before I could react. As I saw the deviant getting away, I quickly chased after him. A few seconds later, I heard the Lieutenant shout at the RK800. "Connor, stop Phoebe before she hurts herself again!"

I didn't stop running even after hearing Connor and Hank shout for me to stop. Ignoring their worried calls completely, I chase the deviant across more rooftops. When we reached a giant gap between two buildings, the machine jumped and reached the other building perfectly. Seeing as I wasn't as agile or tough as normal androids, I took a deep breath and backed up to get a better running start. I didn't make it far before I was tackled to the ground, arms wrapped around my body protectively.

Desperate to free myself and catch up to the deviant, I tried to pry the person off of me. I recognized the tie, but I still squirmed in Connor's grasp. "Connor, let me go! He's getting away!"

"That deviant isn't more important than your life, Phoebe!" His LED flashed yellow as his hold tightened on me.

"He knew about the key symbol! We could've had another lead on Amadeus!" I shouted, grasping his jacket tightly. The fabric crinkled under my death grip as my eyes were glued in the direction the android had disappeared.

Connor's body loomed over mine as he unwrapped his arms from my waist. His hands gripped mine tightly and I knew he wouldn't let go until I had calmed down. "We will find and apprehend Amadeus. I promise, Phoebe."

I inhaled deeply to calm myself down and turned my gaze to Connor. His brown eyes met my blue ones and I saw emotions I've never seen him express. Concern and joy were mixed in his eyes, showing the worry he had for me and the happiness of learning I was alright. I sigh heavily, closing my eyes for a few seconds before opening them again. "I'm sorry, Connor. I shouldn't have chased after him. I was just so... desperate to know what he knew about that key symbol."

"You do not need to apologize. I understand you wish to capture Amadeus as soon as possible, but you cannot risk your life."

I smiled. "Thank you, Connor."

#detroit become human #dbh #dbh connor #connor x oc #hank anderson #dbh spoilers

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outourfrontdoor · 3 years ago

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str-spangled-banner · 7 years ago

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Home - Part 5 - Bruce X Daughter!Reader

PART 1 // PART 2 // PART 3 // PART 4

MASTERLIST

TAKING REQUESTS

FAQ’s

Summary: Life carries on in the Avengers Tower. You make new friends, and certain friendships starts to climb towards something more.

Warnings: None.

Words: 2 572+

A/N: I MIGHT HAVE WATCHED SPIDER-MAN: HOMECOMING LAST WEEK AND IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN RIDICULOUSLY GOOD AND I MIGHT HAVE GOTTEN MY ALREADY CRITICAL CRUSH ON TOM HOLLAND QUADRUPLED (FUCK SPELLING IDK) AND YEAH SO THAT’S THAT *intense, internal, screaming*

(Also, don’t even get me started on how cheesy my summaries always are...) So, I’m posting once again, trying to makeup for being away by posting my most requested thing ever, which is Home Part 5, if you didnt get that.

Hope you enjoy, please tell me what you think and comment “Steve “Pimp Daddy” Rogers” if you read this cause I honestly, fucking, doubt people read my A/N’s.

She crossed the lounge, her bare feet barely making a sound against both the areas of wooden floorboards and those of polished concrete. The Stark Industries shirt she was wearing reached her mid thighs. They were practically all she had worn since moving in, considering the massive amount that had been stocked in her wardrobe as she had gotten her room, she could grab a new shirt every day for a month at least.

“Morning.” Her head snapped to the sound of a voice, spotting T'Challa in an armchair by the wall of windows with a newspaper held in his lap. She opened her mouth to reply but was caught of guard upon realizing she didn’t know whether to greet him in royal fashion or not, which in case of it, she was screwed. She had no idea how to greet royalty. Your liege? Your highness? Instead of saying anything, she found herself stuttering upon nothing, her mind blank. “Ms. Banner?”

“Of course. I- I’m sorry. Yes, morning.” She blurted out, causing T'Challa to laugh lightly and fold the newspaper together.

“I do not bite, despite the characteristics of my mantel… You don’t have to be nervous.” He assured with a subtle yet warm smile as he could tell how uncertain and shy she was. “You can call me T'Challa. There is no need for formalities between friends.”

“Then you can call me Y/N.” She bartered quickly, trying to gather her bravery and ease her nerves.

“As you say.” T'Challa bowed his head respectfully and left a moment of silence before changing the subject. “You’re up early. People your age have an international habit of sleeping a lot longer. Our mutual friend, Mr. Parker, is making for an extraordinary example this morning.”

The way he talked was almost fascinating to her. He was well educated and equally as well mannered, his choice of words chosen deliberately each time. It was a nice change compared to the shallow vocabularies of the people she most often conversed with. “I find my productivity to be at its highest in the morning. That, and I also very much dislike to sleep the day away.”

“Fair reasons.” T'Challa smiled, noticing how Y/N adapted her own choice of words in his presence and liking the small touch. He too found the vocabularies of those around him to be boring and the people themselves to often be a bit slow minded. It was nice to see that Y/N enjoyed a diverse, witty yet formal conversation in the same way that he did. “Are you on your way to the kitchen for breakfast?”

“I am. Care to join me?” She was brave enough to ask him. T'Challa smiled even wider, impressed of her courtesy as well as noticing the newfound bravery she had just noticed herself.

“It would be my pleasure.” He assured and rose from his seat, joining to walk alongside her to the kitchen across their current floor.

“Do you have any plans for today, or perhaps tomorrow?” She began their conversation, taking a left down a short hallway before a quick right turn into the sleek kitchen, which had been decorated with multiple breakfast choices made by the hired chef.

“Not anything out of the ordinary. Mr. Stark and I will be joining in a meeting to discuss the new yet continuous connection between Wakanda and the United States, more specifically the collaboration between the Black Panther and I with the Avengers. If I find any time for it, I would enjoy some simple time to merely relax. How about yourself? If I were to guess I believe you will spend as much time reveling in Tony’s resources and your new workplace as you can?”

“I would say that’s far more a statement of what will happen rather than a guess.” She commented humorously with a slight smile, following T'Challa’s lead and grabbing a plate off the counter. It was her first breakfast as she had been so late for school the day before. It was difficult to believe that breakfast looked like that every morning. In her eyes, it was a five star buffet. “But yes, if nothing else comes in the way, I will be found in my workshop for the majority of the weekend.”

“More people should have such productive and awarding hobbies. What are other things you have worked on? I overheard Stark and your father speaking of a generator of yours?”

They made their way to the long table, taking a seat in front of one another. “Nothing very spectacular, considering what I’d like to think I’m capable of. I did build a robotic vacuum a couple of years ago to not have to vacuum the floors myself. I designed a program in eight grade to scan physical notes and convert them into digital documents, adapting it to fit my own handwriting specifically.”

“I would not label those things as unspectacular. I can only imagine how low the number of individuals at that age with the capability of creating those things is… I’m sure your guess of that number is very close to my own.” T'Challa began to peel an orange, placing the cloves on his plate just as Y/N swallowed her bite of scrambled eggs and bacon.

“Maybe, but like I said, compared to what I think I’m capable of myself, they are nothing spectacular.”

“Then why have you not built something to match your level of competence? If what you have built so far is unremarkable compared to what you potentially could make, I am very intrigued.”

“I’ve never had the resources. School has granted me multiple opportunities to build and create, but I’m only allowed to do so within their guidelines. They do not fund personal usage of their materials and tools, and I couldn’t afford it on my own. This is the first time in my life where I have been given the possibility to show what I’ve got.” She smiled, realizing the truth to her own words and the meaning behind them. She really did have her first chance to create all the things her heart had wanted to over the years of suppressing them. The thrill of that fact alone was enough to cause an involuntarily smile to spread across her face.

“I say you should seize the moment then. Life is far too short to let opportunities slip away from us. Knowing Stark and your father the little that I do, I have a strong feeling they will do everything they can to make your, engineering, dreams come true.” T'Challa advised, surprising Y/N with the wise words in the same way that Steve had when seeing her in her lab only seven hours before.

“Then I shall.” Y/N replied, the two of them coming to an understanding at that moment of their respective like of the academic tone and their efforts to keep it going simply for the enjoyment.

“Hey? Good morning.” Bruce entered the kitchen, furrowing his brows slightly out of surprise at the same time as he hinted a smile from finding his daughter so casually talking with T'Challa. He was glad to see her shy side subsiding and to see her become more and more comfortable around the team. He knew all too well she had it tough with friends. If she couldn’t make any her own age, he was glad that the ones she made was on the team. Despite bickering amongst them, the Avengers were good people. “I was sure you wouldn’t wake up until at least another hour or two considering how late you stayed up last night.”

“Six hours of sleep is just the right amount for me. Besides, with the bed I now have, six hours of sleep might as well be twelve. It’s level of comfort is nearly ridiculous.”

“Level of comfort?” Bruce questioned, not recognizing her intellectual way of speaking. T'Challa smiled to himself as he looked between Bruce’s confusion and Y/N’s reddening cheeks, remaining quiet.

“I mean… It’s just super comfy.” Y/N changed quickly and flashed an awkward smile towards her father. “Anyway, you wanna join us?”

“I’m sorry but I’ve already eaten. If I would have known you were such an early bird, I would have waited.” Bruce smiled back apologetically, already regretting having confessed to eating and wishing he would have just had a second meal instead. Sadly, he had things he needed to do. Yet another round of breakfast simply wasn’t something he had time for. “If you need something, anything, you’ll find me up in Tony’s workshop. Friday can help you there.”

“I think I’ll be alright. Thank you though. I’ll see you later.” She subtly implied in her voice that she was ending the conversation, in a way asking Bruce to leave as she knew he was most likely in a hurry. The only reason he was sticking around was because he was worried about her, which was absolutely unnecessary.

“Alright then... Could you maybe watch her back, T'Challa? Make sure she’s okay?” Bruce turned towards the king, unable to judge Y/N’s level of capability and feeling uneasy for leaving by herself.

“I think Y/N is perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but for the sake of your worrying, I promise to keep an eye on her.” T'Challa assured before Bruce left with a parting nod and flashing a smile towards his daughter.

“You really don’t-”

“I am fully aware you do not need me to breathe down your neck.” T'Challa cut her off with an almost playful smile. “You’re a grown woman, and if anyone can get by in this place, I believe it’s you. You father has yet to adjust to how mature you’ve become, that’s all. I would not take that personally if I were in your shoes.”

“Thank you.” She bowed her head down subtly. “And like I said before, I simply plan to spend the day in my workshop.”

“And that is truly a place where I am not needed, at least not to be your personal caregiver. However, I must confess that you are much more pleasant company than most others around here. If you are ever in the mood for conversation, do not hesitate to seek me out.” T'Challa said truthfully. He had been slightly judgmental when he first encountered her two days prior, he could admit that to himself. She had been so quiet and shy he had drawn the immediate conclusion she was also dull. That was his mistake which he had happily had proven wrong.

“I would say that goes both ways.” She confessed, mentally beaming with excitement for the fact that she was speaking to a king. It sounded so impossible yet it was completely true.

“And there he is.” Tony entered the room with his hands gestured at T'Challa, interrupting the conversation and turning towards Y/N. “Morning, Banner. I see you’ve made a wise choice in who to befriend around here. Royal connections can always be useful.”

Y/N found herself at a loss of words again, not knowing how to respond to the exploit that Tony jokingly insinuated. “I’m not- I was just-”

“Ignore him... The rest of us do.” T'Challa said whilst rising from his seat.

“Ouch.” Tony said theatrically. “Well, that hurt.”

“I figured you would be used to it by now.” T'Challa smiled, clearly not as intimidated by Tony as Y/N was. “I take it you’re here to get me for the conference?”

Tony sighed, giving up the previous subject and forcing himself to settle with not having the last word. “You know me so well.”

“Alright. I hope I will see you later then, Y/N. Perhaps for dinner?” T'Challa turned towards the quiet teen, who felt at a loss of words again and sensed yet another stutter claw its way up her throat, butshe made a simple yet quick recovery.

“Of course.” She assured with a smile which the king happily returned. Tony looked between them, confused by the formality and understanding glances shared mutually between them, but he was far too tired to question it.

Y/N watched them leave the kitchen, Tony grabbing a paper cup of coffee on his way out. She turned her focus to her breakfast which had practically gone untouched whilst T'Challa had occupied her with talking. She grabbed the fork and hungrily dove into the delicious meal, but wasn’t left alone for long. To her luck, it was a very sleepy Peter Parker who dragged himself into the kitchen, and she would not pause her eating for him.

“You look sleepy.” She stated with her mouth full, catching Peter’s eyes as he looked over at her.

“How are you up so early?” He asked with a husky voice and furrowed brows. “Let me rephrase that… How are you up so early and how do you seem so fine with that?”

She chuckled and almost coughed at her food which threatened to slip down the wrong throat. “I never gave in to the urge to sleep for longer once I came into my teens and eventually it went away. I’m fine now. Six hours of sleep is just right.”

“Just hearing that number makes me nauseous.” He confessed, starting to pile his plate with a bit of everything that was offered. “I need at least nine, preferably ten to eleven.”

“But you sleep half your day away?” She argued, not understanding how someone could be fine with that.

“And still I found myself bored to death from having nothing to do four days out of seven… I don’t need more time. Some days I almost need less.”

“What about school nights? You go to bed at eight? I find that very unlikely.” She took a sip of her orange juice, her eyes following Peter as he came to sit at the table, taking what previously had been T'Challa’s seat.

“Of course I don’t.”

“Then you’ve kind of lost me…” She admitted, a bit confused which seemed to be a mutual feeling considering Peter’s, deeply furrowed, brows.

He groaned, waving his hand in front of him like ushering her away, but more accurately trying to usher the subject away. “Just let it go. I’m too tired to talk about it.”

“Too tired to talk about sleep? Now that’s a first.” She chuckled, finding it far too amusing to tease Peter whilst he was so out of it.

“Yeah, yeah…” He groaned again before his features softened out, his eyes focusing at nothing as of thinking about something, his ears suddenly turning red. “Hey, you… You wouldn’t happen to, you know, have a date for, ehm… For homecoming?”

Her eyes widened slightly, taken back by the question and what she believed he was indicating. “I- no… I don’t usually tend to go to them…”

“Oh…” Peter swallowed his breath harshly, the red in his ears creeping to his cheeks and his eyes dropping to his lap almost disappointingly. “I just- never mind.”

“I mean…” She began, noticing how much the two of them were stuttering but being far too shy and insecure to change that fact. “If you’re going, I- I could go.”

He looked back up at her in a snap. “You wanna go with me?” He questioned, realizing he had added the “with” part of his own and wishing he could smoothly take it back to not scare her off.

“Uh… Yeah. That would be nice, actually.” She pulled her lips between her teeth, releasing them as she chuckled quietly. Peter watched her as she did not look at him, a hollow feeling in his stomach of thrill and excitement as he watched Y/N smile at their sudden yet settled date for the homecoming.

Tell me what you think? What do you want to happen next?

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welovekpopscenarios · 7 years ago

Text

Forever (Jeonghan x Reader)

Admin: Mimi

Prompt/Ask: Could you do a very angsty scenario with Jeonghan (SVT) where the reader gets into an accident? The end is up to you (if there is a death or not) but rlly angsty pls thank uu

Fandom: SEVENTEEN

Genre: Angst

Pairing: Jeonghan x Reader

Warnings: slight language, self-hatred/blame, car crash, hospitals

Word Count: 1976

Authors Notes: Here you go, Jeonghan angst for your sick, twisted pleasure lmao. I joke, but I tried my best with this, I genuinely got frustrated and upset writing this haha. But! I hope you enjoy it and that it was what you asked for. Let me know if there are any errors, and happy reading! (Or not so happy reading, I guess in this case)

- PART 2 -

Tap. Tap. Tap.

That was the only sound that could be heard in the empty living room of SEVENTEEN’s dorm. The room was dark; the blinds shut closed hastily, the only light to be found in the room coming from the digital clock on the side table, the green glow displaying the numbers 12:47.

The tapping continues, monotonously, breaking the silence in a dorm that has been plunged into quietude and despair in light of recent events. Jeonghan stares blankly ahead of him, feeling tired beyond belief but in no way shape or form in that state, too alert, too anxious. His phone sits on the armrest beside him, his fingers tap, tap, tapping impatiently against the screen, awaiting a call he knows won’t come until morning, and he hates it.

He doesn’t know whether his body is in a state of shock regarding your accident. He just worked on auto-control after one call ended and another came in yesterday, a call from a stranger, remembering vague words such as ‘emergency contact’, ‘car crash’ and ‘gravely injured’. He only slightly recalls rushing out of the company building with Seungcheol and Joshua in tow, getting into the first car he knew belonged to the company and demanded to be rushed to the hospital.

The hospital where you were held in a critical condition.

He still doesn’t believe it’s real. He just can’t understand it. He still expects to receive a good morning text from you, still expects to send one in return and tell you about his schedule, still expects the messages telling him to eat well, get rest, and do his very best today, like he always does. He just can’t fathom why that’s gone now since yesterday. Why this little mundane thing that managed to brighten up his day every single time is now just…gone. And he desperately wants it to come back.

But what he does understand, the one thing his wretched mind can make sense of in his state of gloom, is that you’re in such a dangerous and life-threatening condition after a brutal car collision.

And it was all his fault.

The members tried to dissuade his views, to lessen the burden on his shoulders and the pain in his heart but he won’t listen. Because he knows. He knows it was his fault. He should have never called you to tell you that SEVENTEEN got nominated for Artist of the Year in some awards show he doesn’t even care about anymore. When you didn’t answer, he shouldn’t have continued to call, eager to relay the good news to you. He must have worried you, he knows as well as you do that he never calls excessively, preferring to reach you later when you have time. Because of his rash decision, you answered the call while stopped at a red light in traffic, a dangerous move but he reckons you were fearful something had happened to him. He spoke over you, in a haste to get his excited news out of his system and celebrate. If he had just stopped to listen to you when you tried to explain you were busy driving, then maybe he wouldn’t have distracted you. That way, he wouldn’t have had to hear the loud crash followed by a yelp from you, glass shattering coming from your end before it all went quiet. Too quiet. And Jeonghan was certain the only sound he heard after that dreadful call was the sound of his heart plummeting from his chest and past his feet, down to the depths of darkness below.

The trip to the hospital with Seungcheol and Joshua at his side was a blur of panicked mutterings and hyperventilating, and as soon as the car pulled up outside the hospital he nearly took the door off in his haste to get to the front desk and ask where you were, how you were doing.

The lady at the desk has checked her files, and regretfully informed him that you were in surgery at the moment, that she didn’t know when you were out, that Jeonghan should sit in the waiting room until a doctor is ready to speak with him.

And so, he sat there for what felt like years, tears brimming his eyes that never fell, too proud to let his composure slip for a second. He observes the crisp white walls of the hospital surrounding him, boxing him in. He observes the pathetic attempts of colour in what he can call singlehandedly the ugliest pieces of artwork possible, and questions the need for such paintings in the first place. A hospital is a hospital. People who are sick enter to get treated, people die in them, it serves its function. People don’t have time to stop and look at those horrible paintings.

Some people don’t have that time to begin with when they enter.

He prays you weren’t one of those people.

He turned off his phone after an hour of receiving missed calls and unread messages, leaving it to Seungcheol and Joshua to break the news to the others. He didn’t want to deal with that. He couldn’t. The reality of the situation would sink in and he’d be damned if he breaks down in the middle of a fucking waiting room with strangers around him. What was it that Joshua had whispered to him at some point? Be strong for you? Yeah, that was it. Right. Be strong. He could do that.

Sure.

The doctor eventually called his name, and he almost didn’t hear, too wrapped up in his own self-loathing to be aware of what was going on around him, until someone nudged him and his snapped up, ready (but not ready – it was too soon yet it had been too long) to face whatever the doctor had to tell him.

And he really wasn’t ready to hear about the suffering you experienced because of his stupid, fucking phone call.

The doctor had spared no details, and Jeonghans terrible mind immediately recreated what was said to him – how the car had crashed into the side of yours, how your head most likely flew into the console, cracking open your skull and bruising your brain, how you had broken several bones throughout your body, how you had lost a severe amount of blood in that short amount of time and that was worrying in itself. He listened to the doctor saying how they had done everything they could to heal you, put you back together again like you were humpty dumpty (it’s not enough, do more he wanted to scream, but restrained himself), and that you were resting now after surgery.

The doctor allowed him to see you, but gazed at him with eyes full of warning, warning to prepare himself for what he will find when he enters the room.

Sparing the doctor no more than a thank you, he rushed to the room you were kept in and his knees almost gave out at the sight that greeted him.

There you lay in a room even whiter and more sterile than the waiting room, the addition of machines and monitors instead of those hideous paintings, and a bed too big for your frail form. And frail it was, covered head to toe in bruises and cuts of various colours, dried patches of blood where the doctors didn’t clean yet, and tubes sticking out from where they shouldn’t be.

You didn’t look like yourself. You didn’t. You didn’t belong in this room. You didn’t belong in this hospital. It was all his fault you were here. It should be him on that bed instead of you. He doesn’t care.

He caused immense pain to the one person who didn’t deserve it, the one person he promised he wouldn’t, and there was no other person who he hated more than himself.

It was scary how you seemed to blend in with the dullness of the room around you, your shine and brilliance missing from the world now. He wants to hear your voice once more instead of the beeps of the machines, to feel the small hand he’s grasping squeeze around his once more, to see your smiling face rather than a busted lip.

He wanted to stay there all night, all day, as long as he could, but the company wouldn’t allow it, urged him to get his rest despite his pleas and cries and begs, and so, with great reluctance and a heavy heart, he was brought home to see the faces of ten distressed boys, concerned for your well-being and for his.

And he couldn’t feel worse.

He doesn’t know when exactly he fell asleep, but when he woke up, he found he was covered in a blanket and a pillow was placed under his head. He smells Mingyu’s cooking from the kitchen, can hear the boys shuffle around, and all of this is almost enough to get him to forget what happened, until he sees his phone, free of any good morning messages, and once again he’s plunged into a case of anguish and hatred.

It's close to ten in the morning, and he’s about to get up and make himself somewhat presentable when his phone buzzes and he answers with lightning speed. The hospital wants him to come down to discuss an unfortunate development in your state, him being the only one to contact as your parents are still out of the country, and he agrees with a shaky voice, getting ready as fast as possible to head back to the dreaded building, this time with twelve boys behind him in tow, insistent on supporting the two of you.

And so, the group enters the hospital and alerts a nurse to their presence, making a beeline to your room and awaiting the doctor’s news. The boys gasp and display horrified expressions at the sight of you, murmuring phrases of sympathy to Jeonghan but he pays them no mind, too busy focusing on you. You look the same as yesterday, but something seems off, and it makes his skin crawl.

The doctor form yesterday makes his appearance, and looks reluctant to share the news in front of a crowd, but Jeonghan tells him to continue. Whatever he says to him he can say to them as well. They’re a family.

But Jeonghan wasn’t expecting to be told you were in a coma. And that they have no clue when you will wake up. Could be days, weeks, months, years from this very moment.

More medical phrases are thrown at him, and going completely over his head because his brain has shut down, just blank. Blank except for the image of you on your first date with Jeonghan. A day filled with nerves and shy touches. A day he’ll never be able to go back to, but one he holds dear in his heart, as well as the other ones. Ones, he realises, he won’t get to have again.

And, it’s with this thought in his mind, that once the doctor leaves the room and it’s just him, you, and the other members, he breaks down, the tears that were bubbling under the surface since yesterday spilling over with no signs of stopping, his chest heaving for air that just won’t come.

Some members stand shocked or sorrowful, watching the seen with saddened eyes, others rush to his side to wrap him up in their arms, arms that feel too suffocating for him.

You’ve been taken away from him. He doesn’t know when you’ll speak or walk or even look at him again. And he feels nothing but emptiness take over him despite the other members in the room.

But he’ll wait forever if he must. He will. He loves you.

He just doesn’t know if forever will allow him.

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written-s0ul · 8 years ago

Text

Here with You

REQUEST. Would you be willing to write a song-fic? If so could you maybe write a Tony Stark x Reader based off the song Malibu by Miley Cyrus? The reader can be gender-neutral. Thank you very much! From anon.

SUMMARY. Takes place after the Avengers and after Iron Man 3. Watching Tony nearly die was difficult. But you never thought letting him go was even more so.

WARNINGS. Feels, HEAVY ANGST. Tony Stark x Reader. Past Pepperony. (Nothing against Pepper, though, no worries.) Death. Tony Stark’s PTSD issues. Avengers and Iron Man 3 spoilers.

WORD COUNT. Approximately 3k.

AUTHOR’S NOTES. My first ever request! Sorry, this took a while. I had to do a lot of research on Tony Stark (that poor baby huhuhu), and the story behind Miley Cyrus’ Malibu song, and I’ve discovered that the song was mostly about the relief of being with someone you lost once – lost during the time when both of you were just not at the right period of your lives, something like that. I hope you like my interpretation of the song, dear Anon! And thank you so much for your request!

Your name: submit What is this? document.getElementById("submit").addEventListener('click', function(){ walk(document.body, /\by\/n\b|\(y\/n\)/ig, document.getElementById("inputTxt").value); }); function walk(node, v, p){ var child, next; switch (node.nodeType){ case 1: // Element case 9: // Document case 11: // Document fragment child = node.firstChild; while (child){ next = child.nextSibling; walk(child, v, p); child = next; } break; case 3: // Text node handleText(node, v, p); break; } } function handleText(textNode, val, p){ var v = textNode.nodeValue; v = v.replace(val, p); textNode.nodeValue = v; }

TONY STARK: ENTERING WORMHOLE IN SKY. The headline popped out of the TV screen, freezing you in your seat in the private plane as you watched the love of your life zoom across the sky, a brilliant, red and gold figurine against the bright, blue expanse, and head straight into a gaping hole leading to –

No. You don’t want to think about it.

Somewhere behind you, something rang, the sound vibrating the air. But it sounded distant, in another world. Everything was far away. All that existed was you and Tony and that hole – your breath hitched.

He’s in. He’s inside.

Your heart hammered against your eardrums, each slam trembling through your body and twisting your muscles, and –

The hole was shrinking. It’s shrinking.

Your hand curled around the arm of your seat, sharp nails digging through the material. No, no, no – Tony wasn’t out yet. They can’t close it, no, they shouldn’t, no – wait for him, please, let him out first, please –

The hole was only a speck in the sky now, and then – a figure slipped out. Red and gold. The room exploded with relief. You released the breath you were holding, eyes fluttering and muscles relaxing, as all around you, your staff laughed away the tension, their joy igniting grins and high-fives. He’s okay, he’s fine, he’s here –

He’s not flying.

You froze. Why wasn’t he flying?

In the wide stretch of open sky, he was plummeting like a ragged doll, free and limp and fast. Someone – someone needed to catch him. You wondered how far the plane was right now, how fast you could maybe get to him. Maybe, you can –

A flash of humongous green, and the red blot was gone. The camera panned away, then zoomed in on the Hulk, one hand rammed against a building to slow down his descent, while in his other – Tony. So tiny on the Hulk, it was like he was being held like a slumbering child. You fell back on your cushioned seat, your sigh heaving out all the tension in your body. He’s okay, he’s safe, he’s fine –

Then, a thought struck you: what the hell was he thinking?

You turned to one of the assistants beside you, grabbing his attention with the ghost of your hand on his arm. “Tell the pilot to turn around,” you said. “We’re going home.”

The front doors creaked open. You leapt out of the couch, glancing at the digital numbers on a nearby wall clock. 8:47PM.

“You said you’d be here two hours ago,” you said at the sound of his heels clicking against the marble floor. Rewrapping the robe around you tighter, your eyes fell on him now, and widened. It’s like the past twelve hours didn’t even happen. He was sporting this dashing, pale gray suit, a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose, clean and neat and so – Tony.

“Malibu traffic–” he said, but then your lower lip wobbled, and you sprinted across the living room towards him, throwing your arms around his neck. He stumbled back with a huff, but found his balance. It wasn’t long before his own arms were clasped around your waist.

You buried your face under his chin, his goatee prickling your cheek, and his sharp cologne stinging your nose, and the edges of his arc reactor digging into your chest, and oh my god, he almost died today. He almost died today, and you saw all of it. Something burned behind your eyes, gathering in them, heavy and wet. He almost died. What was he thinking –

You pulled away from him. He blinked, confused. “Hey–”

Smack!

“That was for nearly killing yourself today,” you said. A red imprint bloomed across his cheek, blazing into the shape of a hand. Guilt prodded the back of your mind, but you slapped that away too. It had to be done.

He pushed his sunglasses up into his hair, eyelashes fluttering. Slow and deliberate, he moved his jaw up and down, as though checking its hinges. “Technically,” he said, raising one cautious finger to the burning cheek. He winced once they made contact. “I was saving the world.”

“Did you even expect to come out of that – that hole alive?” you asked, incredulous and frustrated and my god, what were you thinking, Tony? How could he have done that without thinking about his own life? You were about to step back, only to be pulled further into him, his arms clenching around your waist.

“That’s why I tried calling you.”

You blinked. Right. Hands drifting down to his shoulders, you lowered your eyes to the collar of his blazer, lips pursed. You remembered checking your phone, when the pilot switched routes, and how your heart squeezed and collapsed at the notification: one missed call: Tony Stark. You dropped your head onto the crook of his neck, groaning. “I’m so sorry–”

“Hey, it doesn’t matter now,” he said, snaking a hand to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. “Can we just – celebrate being alive tonight?”

Being alive. Hands slipping down and around his waist, you pressed your cheek on the top of his shoulder, heaving out a soft, contented sigh. He’s alive; he’s safe; he’s home. You let yourself have this, seal it into your memory: this waterfall of relief. Alive, safe, home.

Raising your head, your nose bumping on his, you pushed yourself up to meet his lips. They grazed each other first, breaths mingling and eyes flitting, and they were so soft, so smooth, as though you hadn’t bitten them before, pressed yourself against them before, and just that thought has something sparking inside you, a tiny, candlelight flame swelling somewhere in your core. You pressed your lips against his then, gentle and slow and happy. Cherishing the feel of him – the feel of him so alive and safe and here.

You could have lost him.

You gasped, just as the hot, heavy and wet sensation rushed back to your eyes and then, leaked out at the corners, spilling and tracing the curve of your cheeks and the line of your jaw. You could have lost him. His hands slid up, then cradled your face, his thumbs brushing away the streams. You tugged on his blazer, hard, his lips crashing onto yours, teeth grazing, harsher and more feverish, as though this was the last chance you’ll ever have to love him.

It just might be. And it definitely could – if he kept this up. If.

You pulled back, and he jutted his chin forward, an instinctive attempt to catch your retreating lips. His eyes fluttered open, meeting your glistening ones. “You can’t keep doing this, Tony,” you said.

He blinked, corners of his mouth dropping. “No one’s told me to stop kissing before.”

“I mean,” you said, reigning in your exasperation. “You can’t keep getting yourself nearly killed, every time you wear that suit.”

This time, he stepped back, hands falling to ghost around your elbows. “You saw what happened today, right?” he said, throwing a hand in the air. “Godlike beings exist, wormholes exist, aliens exist – these are shit out of a nightmare, and they’re happening, [Y/N]. They’re real. The only way I can protect us, save us is – if I wear that suit.”

Your hands drifted up to his face, palms skimming the prickling, growing hair on his jawline. “There are better, safer ways to do that.”

His eyes widened, and he stumbled back, away from your grasp. Boom, boom, boom. Your heart hammered against your knitted rib cage, cracking when you saw his own heart in those wide eyes, weak and deflated. This was harder than you thought. But it had to be done. It had to be, especially if it meant he’d be coming home every night. “I can’t let go of the suit, [Y/N],” he said. “The moment I built it, I – I have to protect people–”

“You don’t need to carry that responsibility anymore! There are so many others who are doing exactly that already,” you said, surging forward towards him. You planted your hands onto his shoulders, forced his eyes to meet yours. “You’ve done more than enough, Tony.”

He swallowed. “I’m nothing without the suit.”

“What?” you said, eyes wide. “No! God no, you’re–” His eyes flashed, firm and resolute, jaw clenching. And then, you realized: “You’re not going to stop.”

He pressed his lips together, shoved his hands into the pockets of his hands and glanced down at his shuffling feet. That said it all.

You stepped back, swallowing, shaking your head. If that’s case … “I’ll go – grab my things,” you said, turning around and heading towards the staircase spiralling up to the second floor.

Tony whipped his head up, calling out your name. “You don’t have to–”

“I do,” you said, just as you planted a foot on the first step, and lifted your watery gaze to meet his. “Watching you almost die, I just – I can’t go through that again.”

Your words echoed, whistling down and dropping like a bomb in the silence of the room. If you listened closely, you could hear a heart cracking. You weren’t sure if it was his or yours.

MANDARIN ATTACK ON STARK MALIBU MANSION.Your eyes lifted up from the headline, and to the now scattered remains of what was once your home. Yours and Tony’s. The camera panned out to the sea far below the cliff, bits of metal and concrete bobbing on the surface. But no suit. No Tony.

“As of now, Tony Stark cannot be found …” the reporter said. The camera zoomed onto the faces of two female survivors, spattered with dust and ashes. One was unfamiliar, but the other, you recognized, was Pepper, wearing – an Iron Man suit, for some reason? “… Potts and Maya Hansen will not be commenting, as of now …”

You grabbed your phone, and dialed Tony’s number. It went straight to voicemail. You tried Pepper, then Happy – even this Maya Hansen girl. Nothing.

Hand going limp, your phone fell on the couch, bouncing into the cushions. You soon followed, eyes up in the ceiling and wondering. Why did you ever let him go?

Knock, knock!

You looked away from the television, flashing the triumphant grin of Tony Stark, in another stunning suit and a pair of sunglasses, as though he hasn’t just killed the Mandarin and destroyed almost a hundred of his suits – you didn’t realize there were so many – in the past week. “ … now living in the Avengers Tower, previously known as Stark To–”

The television blinked into darkness, as you set the remote control down on the coffee table. A breeze weaved into the room, from the open back door, chilly from the night and salty from the sea, sending tingles down your spine. You tightened the knot on your robe. Pushing yourself off the couch, your gaze fell on the wall clock. 8:36PM.

Knock, knock, knock!

“I’m coming!” you said, tone somewhat laced with annoyance. You padded across the room, the smooth, wooden floorboards smooth beneath your bare feet. “Who is it?” you asked, but by then, your hand was gripping the doorknob, and out of instinct, turned it and pulled.

Your eyes widened.

“I’d have been here earlier, but – Malibu traffic,” Tony said, removing his sunglasses and tucking it into the inner pocket of his blazer. He threw you a grin, but it didn’t meet his eyes or flash his teeth. Hands behind him, he shuffled his feet, then cleared his throat, looking the picture perfect of trying not to appear uncomfortable.

You blinked back the shock, grasping words in your head to form a coherent sentence and forcing your mouth to say it. “Hey,” you said. More like managed. You shook your head at yourself, inward. Try again. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Wasn’t expecting to provide that either,” he said. “Mind if I–” He nodded behind you, to the comfort of your home.

This ignited your muscles to move, and you murmured soft words of agreement, stepping back and swinging the door wider. He walked inside, and as he passed by, you caught a whiff of that familiar cologne, hitting your nose with a zap and fishing out past memories. An overpowering urge to envelop him in your arms surged into your limbs. You channeled it instead in shutting the door.

“Not much change here,” he said. You turned around. He swiveled his head, taking in the interior of your house, a slick and modern design with a touch of your own personal taste. Then, he flourished a hand, gesturing to the open back door. Sounds of crashing waves drifted into the room. “Beautiful view.”

You brought me here, you thought. I couldn’t get away. Okay, you have to get out the house. There wasn’t enough air for the two of you here. “Would you like to take a stroll?” you asked, wincing inwardly at the stiffness of the words.

But his eyes only brightened with relief, as though he had the same thoughts you did. He nodded, eager and delighted for the offer.

Once his shoes were off, you ventured outside, embracing and breathing in the crisp air. It was the perfect antidote to the tension in your muscles. The beach was empty, barely anyone out this late in the evening, with the sea and its booming, but soothing waves, and the moon and the stars powdered across the bruised blue sky as your only company. Oh, and Tony too.

You looked over your shoulder, just as Tony ambled towards your post by the shore, slacks rolled up to his knees. He glanced at the sky, huffing. “Wow,” he said, no louder than a passing breeze. “I missed this.”

Corners of your lips perked up, eyes briefly glancing down at your feet digging into the soft sand. You began walking, he following suit beside you. “I’m sorry about your home,” you said, hands crossed over your chest and squeezing your biceps. “And your suits. Heard they all – well, exploded.”

He waved a dismissive hand, one hand in his pocket. “Didn’t need them anymore – even the little fella here.” He patted his chest, where the glowing arc reactor used to be, and at your stunned expression, he shrugged. “Figured I could live without them.”

Your brows furrowed. “I thought …”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m still Iron Man.” He grabbed on the knot of his tie and stretching his neck, pulled, loosening the cloth. “I just – I thought the only the way I could protect the world was when I wear the suit. Turns out it isn’t.” He lifted his gaze, locked on yours. “I just had to be me.”

Eyelashes fluttering, the corners of your lips twitched up. Warmth flooded your chest, that familiar, tingling joy you get when you’re happy for someone. No wonder he looked so at ease, his gait more languid. He’s found some degree of peace. “And now, you live in New York, with Pepper,” you said. You saw that in the news too, like all the information you ever get about Tony, just a month after you left: Iron Man now dating the PA-turned-CEO. Just thinking about it stung, but you pushed it aside. “Looks like things are going well for you.”

“She, uh–” He shoved his hand into the other pocket, looked down at his feet. “She left,” he said, meeting your stunned gaze. “Couldn’t deal with – you know. The usual.”

Oh shit. You pressed your lips together, guilt flooding into your conscience. “Look, Tony–”

“I don’t blame you.” He stopped in his tracks, turning his body to face you. “Or her. For leaving, for going – I get it. Being with me – it’s dangerous. No arguments there.”

You shook your head, as a breeze blew by, your limbs shivering. “It still wasn’t right. Asking you to let go of something that meant the world to you – I shouldn’t have done it.”

He glanced at your trembling limbs and peeled off his blazer. He set it on your shoulders in one smooth swing. You watched this, too stunned to move, but shot him a grateful look. “You were only looking out for me,” he said.

“That’s the thing! I wasn’t!” you said, a surge of passion pushing you forward. Needles of regret knitted your ribs together, chest tight. “All I was thinking about was me, and my pain. Not yours. It didn’t even occur to me to consider what you were feeling.” A whiff of his cologne, and you realized you were already too close. You stepped back, swallowing. “I’m sorry.”

“I shouldn’t have put you through that,” he said, closing some of the distance between the two of you. He was close enough to pull you into a hug. But you were already shaking your head, edges of your lips pulling up to a weak smile.

You stared at him, eyes earnest and glistening. Something bloomed in your chest, warm and pleasant, slicing through the threads knotting it together, and all you knew was – you couldn’t keep it inside anymore. “If that’s the cost of loving you, it’s worth it.”

His eyes widened a fraction, then softened. They flickered down to your lips, just as you glanced at his, some kind of irresistible gravity pulling you towards him. He raised a hand, tucking a stray hair strand behind your ear, then skimming down your arm, his touch hot even through the sleeve of your robe, before reaching your hand. He hooked his fingers through yours. You put your palm up, let them interlace. His other hand cupped your face, and you leaned into his touch, thinking there was no other place you wanted to be than here. But just that tiny tilt of your head sparked a smile on his features.

You blinked, puzzled. “What?”

“I just–” he said. “I never thought I’d be here with you again.”

A smile bloomed on your own lips, pulling up your cheeks and crinkling the corners of your eyes. “You’re all I want to be with.”

AUTHOR’S NOTES. I’m still accepting requests! Just PM or send one via askbox. Make sure to read the guidelines first! Let me know your thoughts too, omg. Thank you so much!

Permanent Tag: (Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in all my works!) @courtneychicken

#marvel #avengers #tony stark #tony stark x reader #pepperony #tony stark imagine #avengers imagine #pepper potts x tony stark #iron man #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark fic #tony stark feels #avengers fic #marvel imagine #marvel fic #my writing #iron man x reader #tony stark headcanon

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