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pucksnsticksnhockeyboys · 4 years ago

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all my focus on you

summary: all of your focus is on Jake, and yet you can’t see that he loves you.

warnings: mentions of injury

word count: 3.2k

note from the writer: this is the first thing I've posted in months and I really like how it turned out. let me know what you think! also I didn’t edit it so sorry ahead of time.

“Who’s Tuna?”

You had heard the nickname tossed around a lot. At least, you were pretty sure it was a nickname. You were new to the world of hockey, having only really paid attention to the sport in the past few months as a result of your roommate, Jess, dating professional player Brock Boeser. Through him, you had met Elias, Quinn, Thatcher, Troy, and a whole assortment of others. But, Tuna still remained a mystery to you. Apparently, he was going to be joining your group out to the bar that night.

“You’ll like him.” Brock declared, giving you the same response he always did whenever you asked, while Elias’ smile turned the special kind of mischievous that only he could ever pull off. You didn’t have the chance to question how he could have been so certain, because Jess called your name and insisted that you start getting ready to go.

You’d never, not once in a million years, admit it that Brock was right.

You did like ‘Tuna’. A lot more than you probably should have. He was fun and outgoing from the moment Brock introduced you to him at the bar. Your heart stopped in your chest when you realized that Tuna was Jake Virtanen, your secret hockey crush. When Jess started seeing Brock, she showed you the entire Canucks roster. Jake’s piercing blue eyes struck out to you from the moment you saw his picture, but other than a ‘oh he’s cute’ and a mental note of his name and number, you kept quiet.

Now, he was standing before you, handing extended for you to shake with a dazzling smile that nearly made you forget your own name.

“I’m Jake.” He said brightly, and you offered your own smile in return as you slipped your hand into his meekly. Your face warmed at his touch, and if you possessed the ability to look away from Jake, you would have seen the shit-eating grin Brock wore. But you couldn’t, and instead you saw the way Jake’s gaze stayed on you, his own cheeks turning red. “What’re you drinking? I’m buying tonight.”

And thus, an amazing friendship grew. Which, for whatever reason, Brock seemed to loathe.

He was insistent that there was something more between you and Jake, which you vehemently denied, and each time your cheeks would burn brightly. It wasn’t as if you didn’t want anything more with Jake, in the few months that you had gotten to know him, he had become one of your closest friends and the person you told everything too.

And your secret hockey crush turned into full blown feelings. Most of your time was spent with him, even if you felt nothing but butterflies in your stomach whenever he was near. Only a few short months after meeting him, you couldn’t imagine your life without him. He was a constant presence in your life, as sure as you were that the sun would rise, you knew that Jake would be there for you.

With a schedule as crazy as a professional athlete’s, you jumped on any opportunity to spend time with Jake and any of the guys on the team, who all quickly became good friends of yours, along with their partners. Currently, you were at a diner, getting a quick lunch with Jake, Petey, and Brock, the two blondes sharing a side of the booth opposite of you.

Jake was in the middle of animatedly telling a story, and you watched with your undivided attention. Well, nearly undivided, since he had swung an arm around your shoulders shortly after sitting down and the simple contact had your heart beating like crazy. Petey had sent you no less than three shit-eating grins, and Brock was openly chuckling at how flustered you were. You were just thankful Jake was as oblivious as he was.

“You’re coming to the game tonight, right?” Jake asked, jostling you with the arm that was around his shouler to get your attention as soon as he finished his story. You nodded, taking a sip of your drink to cover up the fact that you had been openly staring at him as he spoke. “Perfect. Alright, I’ve got to run. I’m supposed to meet with my nutritionist.”

There was a chorus of ‘goodbyes’ as he tossed some cash on the table, enough to cover both his bill and yours, since he always insisted on paying for you. Before he could slide out of the booth, though, he pressed a quick kiss to your temple, an innocent act that had your heart doing cartwheels. You avoided Petey and Brock’s gazes, trying to will the heat in your cheeks away. It was only when the bell chimed on the door signalling that Jake had left, did someone speak up.

“Oh, come on!” Brock groaned, and you shot him a curious look. He ignored you, turning to face Elias, who was grinning in amusement. “I’m just going to tell her. It’s painful at this point.”

“Tell me what?” You question, nerves seeping into you, watching Elias shrug and grin wider. Instantly, your mind thought about the worst, like someone was getting traded or something similar, but nothing could have prepared you for what Brock said next.

“Jake is in love with you.”

“What? No, he’s not.” You spluttered, eyes wide and cheeks warm. Brock rolled his eyes at you, a scoff leaving his lips as if he thought his teammate’s apparent affection was obvious.

“He talks about you all the time.” Petey offered, and you fell silent. Elias wasn’t one to mess around with something like that. Sure, he made sly comments that had you laughing everytime, but this was different.

“He thinks you could never like him back, so we have to listen to him complain about it.” Brock’s tone was serious, but you could hear the subtle chirp. You pursed your lips, dropping your focus onto your plate to avoid meeting either of their gazes.

“You guys are ridiculous.” You settled on saying, though just because you dropped the conversation, it didn’t mean that you stopped thinking about it.

Even hours later as you were walking through the doors of the arena, you were still thinking about it. Though, you were quickly distracted as Jess led you through the crowd to find your seats and watch warm-ups.

Despite your inner turmoil, the Virtanen jersey felt right on your shoulders, now a regular part of your wardrobe. When Jake had found out that you had no idea about hockey, he had bought you the number eighteen Canucks sweater, along with tickets to just about every home game, claiming you were his good luck charm. When he gave you his jersey, he stated that it was to make your hockey experience complete—thought now you weren’t so sure.

Brock’s words from earlier in the day were still bouncing in your head. You had a hard time believing they were true, but then you thought over nearly every interaction you had with Jake. They all had a common theme—Jake was always looking at you with a softness to his eyes that you had, at the time, chaked up to his friendliness. Now, thinking back, you recognized the look. It was the same look you gave him.

A look of utter adoration and total love.

You settled into your seat to watch the game with a wide smile on your face, borderline giddy with the conclusion you had come to. You decided that after the game, when you would be going back to Jake’s for a movie night and a sleepover, a tradition that had been established after celebrating a win too hard one night and you spent the night at his place, and at the following brunch it was decided his guest room would be yours after any home games. Though, if you played your cards right, you wouldn’t be sleeping in the guest room.

Your happiness only lasted until halfway through the first period, and quickly dread formed in the pit of your stomach. The game was back and forth, neither team able to keep possession of the puck for very long. Petey scored first, and you cheered loudly, but clamped your mouth shut when a player on the opposite team—you couldn’t see a name on his jersey, and even so, you didn’t pay attention to any hockey team outside of Vancouver—started shoving Jake. Of course, Jake was running his mouth and shoving back, and it was only when a ref skated between the two players did you let out a breath of relief you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Apparently, Jake pissed off the other team a lot more than you originally thought.

You would have sworn he was being targeted. Everytime he was on the ice, it seemed, that an opposing player would check him into the boards. He wad getting hit hard from all angles, he got tripped twice but only drew a penalty on one—and if you screamed bullshit! at the ref, then who would have blamed you—and got into a fight late in the second after an opposing player shoved into Thatcher.

It was the third period when things really went awry.

It was the final minutes of the period, Vancouver up by one, thanks to Bo’s goal at the end of the second. The Canucks were fighting to hold on, maybe score an extra point to cement their victory, while the other team was getting desperate. And they were playing dirty, too.

You didn’t really register the gasp that fell from your lips as some unknown opponent slammed Jake into the boards, head on, with clear intent to injure him. You did remember jumping to your feet, as if that would make everything better.

Jess, who you hadn’t really acknowledged was sitting next to you in your stress, gripped your arm tightly. You watched in horror as Jake stayed down, hands holding his head as the athletic trainer jogged across the ice with the assistance of Troy Stetcher. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Jake, but if you could, you would have seen Brock looking worriedly from his injured teammate to where he knew you were in the stands.

It felt like years later when Jake finally stood, and while leaning heavily on his trainer and Troy, he went down the tunnel. You sat down stifly into your seat, leg bouncing in nerves and fingers tapping an unknown pattern as you anxiously waited for the game to be over so you could check on Jake.

Five minute major, game misconduct.

Good, you thought, but you kept your mouth clamped shut as nausea swirl in your stomach. Distantly, you heard Jess say that the opposing player was most likely going to get fined for his actions. You knew hockey was a hard hitting sport, but that was terrible. You had seen Jake hurt before, blocked shots, highsticks, and the sorts—but not once had it taken him that long to get back up.

You couldn’t focus on the rest of the game, you were pretty sure that at some point Quinn had scored, but eventually Jess was leading you down to the tunnel where had to meet the other players. Holly, Bo’s wife, had tried to assure you that Jake would be fine the moment she saw you.

“He’s got a thick skull.” She tried to lighten the mood, but all you could muster was a weak smile and a laugh that sounded forced and foriegn to even your own ears. You listened to the other wives and girlfriends of players chatter about who knows what—certainly not you, you were staring at the door you knew the boys emerged from—for minutes. The girls knew you, how you were always around Jake, acting like a couple but not once taking that extra step, so they knew how stressed you were, waiting for the verdict.

Elias was the first one to exit the room, heading straight to you with a tiny, reassuring, smile on his face. Your arms were crossed tightly across your body, an indicator of just how uncomfortable you were in the moment.

“He’s fine. He’ll be out in a few minutes.” He told you quietly. Though it helped calmed you slightly, you couldn’t get the imagine of him laying on the ice out of your head. You nodded your head in thanks, before he patted your shoulder comfortingly and departed. Quinn was next out, shooting you a pitiful smile. Tanev, Toffoli, and Edler all came out before finally, the brunette you had been waiting for emerged with Brock at his side.

He looked terrible, his tie was loose around his neck, hair a mess from the quick post-game shower he had just taken. His shoulders were slumped, and he looked so tired that your heart clenched in your chest.

“How are you?” You asked quietly once he stopped before you. Jess and Brock left to give you some privacy, but you didn’t notice in the slightest. Your focus was on Jake—like it always was.

“A little beat up, nothing I can’t handle.” He waved off his injured like it was nothing. You pouted for a moment, knowing he was playing down the severity of it. He seemed to sense your disbelief, because he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and pulled you into his chest. You sank into the embrace, reciprocating the hug with a deep sigh.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again.” You threatened into the fabric of his suit, wrapping your arms tiger around his middle. He chuckled lowly, holding you just as tight in return. Your heart was thundering in your chest, your stomach a lightning storm of nerves.

“I’ll try not to.” He assured you quietly, dropping a kiss to top of your head. You thought back to your decision before the game, how you were going to confront both his feelings and yours, and decided that it could wait just a little bit longer.

“Come on, let’s get you home.” You mumbled, pulling away sightly. He nodded and you, and you were pleasantly surprised as he slipped his hand into yours, threading your fingers together, as you headed in the direction of his car.

You insisted on driving, and Jake only protested slightly. The ride was quiet, and you could tell something was bothering him, but chose to stay quiet and let him come to you when he was ready. Or at least until you got back to his home. Instead, you listened to his music play softly from the car as you weaved through the streets of Vancouver, taking the familiar path to Jake’s place.

When you finally arrived, he slipped into his bedroom to change into something more comfortable, and you made yourself comfortable on his couch. When he returned, he was in a Canucks hoodie and pair of grey sweats, and instead of sitting next to you on the couch, he laid across it so his head was in your lap. Instantly, your hand threaded though his hair and you scratched at his scalp, something you knew he loved. His eyes fluttered shut at the action, and he hummed contentedly.

“You scared me tonight.” You said softly after a moment. You tried to will away the tears that welled up in your eyes, remembering how it felt to see him laying on the ice, injured. It tore you in two, you had never felt more sick to your stomach at a sight than you did when he was down.

“I know.” He sighed queitly in response. Not trusting yourself to keep your voice steady, you chose not to respond right away. He reached a hand up, grabbing yours out of his hair and pressing a kiss to your palm, before threading your fingers through his and resting it on his chest.

And then, you couldn’t stop the words from tumbling past your lips—

“I love you too much to see you get hurt like that.” You hated how your voice cracked, and most of all you hated how you confessed your feelings. You wanted to do so during a happy moment, one shared with smiles and he’d tell you he felt the same, but no, you were holding back tears on his couch as he tensed, your words registering.

“What?” He questioned, sitting up abruptly. You would have thought that you had screwed everything up, if it weren’t for the near-death grip he had on your hand. Still, you couldn’t meet his gaze, and instead focused on the coffee table. Gently, with his free hand, he cupped your jaw, turning so you were facing him. It was then that you realized that you were crying, silent tear tracks running down your cheeks that he brushed away carefully as he studied your face intently. “What did you just say?”

“I love you.” You choked out, voice tight. “And I’m new to the hockey thing, so I’m not used to seeing hits like that and I—”

Your ramblings were cut short as Jake surged forward, connecting your lips to his. It took you a moment to react, but your free hand eventually moved to the back of his neck, your other still gripped in yours. The kiss wasn’t heated, but loaded with so much passion and emotion it made your head swirl. Months of casual flirting and innocent touches built to this moment, and you would be lying if you said you were aware of how long you actually were pressed against him.

Eventually, he did pull back, a wide and dopey grin on his face. You smiled just as brightly, the hand on the back of his neck toying slightly with the strands of hair there. Chasing your lips for a few quick pecks that your readily complied with.

“I love you, too.” He hummed, seemingly unable to tear his focus from you. You didn’t mind, not one bit, considering he had you attention from the moment you had met.

“I know.” You grinned, watching as his brows pull together in confusion, a silent question and urge for you to elaborate. With a giggle, you explained. “Brock told me.”

“Of course he did.” Jake groaned, tipping his head back. You chuckled at his dramatics, looking at him with the same fond look you always did. Only this time, you didn’t have to worry about him finding out. Your hand moved from behind his head to his jaw, thumb brushing across his cheekbone. You smiled as he brought his attenton back to you, and you leaned forward to press a quick kiss to the tip of his nose. “You know, he’s been trying to set me up with you this entire time.”

“Yeah, he told me that I’d like you the night we met. He and Petey were planning this.” You explained, watching as he lifted your joined hands and kissed the back of yours, a barking laugh leaving him as you finished your sentence.

“Was he right?” He asked cheekily, swinging an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his chest so he could cuddle you. You admired him with a soft smile, watching as he grabbed the remote on the couch beside him to put on a movie. Never in a millions years would you admit that Brock was right, but you with the way Jake was smiling, you decided to make an acception.

“Definitely.”

#jake virtanen #Jake Virtanen x reader #Jake Virtanen imagine #Jake Virtanen imagines #hockey imagine #hockey x reader #NHL imagine #NHL x reader #vancouver canucks #Vancouver canucks x reader #Vancouver Canucks imagine

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foodieforthoughts · 4 years ago

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Sand and Stars - Chapter Three

Series Summary: After the water pump being blown up, the insurgents in Baqubah are taking a hold of the food supply to the village. Camp Warhorse is in dire need of reinforcements. It has been eight months of submitting countless requests when the High Command commissions Sergeant Olivia Ross to take her group of men and women and help Captain Syverson and his team to restore a semblance of normalcy. But with the war raging, does it get two hearts closer too?

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC x OMC

Word Count: 1834

Warnings: 18+, Mentions of war, military technicalities, smut in future chapters

A/N: Everyone who is sticking around for this story, I love you all. So finally there is a bit of story progression and I really am excited for your feedback. Also, thanks to @thelastsock for beta reading, this woman is a GEM! Like, comment and reblog if you liked it, we writers get a boost of confidence from it. Enjoy!

*gif by @demivampirew*

<Chapter Two

Title: Chapter Three

Olivia rubbed her hands together as the cold January winds washed over her face. Her four in the morning wake up had her relieving Schmidt from his patrol post. Despite wearing her t-shirt underneath her fatigues and the armored vest strapped on her torso, she shivered as a gush of wind swept over the silent desert.

The temperature in the Iraqi desert usually dropped down extensively, in contrast to the sweltering heat during the day. Olivia loved winter mornings but only when she was back home in New York, watching the sun rise through the fog with a steaming cup of coffee. Oh what would I do to get a cup of coffee right now.

She spotted Sloan behind a barricade made with sandbags along with BJ, or Sergeant Benjamin Jones, by her side. In a funny twist of events, two weeks of an unusually high amount of scheduled postings together was all it had taken for Margaret Sloan to stop complaining about his boisterous attitude and morph into fawning over the man. Olivia had an inkling that BJ was behind the coincidences of them spending time together so often.

Walking across the quiet compound, Olivia reached the gate where Schmidt stood with two more men from the Special Forces team, whom she recognized as Pepps and Pats. Schmidt smiled at her as she approached him which she returned with her own while pulling on her gloves. Adjusting her rifle properly around her shoulder, Olivia greeted the other two men who were in the process of pulling out cigarettes from a box.

“Morning, Sarge,” Schmidt greeted while accepting a cigarette from Pepps, “I can go to bed now.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m here for.” She pulled at the scarf on her neck, winding it snuggly to prevent the wind licking at her exposed skin. Pats offered a cigarette to her which she promptly refused.

“What? You stopped smoking?” Schmidt spoke with the cancer stick between his lips, staring incredulously at her.

“Like you don’t know.” She rolled her eyes.

Schmidt shrugged his shoulder, lighting the cigarette and handing the camouflage print lighter back to Pepps. He let out a thick puff of smoke in the air with the other two giving similar clouds as they walked away.. “I blame Alex for changing you.” Schmidt said while shaking his head. “He’s made you bland like our MREs.”

Olivia snorted. “I don’t change for men, Gary. And besides, smoking isn’t good for health.”

“Who are you and what have you done to our Sergeant Red?”

Olivia laughed while punching Schmidt in the shoulder. Schmidt laughed along, taking drags of his stick in between. The silence of the night with not even the sound of insects was apparent in the pitch-black darkness beyond the gates. The silence felt deafening to her combat attuned, city living ears.

“Sloan doing alright with her new guy,” Schmidt chuckled, jutting his chin towards the barricades. “These guys were letting me on some juicy gossip about those two.”

“Care to share?” Olivia feigned interest by animatedly resting her chin on a hand. She had already heard Sloan gushing about her supposed crush on the bearded hunk of a man who was apparently a sweetheart.

“Sloan snuck in their quarters last night. BJ made everyone-” His sentence was cut short as he looked beyond her shoulders, forgetting his words while being fixated on whatever was behind her.

Olivia turned around instinctively, following his gaze and gripping her rifle just in case. Her heart skipped a beat as she spotted Captain Syverson making his way towards them with Aika following him. He was dressed in only a t-shirt and cargo pants like the cold did not even affect him. Or he was too hot to feel it. She mentally kicked herself for letting her thoughts flow towards the gutter.

In the past few weeks, Olivia had grown to like the captain. She had already accepted the fact that physically he was a sight for sore eyes. But she had also observed how he went about his day and concluded he wasn’t a creep like she had initially thought.

She had watched him talk to his teammates, the meticulous briefing that he carried out every morning. He commanded respect but was also easy-going. Just the other day, she had watched from afar as he was being teased by Pepps over being smitten and how he was turning into a hormonal teenager. Olivia had blushed beet red when Pepps had mentioned her name and had rushed to join her men while trying to conceal the subtle smile playing on her lips.

“Good mornin’, guys.” Syverson’s husky voice sounded like a pleasant hymn to her ears. She let go of her gun, letting it hang over her chest and resorted to nervously fixing her scarf.

“Morning, Captain.” Schmidt greeted, offering his cigarette to Sy.

“I don’t smoke.”

Olivia looked towards Schmidt coyly, already understanding the thoughts going through her adopted twin’s head. Schmidt was smirking at her, wiggling his eyebrows and puffing out smoke as he made his way to join Pepps and Pats. On several occasions he had called her out for staring at Sy like he was a ‘delicious plate of home cooked food’. She had hastily refused and showed him the finger while desperately trying to hide her blush.

“Pleasant morning,” Sy commented, looking around the compound with his hands on his hips. She let her gaze travel over the vastness of his chest and down to the gun holster on his thigh. Olivia would have never imagined herself to be jealous of a piece of nylon sitting snugly against a soldier’s thigh.

“Sergeant Ross, are you checkin’ me out?”

Olivia instantly veered her eyes away from his thick thighs and looked up at him. Sy's eyes danced with mischief, a shit-eating grin peeking out from his beard. In the past two weeks, Sy had also progressively flirted with her. He would sometimes compliment her on her pushups in the gym which she assumed was just an excuse for him to look at her ass. He had brought out a cup of coffee for her in the middle of the night when she was posted at the gate too. His men had teased him about being partial towards her for which he had flipped a finger at them.

“Not everyone is like you, Captain.” She turned back around, pursing her lips to mask her smile. She liked to playfully banter with him. She heard him snort and walk to stand next to her. His presence made a spark of electricity travel from her head to the tip of her toes.

“I disagree.” He chuckled. The vibrato of his laugh reverberating from his chest seemed to immediately brighten Olivia’s day. She glanced at him and felt her heart pick up the pace, meeting his eyes. “If we were back home, I would have already taken you out on a date.”

As the words registered in her mind, warmth rushed to Olivia's face, even the tips of her ears felt hot in the cold desert air. “Pretty bold of you to assume I would go on a date with you.”

“Oh, you would agree.” He smirked at her. “I can even describe the date if you want.”

Olivia rolled her eyes. She shrugged her shoulders and leaned against the wall of the gate post. “Only because I have nowhere to go.” She tried to act disinterested, but her curiosity was already rising. It had been ages since she had last gone out on a proper date with any guy. Only the whirling blades of the chopper and the dust of the desert came to mind when she tried to recall the last time.

Sy leaned against the wall sideways on his shoulder, crossing one ankle over the other. He crossed his arms over his chest and smiled at her affectionately. “First, I would buy you some flowers and drive up to your house. Then I’ll take you to this wonderful place where they have seating in a private area, so that we are not disturbed. Would get some wine to go with our food and ask you about your life.”

“Red or white wine?” She asked only out of curiosity.

Sy scratched his beard, frowning as he thought. “Not a wine guy. But I would drink it if you like.”

Olivia was flattered that the Captain was ready to make an exception for her. She felt her heart flutter but decided to shrug her shoulder nonchalantly. She gestured to him to go on because she wanted to hear what else he planned for this date.

“After dinner, I’ll take you…for a nice walk at the park. We would sit on a bench and talk, maybe get a little handsy.” He raised his eyebrow suggestively, his mouth curling at the corner.

“Phft!” Olivia huffed, rolling her eyes. But internally her mind was already filling up with images of running her hands down Sy’s chest or feeling his hands on her butt. She took a slow breath to calm her rapidly heating body.

“Okay, scratch that. We’ll maybe go for an ice-cream. And when I’ll drop you back at your place, we’ll stand outside on the porch with only the crickets keeping us company,” Sy stood up from the wall and took a step towards Olivia. His voice dropped an octave as he spoke, “And I’ll kiss you like no other man has ever done.”

Olivia’s breath hitched as she looked at Sy’s mesmerizing eyes. She looked at his tantalizing lips, darting her tongue out to wet her own. She gulped as her throat went dry and the cold vanished from around her. It felt the longest moment in her life where she debated whether to just lean in and get the kiss Sy seemed to be offering.

But like a jolt of lightning and an unpleasant déjà vu, Olivia was reminded of something similar happening between her and her other captain. It had been a momentary lapse of reasoning which had led her to get involved with Alex and enter a complicated relationship with him.

As soon as the thought appeared in her mind, Olivia pushed herself off the wall and took a step back. She couldn’t let herself get sucked into another man’s life while she already had unresolved issues with another. She noticed Sy’s eyebrows knit together in confusion before she turned to look the other way. She closed her eyes, sighing and thinking of a clever way to dissolve the moment. Luckily for her, Syverson was a clever man and he must have picked up on the hint for he called Pats to accompany him to the south gate.

Olivia watched as the Captain walked away without addressing her or glancing her way. She was certain she had wounded the man’s ego in one way or another. She let out a slow breath, felt her shoulders slump as Sy’s figure disappeared behind the building.

Chapter Four>

✨Series Masterlist✨

Tagging: @wanderlustkitkat @michelehansel @stephartrave @yuhsophie @hennerslionhat @henrythickcavill @eldarwen333 @peakygroupie @klaine-92 @thelastsock @indigosaurus @oddsnendsfanfics @viking-raider @cavillliketravel @geralt-of-baevia @achaoticaugust @dancingwendigo @littlefreya @luclittlepond @mansaaay @agniavateira @inlovewithhisblueeyes @henryobsessed @henryfanfics101 @poucinette1333 @ohmygoodie @oolicity @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @asyverson @awhitewolfandhisvibraniumshield

#Captain syverson #Captain Syverson fanfic #captain syverson x ofc #Sand and Stars series #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic

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atc74 · 4 years ago

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The One With The Letter

Square(s) Filled: Breakup for @spngenrebingo, Free Space for BTZ Bingo

Warnings: breakups, angst, tears, angst, confessions, love, fluff, implied future smut

Summary: After another break up, Dean can’t just sit back anymore. Will he be the man of action like we know him to be, or will he surprise us all?

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1585

Written for: @supernatural-jackles Bi-Weekly Writing Challenge (prompts in bold) and @smol-and-grumpy Nat’s SuperFriends Title Challenge

Beta’d by: @amanda-teaches

A/N: Thank you to my cheerleader and friend @waywardbeanie, for always saying the things I need to hear. Inspired by Billy Joel’s An Innocent Man, lyrics have been worked into the fic throughout.

Like Dean’s scent? Buy it here from @scentsfromthebunker!

From the curved entry of her front door, Dean watches as his best friend, his rock, weeps. Another failed relationship that she no doubt blames herself for. But the truth was, she was attracted to a certain type of guy. A clean shiny penny on the outside, but on the inside, worth less than that. Not a single man she had dated in the last few years had treated her even close to how she deserves to be treated. How he could treat her. How he wants to treat her. No matter what, Dean is always there to hold her, to pick up her pieces and hold them together until she finds the strength to move forward.

Y/N had been there for him when he hit rock bottom, too. A string of terrible relationships with women who would never hold a candle to her. That is why they failed. He knew that going in and yet, he kept going. For the last few years, she has been the only woman for him. He tries to make her see it, between douchebags, but he can never get through to her. He has been biding his time. Maybe, just maybe, tonight she’ll listen to him.

Because, he is an innocent man in this situation. He has never hurt her, has never lied to her. He hates seeing her like this. If she opens that door, lets someone in, fearful of a touch, living with the anger of having been a fool. She will not listen to anyone so nobody tells her a lie. For three weeks, he stops over each night after work to find her in this state of pain and anguish. With measured movements, he lowers himself to the sofa beside her, pulling her blanket a little tighter around her. Y/N involuntarily flinches at the soft touch.

Sniffling and wiping at her eyes, Y/N pushes him away. “I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“I know you don’t, sweetheart, and you don’t have to. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me either, but I wanted to see you. See how you’re holding up,” Dean’s soft voice rumbles through her small living room.

Dean murmurs gently, his words encroaching further on her space. “I’m not going to talk to you if that’s not what you want. Please call me later, Y/N. You can’t ignore me forever. Let me know you’re okay.”

“I don’t owe you an explanation, Dean,” she snaps, immediately regretting her words, her tone. Dean is always here. Each and every time she fails, he is right here to mend her broken pieces. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you don’t owe me anything, Y/N/N. I just want you to feel better, and I’ll do anything to see you smile again,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

With that, Dean rises from the worn sofa, dropping an envelope from his jacket pocket before turning and leaving, the door clicking loudly behind him. He uses the spare key she gave him to secure the lock, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. “I love you, Y/N.”

~*~

The daily alarm wakes her from a fitful slumber. Y/N blinks slowly, trying to clear the cobwebs of sorrow and tears from her heavy eyes. The first rays of sunlight dance across flecks of dust floating in the air, landing on the cluttered coffee table, illuminating the plain white envelope, her name written across the front in Dean’s simple block lettering.

A small hand snakes out from the beneath the warm blanket, snatching the envelope from its resting place. With shaking fingers, Y/N opens it and scans the letters scrawled across the page. She takes a deep breath and starts at the beginning.

Y/N,

I know you’ve been through some shit, none of which you deserve. None of it was your fault, so stop blaming yourself. You’ve been my rock so long, I don’t know what I’d do without you by my side. I’ll be here for you through anything, good or bad, come Hell or highwater.

I know you don't want to hear what I say. I know you're gonna keep turning away. But, I've been there and if I can survive, then I know you can, too. I can keep you alive. I'm not above going through it again, for you. I’ll do anything for you.

I know you’re only protecting yourself. I know you’re thinking of somebody else. Someone who hurt you, but I’m not above making up for the love you’ve been denying you could ever feel. I'm not above doing anything to restore your faith if I can. Faith in humanity, in men, in me.

I’ve held on to these feelings for you so long, too afraid to open my big mouth and lose the best thing that ever happened to me. But I can’t keep it to myself any more. I don’t just want to be the one to comfort you when you’re hurting, I want to be the one to protect you and keep you safe, so you don’t hurt anymore. I want to be the reason you smile, because you’ve been mine since the moment we met.

Some people say they will never believe another promise they hear in the dark, because they only remember too well they heard somebody tell them before. I know you’ve heard them before, but this is my first promise to you, I will never make you a promise I don’t intend to keep.

I don’t want to sleep alone every night. I want you by my side, to curl into you, create a safe space for you to just be, to feel, to be loved.

But, I've been there and if I can survive, I can keep you alive. I'm not above going through it again. I'm not above being cool for a while, so if you're cruel to me I'll understand. That's your decision, but I'm not below anybody I know if there's a chance of resurrecting a love. I'm not above going back to the start to find out where the heartache began. To hold you until you believe the promises I whisper. To hold you until you believe that I’ll never hurt you. To hold you until you believe in you, in me...in us.

I’d never do anything to ruin what we have. I guess some people hope for a miracle cure, or some people just accept the world as it is. But, I'm not willing to lay down and die without you, not without a fight. I’ll fight for us, but more importantly, I’ll fight for you.

All my love always,

Dean

Through the tears, Y/N reads his letter over and over until she can no longer see. Wiping her eyes, she unlocks her phone and shoots him a text. With new found resolve, she jumps in the shower. When she emerges from the steam, feeling better than she has in months, she finds her best friend sitting on her sofa.

“Thank you for coming, Dean. After I pushed you away last night, I didn’t know if you would,” she whispers, taking a seat next to him.

“I’ll always be here when you need me, or want me. You know that, Y/N,” Dean assures her, taking her hands in his. “I see you read my letter.”

“It’s always been you, I was just too scared and selfish, and foolish to see it,” she replies, shaking her thoughts loose. “I never thought my feelings would be reciprocated. Nobody’s ever written me a love letter before.”

“I knew I couldn’t say all of that out loud, I was so scared to say anything, I didn’t want to lose you. I guess we’re a couple of idiots, huh?” Dean chuckles.

“We found each other. That’s all that matters,” Y/N smiles, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I don’t know about you, but I could use a nap,” Dean yawns, running his fingers through her hair.

“Didn’t sleep well?” she questions, looking up at him.

“Not when I slept on the floor outside your door.”

“You did not!” Y/N smacks his shoulder playfully.

“I bet the neighbors know my name,” he grins sheepishly, pointing at his work shirt, his name clearly on display.

“Not how you hoped that would happen, is it?” Y/N giggles, teasing him.

“It made you laugh, though. I missed it; your laugh, your smile,” Dean says, cupping her cheek. “I missed you.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles.

“Don’t be. Where there is no struggle, there is no strength. We will be strong together,” Dean vows.

“Did you just quote Oprah Winfrey?” she laughs.

“I did. You’re a bad influence on me, what can I say?” he shrugs.

“Let’s get some rest. We can be bad together later,” she winks, rising from her seat and reaching out her hand for him.

“Can we fight so we can have some angry make-up sex later?” Dean smirks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Slow down, Winchester. Nap first. We’re only about ten minutes in, I don’t know if I’m ready to have our first fight yet,” she scoffs.

“Well, if it helps, it will probably be my fault and I’ll spend hours apologizing,” Dean offers.

“So the neighbors really know your name?” she giggles.

“As long as you keep laughing and smiling, I don’t care what they call me, as long as you call me yours.”

Did you like it? The nicest thing you can do for a writer is reblog their work and tell them, and others, how much you like it!

The Whole Enchilada: @iwantthedean @dolphincliffs @mrswhozeewhatsis @flamencodiva @blacktithe7 @amanda-teaches @hannahindie @kickingitwithkirk @wi-deangirl77 @hobby27 @gh0stgurl @alleiradayne @idreamofplaid @manawhaat @crashdevlin @emoryhemsworth @fangirlxwritesx67 @winchesterprincessbride @waywardbeanie @jensengirl83 @anathewierdo @winchest09

The Dean’s List: @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @dean-winchesters-bacon @adoptdontshoppets @supernatural-jackles @fandom-princess-forevermore @akshi8278 @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @deanwanddamons @rockhoochie

#SPN Bi-weekly writing challenge #superfriendstitlechallenge #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester angst #dean x reader

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hlupdate · 4 years ago

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Variety’s Grammy-nominated Hitmaker of the Year goes deep on the music industry, the great pause and finding his own muses.

“We’ll dance again,” Harry Styles coos, the Los Angeles sunshine peeking through his pandemic-shaggy hair just so. The singer, songwriter and actor — beloved and critically acclaimed thanks to his life-affirming year-old album, “Fine Line” — is lamenting that his Variety Hitmaker of the Year cover conversation has to be conducted over Zoom rather than in person. Even via videoconference, the Brit is effortlessly charming, as anyone who’s come within earshot of him would attest, but it quickly becomes clear that beneath that genial smile is a well-honed media strategy.

To wit: In an interview that appears a few days later announcing his investment in a new arena in his native Manchester (more on that in a bit), he repeats the refrain — “There will be a time we dance again”— referencing a much-needed return to live music and the promise of some 4,000 jobs for residents.

None of which is to suggest that Styles, 26, phones it in for interviews. Quite the opposite: He does very few, conceivably to give more of himself and not cheapen what is out there and also to use the publicity opportunity to indulge his other interests, like fashion. (Last month Styles became the first male to grace the cover of Vogue solo.) Still, it stings a little that a waltz with the former One Direction member may not come to pass on this album cycle — curse you, coronavirus.

Styles’ isolation has coincided with his maturation as an artist, a thespian and a person. With “Fine Line,” he’s proved himself a skilled lyricist with a tremendous ear for harmony and melody. In preparing for his role in Olivia Wilde’s period thriller “Don’t Worry Darling,” which is shooting outside Palm Springs, he found an outlet for expression in interpreting words on a page. And for the first time, he’s using his megaphone to speak out about social justice — inspired by the outpouring of support for Black people around the world following the death of George Floyd at the hands of Minneapolis police in May.

Styles has spent much of the past nine months at home in London, where life has slowed considerably. The time has allowed him to ponder such heady issues as his purpose on the earth. “It’s been a pause that I don’t know if I would have otherwise taken,” says Styles. “I think it’s been pretty good for me to have a kind of stop, to look and think about what it actually means to be an artist, what it means to do what we do and why we do it. I lean into moments like this — moments of uncertainty.”

In truth, while Styles has largely been keeping a low profile — his Love On Tour, due to kick off on April 15, was postponed in late March and is now scheduled to launch in February 2021 (whether it actually will remains to be seen) — his music has not. This is especially true in the U.S., where he’s notched two hit singles, “Adore You,” the second-most-played song at radio in 2020, and “Watermelon Sugar” (No. 22 on Variety’s year-end Hitmakers chart), with a third, “Golden,” already cresting the top 20 on the pop format. The massive cross-platform success of these songs means Styles has finally and decisively broken into the American market, maneuvering its web of gatekeepers to accumulate 6.2 million consumption units and rising.

Why do these particular songs resonate in 2020? Styles doesn’t have the faintest idea. While he acknowledges a “nursery rhyme” feel to “Watermelon Sugar” with its earwormy loop of a chorus, that’s about as much insight as he can offer. His longtime collaborator and friend Tom Hull, also known as the producer Kid Harpoon, offers this take: “There’s a lot of amazing things about that song, but what really stands out is the lyric. It’s not trying to hide or be clever. The simplicity of watermelon … there’s such a joy in it, [which] is a massive part of that song’s success.” Also, his kids love it. “I’ve never had a song connect with children in this way,” says Hull, whose credits include tunes by Shawn Mendes, Florence and the Machine and Calvin Harris. “I get sent videos all the time from friends of their kids singing. I have a 3-year-old and an 8-year-old, and they listen to it.”

Styles is quick to note that he doesn’t chase pop appeal when crafting songs. In fact, the times when he pondered or approved a purposeful tweak, like on his self-titled 2017 debut, still gnaw at him. “I love that album so much because it represents such a time in my life, but when I listen to it — sonically and lyrically, especially — I can hear places where I was playing it safe,” he says. “I was scared to get it wrong.”

Contemporary effects and on-trend beats hardly factor into Styles’ decision-making. He likes to focus on feelings — his own and his followers’ — and see himself on the other side of the velvet rope, an important distinction in his view. “People within [the industry] feel like they operate on a higher level of listening, and I like to make music from the point of being a fan of music,” Styles says. “Fans are the best A&R.”

This from someone who’s had free rein to pursue every musical whim, and hand in the album of his dreams in the form of “Fine Line.” Chart success makes it all the sweeter, but Styles insists that writing “for the right reasons” supersedes any commercial considerations. “There’s no part that feels, eh, icky — like it was made in the lab,” he says.

Styles has experience in this realm. As a graduate of the U.K. competition series “The X Factor,” where he and four other auditionees — Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne and Louis Tomlinson — were singled out by show creator and star judge Simon Cowell to conjoin as One Direction, he’s seen how the prefab pop machine works up close. The One Direction oeuvre, which counts some 42 million albums sold worldwide, includes songs written with such established hitmakers as Ryan Tedder, Savan Kotecha and Teddy Geiger. Being a studious, insatiable observer, Styles took it all in.

“I learned so much,” he says of the experience. “When we were in the band, I used to try and write with as many different people as I could. I wanted to practice — and I wrote a lot of bad shit.”

His bandmates also benefited from the pop star boot camp. The proof is in the relatively seamless solo transitions of at least three of its members — Payne, Malik and Horan in addition to Styles — each of whom has landed hit singles on charts in the U.K., the U.S. and beyond.

This departs from the typical trajectories of boy bands including New Kids on the Block and ’N Sync, which have all pro ered a star frontman. The thinking for decades was that a record company would be lucky to have one breakout solo career among the bunch.

Styles has plainly thought about this.

“When you look at the history of people coming out of bands and starting solo careers, they feel this need to apologize for being in the band. ‘Don’t worry, everyone, that wasn’t me! Now I get to do what I really want to do.’ But we loved being in the band,” he says. “I think there’s a wont to pit people against each other. And I think it’s never been about that for us. It’s about a next step in evolution. The fact that we’ve all achieved different things outside of the band says a lot about how hard we worked in it.”

Indeed, during the five-ish years that One Direction existed, Styles’ schedule involved the sort of nonstop international jet-setting that few get to see in a lifetime, never mind their teenage years. Between 2011 and 2015, One Direction’s tours pulled in north of $631 million in gross ticket sales, according to concert trade Pollstar, and the band was selling out stadiums worldwide by the time it entered its extended hiatus. Styles, too, had built up to playing arenas as a solo artist, engaging audiences with his colorful stage wear and banter and left-of-center choices for opening acts (a pre-Grammy-haul Kacey Musgraves in 2018; indie darlings King Princess and Jenny Lewis for his rescheduled 2021 run).

Stages of all sizes feel like home to Styles. He grew up in a suburb of Manchester, ground zero for some of the biggest British acts of the 1980s and ’90s, including Joy Division, New Order, the Smiths and Oasis, the latter of which broke the same year Styles was born. His parents were also music lovers. Styles’ father fed him a balanced diet of the Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, the Rolling Stones and Queen, while Mum was a fan of Shania Twain, Norah Jones and Savage Garden. “They’re all great melody writers,” says Styles of the acts’ musical throughline.

Stevie Nicks, who in the past has described “Fine Line” as Styles’ “Rumours,” referencing the Fleetwood Mac 1977 classic, sees him as a kindred spirit. “Harry writes and sings his songs about real experiences that seemingly happened yesterday,” she tells Variety. “He taps into real life. He doesn’t make up stories. He tells the truth, and that is what I do. ‘Fine Line’ has been my favorite record since it came out. It is his ‘Rumours.’ I told him that in a note on December 13, 2019 before he went on stage to play the ‘Fine Line’ album at the Forum. We cried. He sang those songs like he had sung them a thousand times. That’s a great songwriter and a great performer.”

“Harry’s playing and writing is instinctual,” adds Jonathan Wilson, a friend and peer who’s advised Styles on backing and session musicians. “He understands history and where to take the torch. You can see the thread of great British performers — from Bolan to Bowie — in his music.”

Also shaping his musical DNA was Manchester itself, the site of a 23,500-seat arena, dubbed Co-op Live, for which Styles is an investor and adviser. Oak View Group, a company specializing in live entertainment and global sports that was founded by Tim Leiweke and Irving Azoff in 2015 (Jeffrey Azoff, Irving’s son, represents Styles at Full Stop Management), is leading the effort to construct the venue. The project gained planning approval in September and is set to open in 2023, with its arrival representing a £350 million ($455 million) investment in the city. (Worth noting: Manchester is already home to an arena — the site of a 2017 bombing outside an Ariana Grande concert — and a football stadium, where One Love Manchester, an all-star benefit show to raise money for victims of the terrorist attack, took place.)

“I went to my first shows in Manchester,” Styles says of concerts paid for with money earned delivering newspapers for a supermarket called the Co-op. “My friends and I would go in on weekends. There’s so many amazing small venues, and music is such a massive part of the city. I think Manchester deserves it. It feels like a full-circle, coming-home thing to be doing this and to be able to give any kind of input. I’m incredibly proud. Hopefully they’ll let me play there at some point.”

Though Styles has owned properties in Los Angeles, his base for the foreseeable future is London. “I feel like my relationship with L.A. has changed a lot,” he explains. “I’ve kind of accepted that I don’t have to live here anymore; for a while I felt like I was supposed to. Like it meant things were going well. This happened, then you move to L.A.! But I don’t really want to.”

Is it any wonder? Between COVID and the turmoil in the U.S. spurred by the presidential election, Styles, like some 79 million American voters, is recovering from sticker shock over the bill of goods sold to them by the concept of democracy. “In general, as people, there’s a lack of empathy,” he observes. “We found this place that’s so divisive. We just don’t listen to each other anymore. And that’s quite scary.”

That belief prompted Styles to speak out publicly in the wake of George Floyd’s death. As protests in support of Black Lives Matter took to streets all over the world, for Styles, it triggered a period of introspection, as marked by an Instagram message (liked by 2.7 million users and counting) in which he declared: “I do things every day without fear, because I am privileged, and I am privileged every day because I am white. … Being not racist is not enough, we must be anti racist. Social change is enacted when a society mobilizes. I stand in solidarity with all of those protesting. I’m donating to help post bail for arrested organizers. Look inwards, educate yourself and others. LISTEN, READ, SHARE, DONATE and VOTE. ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. BLACK LIVES MATTER.”

“Talking about race can be really uncomfortable for everyone,” Styles elaborates. “I had a realization that my own comfort in the conversation has nothing to do with the problem — like that’s not enough of a reason to not have a conversation. Looking back, I don’t think I’ve been outspoken enough in the past. Using that feeling has pushed me forward to being open and ready to learn. … How can I ensure from my side that in 20 years, the right things are still being done and the right people are getting the right opportunities? That it’s not a passing thing?”

His own record company — and corporate parent Sony Music Group, whose chairman, Rob Stringer, signed Styles in 2016 — has been grappling with these same questions as the industry has faced its own reckoning with race. At issue: inequality among the upper ranks (an oft-cited statistic: popular music is 80% Black, but the music business is 80% white); contracts rooted in a decades-old system that many say is set up to take advantage of artists, Black artists more unfairly than white; and the call for a return of master rights, an ownership model that is at the core of the business.

Styles acknowledges the fundamental imbalance in how a major label deal is structured — the record company takes on the financial risk while the artist is made to recoup money spent on the project before the act is considered profitable and earning royalties (typically at a 15% to 18% rate for the artist, while the label keeps and disburses the rest). “Historically, I can’t think of any industry that’s benefited more off of Black culture than music,” he says. “There are discussions that need to happen about this long history of not being paid fairly. It’s a time for listening, and hopefully, people will come out humbled, educated and willing to learn and change.”

By all accounts, Styles is a voracious reader, a movie lover and an aesthete. He stays in shape by adhering to a strict daily exercise routine. “I tried to keep up but didn’t last more than two weeks,” says Hull, Styles’ producer, with a laugh. “The discipline is terrifying.”

Of course, with the fashion world beckoning — Styles recently appeared in a film series for Gucci’s new collection that was co-directed by the fashion house’s creative director, Alessandro Michele, and Oscar winner Gus Van Sant — and a movie that’s set in the 1950s, maintaining that physique is part of the job. And he’s no stranger to visual continuity after appearing in Christopher Nolan’s epic “Dunkirk” and having to return to set for reshoots; his hair, which needed to be cut back to its circa 1940 form, is a constant topic of conversation among fans. This time, it’s the ink that poses a challenge. By Styles’ tally, he’s up to 60 tattoos, which require an hour in the makeup chair to cover up. “It’s the only time I really regret getting tattooed,” he says.

He shows no regret, however, when it comes to stylistic choices overall, and takes pride in his gender-agnostic portfolio, which includes wearing a Gucci dress on that Vogue cover— an image that incited conservative pundit Candace Owens to plead publicly to “bring back manly men.” In Styles’ view: “To not wear [something] because it’s females’ clothing, you shut out a whole world of great clothes. And I think what’s exciting about right now is you can wear what you like. It doesn’t have to be X or Y. Those lines are becoming more and more blurred.”

But acclaim, if you can believe it, is not top of mind for Styles. As far as the Grammys are concerned, Styles shrugs, “It’s never why I do anything.” His team and longtime label, however, had their hearts set on a showing at the Jan. 31 ceremony. Their investment in Styles has been substantial — not just monetarily but in carefully crafting his career in the wake of such icons as David Bowie, who released his final albums with the label. Hope at the company and in many fans’ hearts that Styles would receive an album of the year nomination did not come to pass. However, he was recognized in three categories, including best pop vocal album.

“It’s always nice to know that people like what you’re doing, but ultimately — and especially working in a subjective field — I don’t put too much weight on that stuff,” Styles says. “I think it’s important when making any kind of art to remove the ego from it.” Citing the painter Matisse, he adds: “It’s about the work that you do when you’re not expecting any applause.”

#harry styles #variety #021220

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hldailyupdate · 4 years ago

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This Charming Man: Why We’re Wild About Harry Styles

Variety’s Grammy-nominated Hitmaker of the Year goes deep on the music industry, the great pause and finding his own muses.

Styles has plainly thought about this.

Harry for Variety. (2 December 2020)

#harry styles #harry update #article #variety #hldaily #December 2020

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ickle-ronniekins · 5 years ago

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tranquility

A/N: i've been real shit at working on my requests and i'm so sorry. i think i've just needed a bit of a break to work on my own writing, my own ideas? i've got so many! and i want to keep that up so i don’t have an interference with... you know....... that thing writers hate so much. anyway enjoy me being a dork, yet again;;;; also trying something new with no dialogue whatsoever

warnings: anxiety, mentions of mental health battles, war, things of the like

tag list: @mintlibri @seppys-return-to-madness @georgeweasleyx @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @waschbiber @dreamer821 @feffffffy @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @obsessedwithrandomthings @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @sleep-i-ness @shadychaoticcollection @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @hood-and-horan @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @angelinathebook @highly-acidic | message me to be added lovelies

Blackness engulfed the corridors. It was always odd to George, seeing the school so differently after hours. Quiet. Still. Dark. Even after all those times he’d snuck out of the common room with Fred, it still managed to hit him in a strange way. The eeriness of it all. But he liked having the corridors all to himself -- no nosy professors, no chattering students.. no silly talking portraits. At least now all he had to deal with was their rather irritating snoring.

He turned the corner toward the great hall and checked his watch. It was nearing three a.m., and he sighed greatly. He had to be up in just about four hours for lessons, and he hadn’t been able to sleep. For days, even. Weeks, if he was being really honest. The world he loved so desperately, like the hallways surrounding him, was becoming darker. Much, much darker.

Insomnia had never been much of a problem for George. In fact, it hadn’t been a problem at all -- especially all of those times Professor McGonagall would whack him upside the head during lessons when he’d doze off and Fred would very rudely not wake him, and instead he’d have to deal with the wrath of the Deputy Head and the teasing from his twin. But now, in this new world, this new atmosphere, this new school being overtaken by the ministry, impending war on the horizon, after the nightmares had started.. he was having trouble falling asleep at all.

He hadn’t told anyone how scared he was. How could he? If he was being honest, his own overbearing feelings of fear made him feel much like a child, and not at all like an eighteen-year-old. He hadn’t even told Fred. But even so, Fred didn’t need to be told. They were brothers, weren’t they? But even more than that. Fred always joked, ever since they were young and foolish, that he could reach George’s mind. You’re a prat, Freddie! George would laugh. And now, more than ever, it seemed to be true; Fred had seemingly immersed himself right inside of George’s head.��It’s going to be okay, mate. You know that, right?

George found himself gliding against the slick corridor floors quite easily in his slippers. He peered into the great hall, at the ceiling, enchanted to look like the night sky, millions of stars twinkling above him. He grinned at it, even though he knew, deep down, that the sky outside was much less vibrant. Grey, even. A dark grey. Dark, mysterious, different.

He began to pull at his hair, the terrifying thoughts he’d been having playing through his mind like a film on repeat. He wondered, more often that not, why this ever-burdening anxiety has overtaken him so. He’d never been an anxious child -- no one in his family had been. So why, now, was this hitting him so differently? Rendering him completely useless in lessons? How was everyone else so much calmer about this than him?

He hadn’t told anyone of his nightmares, the evening he woke up with a jolt, in a panicked sort of state -- sweat dripping from his forehead, heart racing quicker than he can fly through the air on the Quidditch pitch. He just tried to suppress them, and ignore it.

He just did his best to bite his tongue, and focus on other things. Happy things.

That genuine smile,

that sultry lip curl,

that hair flick of long waves.

That eyebrow raise every time he was up to his usual mischief. That admiring sort of head shake every single time he got caught.

The soft eyes every time he’d shuffle into a lesson after a night full restless sleep, or the concerned expressions every time he’d had a night full of no sleep at all.

It was enough, for him, to make him forget about everything all together. Just for a moment, even. He just needed to be in the right headspace for it.

His body froze at the sound of a pair of nearby footsteps. He felt as though his feet had become cemented into the ground and he stood, absolutely frozen solid in the spot he so wished to vanish from. His heart raced with even more heightened panic. He couldn't afford another detention with Umbridge. Not again. He never wanted to admit it to anyone -- embarrassment seemed to eat him alive at the thought of it, but the pain he felt, the pain everyone felt from her ridiculous stunts as headmistress.. it had caused more than sadness. Tears pricked at his eyes at the mere thought of it. He slowly ran his thumb across the scars embedded into his skin.

Coming to, he swiftly scooted around the corner when he finally willed his feet to move -- he hadn’t wandered far, he just had to make it to the common room without getting caught. His slippers thumped lightly against the floors.. if he could only go a bit faster --

And then,

crash.

A never-ending stream of very rude phrases entered his mind.. phrases he very much knew his mother would disapprove of, and would probably send him a howler for if he’d said them aloud. He took a deep breath to calm any rising nerves and let his eyes adjust to the scene in front of him in the darkness. And then it hit him.

Your perfume.

You reached out and gently pressed your hands to his face. George tried, he really did, to push all of his feelings down, but they had a mind of their own, and before he could fully register what was happening in front of him, he was sobbing quite heavily into your arms.

It took every ounce of strength in him to cry quietly as you pulled him gently back to the common room, and up the stairs to the girls dormitory. You pulled out your wand and muttered some type of incantations he’d never heard of. He noticed the tenseness in your jaw, the concern in your furrowed brow. But when you turned to glance at him in the faded light from the embers of the fire in the corner of the room, all he saw was softness.

You pulled him into your bed, careful to pull the drapes of your four poster around you both completely so as not to disturb anyone else. And then a silencing charm. If he wanted to talk, then he could.

He reckoned there were no more stupid reasons as to why he should keep things from you any longer.

And he did tell you. Slowly, at first -- as you ran your hands through his hair, across his cheek bones, over the scars on his hands and listened -- and then very quickly. It seemed to just sort of pour out of him. He told you how it had all started, all of those nightmares. That restless sleep, erratic breathing, panic attacks in the middle of the night. The impending war. The detention with Umbridge. The fear every single time he received a copy of the Daily Prophet. The plans he and Fred had despite everything happening around them. It was all becoming far too much for him to fully digest.

You asked him why he hadn’t told you, and he skittishly unfolded.. told you he’d been embarrassed. Ashamed. How could someone so carefree, so mischievous, someone with a laugh escaping their lips every single moment of everyday.. become so scared?

And then he asked you, what were you doing out of bed?

And you told him, with a very soft grin lifting your cheeks, I knew something was wrong and needed to come and find you.

George began to sob again, gently this time -- the mere thought of you just waking up and knowing, feeling there was something wrong and immediately coming to find him without worry of being caught by the newest and ugliest headmistress.. it was like a warm, comforting embrace he so desperately yearned for. You wrapped your arms around him and kissed his hair. Ran your fingers across his shoulder blades. Let him nuzzle his head into your neck. And you kept repeating the same three words, over and over and over again. No matter how many times he needed to hear it, or how many times he wanted too.

And he looked up eventually and kissed you, your lips the softest thing he’d ever felt. And he kissed you and continued to silence out the rest of the world around you both for a while -- his hands entangled in your hair, yours across his muscled stomach -- before he grinned against you, whispered things to you, laid back down, and let you press soft kisses to his temple.

You noticed, eventually, that his breathing became less choppy, less erratic, and much more steadied. Much more regulated. And you realized, for the first time in weeks, that George was finally, peacefully asleep.. with no interruptions. No nightmares. No fear.

George awoke the next morning, only to see that you’d fallen asleep in a position sitting up against your pillow, holding him exactly as you had been the night prior. You hadn’t moved, so as not to wake him. His love for you was nearly pouring out of him at the mere sight.

And he realized, watching you as you shifted a bit and tugged gently on his fingers without waking up just yet, that it was the most peaceful, wonderful, tranquil sleep he’d had in months.

#george weasley #fred weasley #fred and george weasley #weasley twins #weasley twins imagine #george weasley x reader #george weasley reader insert #george weasley imagine #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fanfiction #weasley twins fanfic #weasley twins fanfiction #hp imagine #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction

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deanstop13billyjoeltraxx · 4 years ago

Text

Superposition

a deancas college roommate AU :)

Chapter 12 is up on AO3! Chapter-by-chapter masterlist here.

yes i updated twice this week my foot is broken i can’t do anything else

The Beginning (of the End)

Three Years Earlier

“You ready?”

Dean was standing by the door with a full backpack. Cas’s own was leaning against his closet. He was sitting at his computer, manically finishing a paragraph, only half-stalling.

“One second…” Cas trailed off as he ensured his document had saved properly. “Done. Yes,” he said. Dean rolled his eyes, but there was a small smile on his face.

Dean had just taken his last final that morning. It was nearly noon before they hit the road in the Impala, Dean’s twenty-minute tape-selection process doing nothing to hasten their departure. Eventually, he settled on Moving Pictures, and he pulled out of the parking lot with “Tom Sawyer” blaring through the speakers.

Cas learned many things on the two-and-a-half hour drive to Lawrence — that Dean knew every word to every song in his tape collection, and he was not afraid to demonstrate it; that Dean had driven through almost every town on I-35; and that he had a story for each. He learned that Dean could begrudgingly appreciate 80s pop when Cas flipped on the radio and allowed the entirety of “Heat of the Moment” to play, uninterrupted. He learned that Dean would often turn to sing his favorite lyric right at Cas, or to tell him music trivia, or just to give him a smile.

When they arrived at Bobby’s house in Lawrence, a gangly teen who Cas assumed to be Sam was waiting for them at the door. Dean had barely made it out of the car before Sam was running to him, pulling him into a hug. Dean was grumbling “I wasn’t gone that long,” but he was smiling and sniffling and hugging Sam just as hard. Cas hid his smile.

Sam introduced himself to Cas, all smiles and raw excitement. His openness was contagious. Sam insisted on hauling Cas’s backpack inside for him, to which Dean threw an apologetic look at Cas. Cas just grinned back at him.

Bobby Singer was gruff-voiced and stoic, but there were tears in his eyes as he gave Dean a quick hug. He shook Cas’s hand firmly and said it was real good to meet him, after everything he’s heard. Dean went beet-red when Cas cast him a glance.

Bobby brought beers and a coke for Sam. The four of them sat in Bobby’s living room, Dean and Cas replaying the semester’s highlights for a rapt audience. When Bobby left the room to order a pizza, he clapped Dean on the shoulder and said, in a low voice, “Real proud of you, kid.” Cas thought it might have been the happiest he’d ever seen Dean.

“Dean told me you’re a writer,” Sam said when it was just the three of them. “He said you were writing a book.”

Dean made an indignant sound. “I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, you did,” Sam retorted. “You said he —”

“I said he was majoring in creative writing,” Dean interrupted, giving Sam a look.

“I am… working on something,” Cas said to Sam. “Although, I’m not quite sure it’s a book. I’ve never tried my hand at writing novels.”

“Dean says your stories are really good,” Sam said, and Dean shot him a death glare. Cas could barely contain his laughter. “What do you usually write?”

“Before this semester, I typically wrote about my own life,” Cas said, feeling slightly self-conscious. “But one of my classes challenged me to write about other things.”

“What’s your book about?” Sam asked.

“Can you contain your nerd for, like, ten minutes?” Dean grumbled. “Dude just got here, you don’t need to scare him off.”

Sam flipped him off, and Dean muttered, “Real mature.”

Cas was considering Sam’s question, trying to come up with an answer that was both vague and satisfying. “It’s about free will,” he said finally.

“Can I read it? When you’re done, I mean,” Sam said. “I love reading. I just finished Lord of the Rings last month.”

Cas smiled. “If I ever finish it, of course,” he said. “Lord of the Rings is a fantastic book series,” he added, and Sam’s face lit up.

Dean let out a long-suffering sigh when Sam started Cas on a conversation about Tolkien, and he excused himself to get another beer. When he returned, Bobby close behind him, he threw a pillow at Sam’s head, which led to Sam throwing it back, knocking Dean’s beer to the floor, and then it was war. Bobby shot Cas an eye-roll, which only made him laugh harder.

The rest of the week passed much the same. Castiel went to bed each night with sore cheeks from smiling. On Saturday, Sam roped him into pouring toothpaste into Dean’s shampoo bottle. The roar they heard from the shower that night had them nearly on the floor laughing. Dean got his revenge on Sam moments later, barreling out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel to give his brother a large, wet hug. Unbeknownst to Dean, his retaliation involved Cas as well; it took great effort to keep his eyes focused on anything but Dean’s bare midsection.

Dean dragged him to all of his favorite spots in Lawrence, places he remembered from early childhood and past Christmases with Bobby. Watching Dean in his element, Cas gave up. Resistance was futile. Cas didn’t fall in love with Dean in Lawrence, but he stopped trying to open a parachute against it. And while that observably changed nothing, for Cas, it changed everything. He’d already lost the game — what was the point in denying himself the consolation prize?

He leaned into the ache that came with the brilliance of Dean’s smiles. He relished the knot in his stomach when Dean spoke to everyone, but looked at Cas like it was just for him. He stole glances. He hid smiles. Dean permeated his thoughts and invaded his dreams. It hurt like hell, sleeping alone on an air mattress, wanting nothing more than to be laying next to the man in the other room. But the highs were addicting, made greater by the pain that followed them. Though he’d been down this road before, hopelessly in love with someone who would never, could never love him back, Dean felt different. Dean felt all-consuming.

Castiel had fallen, and he wasn’t sure if he would ever rise again.

Christmas with the Winchesters made every holiday celebration Cas had attended look boring. Ellen Harvelle and her daughter, Jo, arrived in the morning, each giving him a hug like they’d known him for years. The moment she walked in, Ellen was yelling at Dean to “get his ass in the kitchen.” He grabbed Cas by the arm and pulled him along.

Cas spent the rest of the day watching Dean and Ellen cook, helping when he could, then having a raucous meal on the floor of the living room, A Christmas Story playing on the old TV. Bobby popped open two bottles of cheap champagne, much to the chagrin of Jo and Sam, who were provided sparkling grape juice instead. They exchanged gifts, and Dean looked at Cas like he’d just won the lottery after opening Cas’s gift to him, a limited edition copy of Houses of the Holy. When Bobby and Ellen moved to the kitchen to clean up, Dean led Cas outside to the Impala.

“It was too big to hide in there, and I’m shit at wrapping, so I just left it in the car,” Dean said, a little sheepish. He opened the trunk, and Cas gasped.

Inside sat a vintage black typewriter, an Underwood Champion. The paint was chipped everywhere, the letters on the keys nearly worn-off.

“It’s not in great shape,” Dean said, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “But it was the coolest one they had at the antique shop. It’s kind of useless, since you have a laptop and all, but —”

Cas interrupted him by pulling him into a tight hug. Dean made a surprised sound, but wrapped his arms around Cas’s back.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas said into his shoulder. He pulled away. “It’s perfect.”

Dean shrugged, but looked pleased all the same.

“I have something else for you, too,” Cas said before he could change his mind. Dean crossed his arms.

“Dude, you already went way too hard with the vinyl,” Dean said.

Cas rolled his eyes and started his way back to the house. Dean shut the trunk and followed.

Cas grabbed his backpack and pulled out the stack of paper, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. He all but shoved it into Dean’s chest, who gave him a confused look as he took hold of the gift.

“It’s the first part of my first draft,” Cas explained as Dean read the cover page. Dean’s eyes were wide when he looked back at Cas. “It’s a selfish gift, really,” Cas said. “I want to know what you think.”

Dean broke into a slow grin. “This is awesome, Cas,” he said. “I can’t wait to read it. Thank you.”

They were supposed to leave Lawrence on New Year’s Day, but Dean and Cas were both too hungover to even think about making the trip. They stayed an extra night, much to the delight of Sam. The three of them spent New Year’s marathoning the Harry Potter movies. As usual, Dean spent most of the time reciting lines and pointing out his favorite scenes to Cas. Eventually, Sam became irritated enough that he told Dean to shove it, to which Dean responded that Cas liked hearing his thoughts, thank you very much. Dean kicked him in the ribs when Sam rolled his eyes and mumbled something like “Sorry for messing up your game.” Cas pretended not to hear that, pretended not to see Dean give Sam a glare that said, bring that up again, and I’ll kill you. All the same, he couldn’t help but wonder…

But, no. Dean wasn’t flirting with him, Cas knew that much. Sam just said the first thing he could think of to get a rise out of Dean.

They didn’t end up leaving until after dinner the next day, Sam and even Bobby pulling both of them in for hugs. Dean turned on the radio for the first half of the drive, but kept the volume low. He was quiet, and although Cas wanted to ask, he allowed Dean to sit in whatever he was feeling, watching the flat landscape pass outside the passenger window.

Dean had forgotten to tank up in Lawrence, so they stopped for gas in Emporia. It was dark by then, the unnatural white fluorescents shining starkly against the night sky. Cas stayed in the passenger seat as Dean pumped the gas. Cas watched him intently from the safety of the cab, another stolen moment wherein he allowed the full depth of his feelings to overcome him. It hurt, as it always did, but he thought the pain of wanting what he could never have was becoming softer, more bearable, like he might be able to live with it.

Dean opened the car door, and a rush of cold air assaulted the cab. “It’s nice out tonight,” Dean said. Cas hummed in agreement, contemplating Dean’s languid movements as he pulled his hoodie over his head. It was torturous, the way his shirt rode up to reveal a torso chiseled like marble, dusted with freckles. It was impossible not to stare. He looked away just before Dean looked at him again.

“I’m gonna go grab a snack,” he said. “You want anything?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Cas said.

Dean returned momentarily with an already-half empty package of powdered donuts, grinning widely. Cas rolled his eyes as Dean reentered the cab.

“Prudent,” he deadpanned.

“These things are fucking magic,” Dean said before making a completely inappropriate noise as he popped another into his mouth. Cas averted his eyes.

“Do you eat the most unhealthy foods in existence on purpose?” Cas asked.

Dean looked at him with mock affront. “I just eat what tastes good,” he said.

The Impala roared to life. Dean opened the window to toss the empty package into a nearby trash can, dusting his fingers off in the air. He turned back to Cas, the right side of his mouth covered in powdered sugar.

“Ready to go?”

Cas frowned. “You look like a small child in a donut shop,” he said.

“What?” Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth, then raised his eyebrows at Cas. “Better?”

“Barely,” Cas said, his frown deepening. And then his hand was moving without his permission, reaching up to dust the remaining white from the side of Dean’s mouth. It might have been nothing, were it not for the fact that his thumb lingered just a moment too long. Cas was staring at Dean’s lips, the breath stolen from his lungs. Shit.

“Cas?” Dean said, an eyebrow cocked.

Cas pulled his hand back like he’d been burned. “What?” He croaked. His throat felt like sandpaper.

Dean was looking at him with a mix of curiosity and melancholy, and Cas was done for. After all this time, every trip to the dining hall, every movie watched on a shared beanbag, every midnight trip to Taco Bell, it was here that Cas put the final nail in the coffin. It was at a shitty gas station in the middle-of-nowhere, Kansas, that Dean discovered his secret.

“Nothing,” Dean said slowly. As they pulled out of the gas station parking lot, Dean didn’t even bother to turn on the radio. Cas only dared a single glance in Dean’s direction, but when he did, he found Dean’s eyebrows knit in concentration, his jaw set, like this drive was the most important thing he’d ever done.

The air felt like it was about to condense with the weight of the silence. That final hour of the drive had Cas fidgeting, turning his phone over and over in his hands. Dean was perfectly still, hardly moving his eyes from the road. Dean, the definition of nervous energy, wholly devoted to a single task. Cas could have laughed at the irony if he hadn’t been silently begging for immediate reorganization into an inanimate object.

Because nothing in the history of unrequited love confessions could beat this. Cas didn’t have a prayer. And maybe Dean would pretend he hadn’t seen it, maybe they’d never talk about it. But everything would be different. Dean would find excuses to miss dinner, Cas would pretend to be exhausted every Tuesday night. Dean would break the news that he’d found a different roommate for the following school year. Cas would remark that they should keep in touch at the year’s end, and Dean would agree with a clap on the back, and they would never speak to each other again.

Finally, mercifully, Dean pulled into the dorm parking lot. Cas exhaled hard, as if he’d been holding his breath. Dean gave him a quizzical glance, which Castiel promptly ignored. When Dean shifted into park, Cas had his hand on the door handle immediately. He was about to open it, to take a breath of frigid, fresh air, when Dean grabbed his other wrist.

“Cas.” Dean’s voice was barely above a whisper, gravelly and sincere in a way that sent a shock through Cas’s spine.

Cas turned to face him. “What?” Cas said, trying to ignore the flames creeping up his arm.

“Thanks for, uh,” Dean started, but he cleared his throat. “Thanks for coming. To Lawrence.”

“Of course,” Cas said, and his voice sounded dead, even to him. He tried to infuse it with some vitality as he finished. “Thank you for inviting me. I had a great time.”

Dean nodded. His hand was still wrapped around Cas’s wrist, and he was looking out of the windshield.

Cas raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t we… Go inside?” It came out like a question.

Dean’s eyes flicked to his. “Yeah,” he said, but he still wasn’t letting go. And Cas thought he should look away, should open the door, but then the inaction lasted too long. Something about the way Dean was looking at him burned, and he was chewing on the inside of his cheek, like there was something he was trying to convince himself to say.

Cas wasn’t sure if he really whispered Dean’s name, or if he imagined it. All he knew was, one moment Dean was staring at Cas, lips parted. The next, there was a hand on the back of Cas’s neck and stubble against his cheek and a pair of lips rough against his. Dean was kissing him, and Cas had imagined it so many times he could do nothing but freeze and hope he never woke up from this dream.

Dean pulled away abruptly, too soon, and the give-or-take two feet between them might have ripped a hole in the space-time continuum, it was so cosmically wrong.

“Shit, that was — I’m so sorry, Cas I didn’t —” Dean was holding his head in his hands, but his words were taking eons to reach Cas’s ears. He just sat, staring in disbelief. Every place Dean had touched was scorched with the absence of him. “I’ll email someone — I’ll try to move out for this semester — fuck, I’m such an idiot,” Dean was saying, and those words shocked Cas back to his plane of existence.

“Move out?” He croaked, and his voice sounded foreign to his own ears. “Why?”

Dean looked at him in anguish. “I shouldn’t have — I’m an idiot.” His voice sounded broken and raspy. “I fucked up on Thanksgiving, and now, shit, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You remember Thanksgiving?” Cas blurted.

Dean tilted his head. “How could I forget that?”

Cas furrowed his brow. “What exactly was your mistake on Thanksgiving?”

Dean stared at him. “The whole damn thing, Cas,” he sputtered. “And now this, and, goddammit, you’re my best friend and I can’t control myself long enough to…” Dean trailed off, and Cas finally understood. Dean had misinterpreted his shock, felt Cas’s stiff and tardy reply and taken it to mean he wasn’t interested. A bubble of hysterical laughter escaped him at the irony.

Dean’s expression darkened. “Yeah, this is fucking hilarious, Cas —”

Cas cut him off. He closed the distance between them, and he could have laughed at the woeful inadequacy of his fantasies when compared to this. It was stilted and desperate, and the center console was digging into Cas’s knee, and an uncomfortable cold was seeping into the cab. But Dean’s fingers were tangled in his hair and he tasted like Diet Coke and cigarettes and he was muttering Cas with every breath and Cas thought he might die in that parking lot because he simply would not allow this to end.

The world had shifted when they finally parted. Dean was looking at him with wonder and confusion. Cas knew he was putting on a similar display. It was dark. Dean’s face was only half-illuminated in the parking lot, but everything about him was brilliant. It was almost too much, like maybe if Cas looked away he’d find himself blind. Cas felt the near-overwhelming urge to kiss him again, to rediscover every plane of Dean’s face he’d already committed to memory.

But he remained in his place, half twisted in the passenger’s seat, because this demanded all manner of explanation. Cas swallowed hard.

“You…” Dean’s voice was a gravelly whisper. “What?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Cas replied, breathless.

“You’re not — You’re not pissed?”

“That depends,” Cas said, his heart hammering against his chest. “What was that?”

“I —” Dean started, but stopped himself. His leg was bouncing rapidly, and he reached into the pocket of his jeans, presumably for a cigarette. Cas grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Dean,” he said in a stern voice.

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Dammit, Cas,” he said. “What do you want me to say?”

“The truth,” Cas said, a little taken aback.

“The truth,” Dean repeated, his eyes remaining resolutely shut. Another deep breath. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this,” he said finally.

And, whatever Cas had been expecting, it wasn’t that. “What?”

“I was gonna — I dunno, I was gonna do it right. I’ve been meaning to do it right, ask you to fucking dinner or something, but then I thought you hated me after Thanksgiving, and you were busy all the time, and then we were in Lawrence, and —”

“We go to dinner every night,” Cas said. Dean wasn’t making sense.

Dean finally opened his eyes, only to give Cas a death-stare. “No, dumbass, something a little nicer than the friggin’ dining hall.” He sighed. “But, of course, in my car. What am I, sixteen?”

“A date,” Cas said, finally catching up. “You were going to ask me on a date.”

Dean winced a little. “Yeah.”

“But you didn’t —”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

“— Because you thought I hated you.”

“A little bit.”

Cas smiled incredulously. “If this is a joke, it’s a terrible one.”

Dean glared at him. “Not a joke, Cas.”

“But you’re not — Dean, I thought you were straight.”

Cas felt bad about the statement immediately as Dean winced, but it was true. Nothing was adding up. Dean had never shown an interest in men before, at least not around Cas, and Cas didn’t think he could stand to be Dean’s experimental phase. But he reeled his insecurity back in as he added, “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I’m just… Confused.”

Dean let out a hard breath. “No, I know, I know,” Dean said. “I dunno. Guess I never really thought about it before.” He paused. “I was too scared to think about it.”

Cas felt his heart break at that. There was a story there, a million things to unpack, but it was obviously a feat for Dean to say as much as he already had. Cas left it alone.

Dean cleared his throat. “Point is,” he said, “this was a long time coming, but I’m an idiot and couldn’t work up the balls.” He was staring hard at his hands, the admission taking enormous effort.

A little nervous without the excuse of the heat of the moment, Cas put a hand on Dean’s neck and kissed him, again, short and tender. “You’re not an idiot,” Cas said.

“Guess not,” Dean said through a breathless laugh.

Cas cocked his head. “You really thought I hated you?” He asked, his eyes searching Dean’s.

“What else was I supposed to think?” Dean asked. “I thought that was it, you were done with me.” Dean furrowed his brow. “Why’d you do that?”

“Avoid you?”

“Yeah. I mean, if you didn’t — if you weren’t mad.”

Cas stared at him. “Dean, I can barely remember anything we did on Thanksgiving, much less anything I might have said.” He paused. “And then we were… I didn’t know what to think. Not to mention, up until about five minutes ago, I thought you were — that you weren’t interested.” Cas ran a hand through his hair. “I was worried I might ruin our friendship.”

Something like realization dawned on Dean’s face. He let out another laugh. “Guess we’re a couple of dumbasses.”

“Maybe,” Cas said with a small smile. “Let’s go inside.”

Dean nodded, and they exited the car and made their way upstairs. And it might have been any other night, save their shoulders touching, fingers brushing, silence charged with something new. Cas unlocked their door, letting Dean in. When he turned after shutting the door behind him, Dean was there, and Cas didn’t even have time to turn on the light before he was shoved hard against the door. Dean’s mouth was hot and his hands were desperate. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Cas thought they should probably talk about this, about them, but then Dean’s breathing hitched as Cas caught his bottom lip between his teeth, and the thoughts stopped coming.

Cas’s bare back was cold against the linoleum floor, but Dean was warm against his chest. He stared at the ceiling in the dark, his mind scrambled from pleasure and the shock of being wanted.

“Cas,” Dean said against his chest. Cas threaded his fingers through Dean’s hair.

“Yes?”

Dean shifted, perching on his arm, looking down at Cas. “You — you want this?” He said.

Cas stretched his arms up and rested his head on top of his hands. “This?” He asked. Dean was being intentionally vague, but Cas couldn’t exist in limbo. He had to hear the words, as clear as Dean could make them.

Dean gave him a look for a moment, but relented. “Yeah, I know. Okay. This,” he said, gesturing between the two of them. “You and me. Us. Like this.”

“Oh,” Cas said lightly. “That’s what you meant?” Dean rolled his eyes and shoved him. Cas laughed. “The answer is yes.”

A small smile, but it faltered as Dean spoke again. “Are you sure?” He said. “I don’t — I might be really shit at this, you know.”

And Cas did know. There were a million little complications, things they would have to figure out, problems he hadn’t even begun to consider. That might have been terrifying, but the prospect of never having Dean, that was worse.

“I’m sure,” he said quietly. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, no hesitation.

Cas sighed as Dean traced circles on his chest. “It’s worth it to try.”

Cas was in between sleep and consciousness when something warm shifted around his back. Whatever dream he’d been having, it felt remarkably real.

“Wake up, dumbass,” he heard Dean say affectionately. Cas didn’t want this dream to end; he could steal a few more minutes of sleep. He burrowed his head deeper into the pillow, willing the dream to continue.

But then there was a pair of lips against his ear, and they were entirely real. “C’mon,” Dean said in a low voice. “First day of class.”

For a moment, Cas was confused. Dean was in his bed. Why was Dean in his bed? But as he rubbed his eyes, the events of the night before came crashing into him.

Oh.

Nerves pooled in the pit of his stomach. He half expected Dean to rush out some kind of apology, to tell him that everything had been a big mistake. But when Cas turned to face him, Dean was beaming.

“Mornin’,” he said.

“Good morning,” Cas said, awestruck. Dean needed a shave, and his hair was flat on one side from sleep, but Cas still felt his breathing hitch as he stared at Dean, unfettered for the first time. Beautiful.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Coffee?”

“Please,” Cas said with a nod. Dean moved to climb out of the bed, but he paused. He turned back toward Cas and kissed him, slow and deep. When he finally broke away, Dean was smiling even wider.

“Awesome,” he said, earning a snort from Cas.

If Cas had worried about Dean’s intentions, it was unfounded. At lunch, as Dean talked to Cas like he was the only person at the table, Meg rolled her eyes and told them to “get a room.” Dean responded by throwing an arm around Cas and saying, “Maybe later.” Meg gaped at the two of them for about ten seconds before regaining composure, shifting to more general conversation. Cas received a text from her immediately after they parted ways.

MM (1:12 p.m.)

holy shit!!!!

MM (1:13 p.m.)

ur going to tell me everything tmrw

At first, Cas wasn’t sure how to respond, because he wasn’t sure what he was allowed to say. That is, until Dean answered a call from Benny, saying, “Sorry, man, I’m not going tonight, I have a date. Yeah, with Cas. Shut up.” Cas smiled to himself as he replied to Meg.

CN (2:32 p.m.)

Absolutely.

The three weeks that followed were easily the best of Cas’s life. The rituals remained unchanged; Tuesday was movie night, dinner was at seven-p.m. in the dining hall, late nights doing homework demanded a fast food run. But little things shifted; Dean made it to his birthday without going to a single party, and his bed remained perpetually made. Cas amassed a greater collection of t-shirts that weren’t his, and he only ran when he knew Dean was in class.

Cas woke up to Dean shifting around him as he attempted to get out of bed for an early class. Cas slung an arm tightly around his midsection in protest.

“Too early,” he mumbled.

He heard Dean chuckle. “I thought class was important,” he said, but he shifted closer to Cas nonetheless.

Cas grumbled something incomprehensible as he pulled out his phone. When he saw the date, however, he shot up, suddenly wide awake.

At Dean’s look of confusion, he said, “It’s your birthday.”

“Yeah.”

Cas leaned down and kissed Dean deeply. He pulled away to mutter, “Happy birthday, Dean,” against his lips. Dean closed the small distance as soon as Cas had said the words, and this time it was decidedly heavier, hot breaths mixing and hands pulling each other closer.

They were interrupted by Dean’s second alarm. Dean scowled as he turned it off. He looked at Cas expectantly, but Cas had his arms folded against his chest.

“Class is important,” he reminded Dean.

“But it’s my birthday.”

“And?”

“Asshole,” Dean grumbled, but he kissed Cas on the jaw as he climbed down from the bed. He put on a pot of coffee as Cas followed him off the bed, wrapping his arms around Dean from the back.

“I got you something,” Cas said into Dean’s shoulder. Dean twisted around to face him.

“Cas, you didn’t have to do that. I told you, birthday’s are dumb anyway.”

Cas made a face. “I happen to be endlessly thankful for your birth.”

Dean shook his head, but he was smiling. “What is it?”

“You’ll find out on Friday when we go to Benny’s.”

“We’re going to Benny’s?”

Cas bit the inside of his cheek. “It was supposed to be a surprise,” he said, “Benny and Charlie both insisted. But you once told me you have a strong aversion to surprise parties.”

“Y’all are throwing me a surprise party?”

“No,” Cas rushed. “No, that’s why I’m telling you right now.”

“But it’s a party.”

“Yes.”

“You couldn’t have told me yesterday? How long have y’all been planning this?”

“Only a week.”

“A week?” Dean paused, his eyes narrowed. “Who all’s gonna be there?” Dean grumbled, already trying to assess the threat of too much attention on him at once.

“Just Benny, Charlie, and Charlie’s girlfriend,” Cas placated.

Dean relaxed at that. “And you, right?”

“I’ll come if you want me there,” Cas said, a little sheepish. He hadn’t really planned on going, wanting to give Dean some time alone to spend with his friends. Cas felt like he’d accidentally achieved a monopoly on Dean’s attention.

Dean gaped at him. “Dude, of course I want you there.”

Cas gave him a soft smile. “Then I’ll be there.”

Dean almost convinced Cas to let him skip class — almost — but with great effort, he resolutely pushed Dean out the door.

“Damn, all right, if you want to get rid of me that bad,” Dean griped, smirking. “See you later.”

“Goodbye, Dean,” Cas said with a smile.

They didn’t make it to the party.

Friday afternoon, after spending far too long in bed, Cas was sitting on the beanbag, Dean’s head resting on his lap. They’d taped Dean’s comforter over the window, leaving the room completely dark, save for the film playing on Dean’s television.

“Fucking asshole,” Dean was saying as Neil’s father came on screen. Cas hummed in agreement, paying more attention to his fingers threading their way through Dean’s hair. Suddenly, Dean’s phone began to ring. He shifted to check the caller ID, then stood up quickly.

“Wait, pause it, I gotta take this,” he said. Cas obliged. “Hey, Bobby! How’s it goin’?”

Cas reached above his head to stretch, but he faltered when he heard Dean say, “Dad? What’s wrong?”

Cas stood abruptly as Dean’s phone slipped out of his hand, shattering upon impact with the linoleum. He was standing, his jaw clenched, staring at absolutely nothing.

“Dean?”

Dean remained silent, no indication that he had heard Cas. Cas placed a hand on his left shoulder, prompting Dean into movement.

Still saying nothing, Dean dumped the contents of his backpack onto the floor, filling it with things from his wardrobe. Cas followed him, frantic.

“What are you doing? Dean, talk to me,” he said. But Dean was on a mission, it seemed. After stuffing his feet into unlaced boots, he threw the door open and stalked out.

At a complete loss, Cas pulled on his own shoes and followed, making sure to grab his key as he shut the door to their room behind him. Dean was already halfway to the stairs, and Castiel ran to catch up with him. Dean let the door to the stairs shut in Cas’s face.

“Dean!” Cas called. Dean was fleeing down the stairs like his life depended on it. Cas only barely caught up to him as they reached the ground floor and exited to the parking lot.

Finally within reach, Cas grabbed Dean’s shoulder, hard. Dean slowed, but didn’t stop.

“Dean,” Cas started. Still no response. “Dean! What happened?”

They had reached the Impala. Dean unlocked the car and threw his bag haphazardly in the front seat. He stared resolutely at the ground.

“I gotta go, Cas. I’ll explain everything later.” The first words Dean had spoken to Cas in nearly ten minutes. His voice was thick.

“Dean, where are you going?” Cas asked, desperate. “The party — there’s class on Monday!”

Dean looked up at him then, and Cas was struck by the mixture of fury and sadness in his eyes. “Screw the party and screw class. Family emergency.”

Cas watched helplessly as Dean sped out of the parking lot, taking the turn so fast the back end of the Impala swayed a little. He stood in the middle of the parking lot for what felt like an eternity, the cold January air seeping into his bones. Eventually, he made his way back to the dorms, sighing in relief as the warm air of the hallway hit him.

When Cas reentered the room, he stared at Dean’s shattered cell phone. He didn’t even bother to clean up the mess, just let out a choked sigh. Cas fell into the beanbag, his head in his hands.

——

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#supernatural #destiel #deancas #destiel fic

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max-is-tired · 5 years ago

Note

bad things happen request: A1 + roceit? -ren

Remember me (for centuries)

Pairing: the AU is queerplatonic Roceit and romantic Analogicality, but the ships are not very prominent in this installment

Characters: Roman Sanders, Janus Sanders, Remus Sanders, Patton Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Logan Sanders

Words: 3.835

Warnings: superhero AU, implied morally grey Janus, Remus and Roman, superpowers, swearing, a muzzle is used, fighting, there’s a character (OC) that has very black and white views and definitely goes too far because of it, if I need to add anything else please tell me

Notes: guess who’s back babey!!!!! After two months of writer block, I’ve managed to churn out this little monster in less than 3 days and I’m honestly lowkey real proud of it sjkcndjkscn it’s inspired by this idea I had the other day and after I remembered this specific prompt I just went full feral writer mode. I even have a few ideas for a sequel, so there’s that I guess!!

First fic for the @badthingshappenbingo!! The red squares are prompts that have already been requested, feel free to send more in though!! I don’t know how long it’ll take me to get to them but hopefully you won’t have to wait too long. Hope you guys like the fic!!!

Commission me!! Buy me a coffee!! Join my Discord server!! AO3!!

Once upon a time, there was a King.

He was as regal as he was mysterious, powers so strong he might as well have been able to make literal mountains kneel before him. Everyone knew of him, from the filthiest criminal to the richest man. He saw everything, heard everything, nothing and no one could escape his power. He was the judge and the executioner, protected the city in the way he saw most fit with the Puppeteer and the Duke standing at his sides.

The government called him dangerous. The people secretly called him a hero.

Once upon a time, there was a King. Until one day, he was no more -exactly how Roman had wanted it to be.

+++

Parting ways with Janus and Remus hadn't been easy. They'd been at his side since the very beginning, from the first appearance of his power to his decision to do whatever it took to protect those who couldn't.

"I'm always down to fight the government," Janus had said with a smirk, easily slipping into his Puppeteer alter ego as Remus simply swung his morning star around with a feral grin.

In the end, though, the King had had to go, and even then those two had supported his decision. What Roman had done to deserve his brother and his partner, he still had to understand. And besides, it wasn't as if he had had to cut them out of his life or anything! They still hung out lots during the day, either at the twin's apartment or at Janus' penthouse (being the only heir to a very rich family could have its perks, he supposed).

But at the end of the day, when the sun left the sky and the cover of the night fell over the city, it was the Puppeteer and the Duke who patrolled along the dirty rooftops, taking on those crimes Lady Justice seemed to overlook -Roman was nothing but a college student now and could only watch from afar, some part of him stubbornly longing for days that had since come to an end.

Or at least, that had been the plan. Then, well, Patton had happened.

They had met during a Psychology class they were both taking -for Patton, it was for his major, while Roman was just there for the credit. They had hit it off almost immediately, the both of them bonding over the pain that were morning classes and bemoaning how much money they were probably going to spend at the local coffee shop in order to survive the semester.

As much as he prided himself of being way smarter than people gave him credit for, Roman couldn't say he had figured his classmate's secret identity out immediately. It had taken him a few weeks and even then, he had needed Janus' help for his brain to click the dots into place.

Well, actually, it had been thanks to the recordings of one of the Puppeteer and the Duke's patrol sessions, during which the two had managed to stumble upon the new ragtag trio of superheroes, Storm, Heart and Logic, taking care of a small robbery downtown.

Janus and Roman had been analyzing the video, with Remus unhelpfully chucking pieces of popcorn at the back of their heads, when video-Heart had thrown his head back and laughed, grinning from ear to ear as Logic seemed to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration.

Roman had frozen, the laugh ringing clear as day in his head as the last piece of a puzzle he hadn't known had been there slid into place -he knew that laugh, heard it every Tuesday and Friday morning before class as he sipped at his coffee and watched Patton try to fit as many puns as he could into a single sentence.

Patton was Heart. His friend was a superhero. Well, shit.

So yeah, Roman had figured it out and immediately started panicking about the newfound information. Janus and Remus, of course, had found the entire thing hilarious, teasing him about having somehow managed to stumble upon and befriend a superhero without even knowing it.

In the end, though, what exactly could he do? Roman was only a college student, and it wasn't like Patton was doing this alone -he had Storm and Logic by his side, keeping him safe and watching his back. His friend would be fine.

Then, of course, in came Virgil and Logan, the infamous roommates Patton had wanted to introduce him to since day one. In less than an hour, Roman had managed to help Pat gently bully Virgil out of his binder for the night and start a debate with Logan about the scientific accuracy of Elsa's powers and just how theoretically powerful she could have become based on the abilities she had showed in the movies.

(Olaf's existence had sparked a whole other tangent about conscience and the existence of souls on a metaphysical level, but Roman was not going to think about it lest he ended up having another existential crisis).

The real plot twist had happened much later into the night, when Roman had woken up to frantic whispering and soft rustling coming from somewhere to his right. Still keeping his eyes shut, he'd managed to catch the words "robbery" and "be careful" before hearing one of the windows gently slide shut.

Making sure to not alert anyone about his eavesdropping, Roman had waited until all he could hear was steady, even breathing before quietly sitting up, eyes shining gold into the darkness for a second before spotting Logan and Patton's figures on the ground -as for Virgil, he seemed to be nowhere to be found, the apartment being completely silent beside the two sleeping soundly beside him.

Roman had a suspicion. A very nagging suspicion in the back of his mind that was probably going to bother him until he got to the bottom of his. So, in the morning, he'd said goodbye to his new friends and headed to Janus' place, pondering over alternative explanations on the way over. Not that it would have been of any use since Janus did confirm that a robbery had taken place the night before, and that it had been halted by no other than Storm himself.

So. Virgil was Storm. Which, by taking the most logical leap, meant Logan was no other than Logic. Cool cool cool. No doubt no doubt no doubt.

… There was no way Roman could sit back and watch, was it?

And so, Prince stepped into the light, flames dancing on his fingertips and on the blade of his katana -a gift from Janus, who had reacted to Roman's sheepish smile with an eyebrow raise- and a bright red sash crossing his chest.

Logan and the others had been rather welcoming to the new superhero amongst their group, if not a little skeptical about his motives -Roman could not quite tell them he was doing all of this to give them an additional layer of protection, since he knew from experience just how dangerous the superhero gig could be. They thought all he wanted was to protect the innocents like a knight in shining armor, and he just never bothered to correct them. It wasn't like that was a lie, anyway so he didn't really feel guilty about it.

… Okay, maybe he felt a little guilty about keeping his former identity a secret. So what? It wasn't like he could go to his new friends and say "Hey, remember that one dude that scared the shit out of everyone? Yeah, that was me, fun times am I right??". And besides, it wasn't like King was going to do a comeback anytime soon, if ever. Right?

Wrong. So very, very wrong.

+++

It had started as a normal night-time patrol around the outskirts of the city. Roman had been joking around with Virgil, jumping easily from rooftop to rooftop as they exchanged dry remarks and teasing nicknames with Logan and Patton watching on in amusement.

Then, suddenly, an explosion.

They'd all frozen, exchanging quick glances as a cloud of smoke started to rise into the distance. Without a word, the four had bolted, the easy atmosphere that had surrounded them up until that moment gone in an instant as they prepared themselves to deal with whatever was expecting them.

They reached the plaza in a few minutes, immediately setting out to assess the damage. Strangely enough, there didn't seem to be much out of order -there were no civilians around, the few that had been around at that time of the night having been probably startled away by the explosion -which had probably gone off at the center of the square, judging by the debris and fairly-sized hole. Though the cause of it didn't seem to be anywhere to be found.

At least, until an amused chuckle resounded from behind the four.

They turned around, ready for a fight, only to be met with a grinning Nautilus.

"Oh, how nice of you guys to drop in!" the hero chirped, his grin only widening even more -Roman did not like the crazy glint in the other's eyes, his hand moving to hover a little closer to the hilt of his sword as a bad feeling started to pool in the pit of his stomach.

"Hello, Nautilus!" Patton greeted, his smile now a little tense around the edges -Roman couldn't help but feel glad he wasn't alone in his distrust, not missing the way Logan and Virgil also seemed to be a little more on guard.

It wasn't like Nautilus was a villain or anything, at least not for the public opinion. He meant well, Roman knew that, but the way he viewed the world -black and white, good vs evil with no space for anything else in-between those extremes- was something Roman just couldn't trust, knowing all too well how such a way of thinking could very easily skew someone's morals way too close to ruthlessness and self-justified cruelty.

So yeah, Nautilus might have been a hero, but Roman wouldn't trust him with the life of the most innocent of kittens.

"Nautilus, do you know the cause of that explosion?" Logan spoke up, his expression unreadable.

"Oh, that was me, nothing to worry your pretty brain about my dear Logic," Nautilus responded, waving the concern away with way too much nonchalance for Roman's liking. "I was just taking care of some little pests, nothing to worry about."

"By making the fucking square blow up?" Virgil asked, scoffing.

The other simply shrugged, once again dismissing the remark. "Sometimes you gotta do some harsh things to get rid of a problem, don't you agree?"

Oh, Roman did not like that smile one bit.

"What do you mean?" he asked, forcing himself to keep his voice neutral as his grip on his sword tightened.

Still smiling, Nautilus snapped his fingers, a water tendril appearing from behind him. And in its grasp, a familiar figure uselessly struggled for freedom, brown eyes glaring daggers at the hero's back. Faintly, Roman could easily picture the snarl currently adorning the Puppeteer's lips.

Lips he could not see, because Janus' mouth was currently being covered by a muzzle.

"Pretty cool right?" Nautilus grinned, stepping onto another tendril to let himself be carried at Janus' level. "A friend of mine made it, perfect to stop our local charmer from using his nifty powers."

Ignoring the way the other heroes were staring at him in various stages of horror, he grabbed Janus' chin, tugging his face forward until they were barely inches apart.

"Not so cocky without that silver tongue of yours, uh?" he purred, before pushing him back. "It's high time you face the consequences of your evil doings, you slimy snake."

But the Puppeteer's eyes were no longer glaring at Nautilus. No, they were trained on Roman's form, on his clenched fists and the way his eyes kept flashing a familiar golden color.

"Well, look who's gone and fucked up!" a voice chirped from above, attracting everyone's attention to the top of one of the surrounding buildings. The Duke gave the heroes a toothy grin and waved, legs swinging into the air with his signature morning star resting idly on his shoulder.

"Ah, the Duke," Nautilus hummed, crossing his arms with a cocky smirk, "I was wondering when you'd show up. Are you here to rescue your dear teammate? Please, do try, I'd love to bring down two villains in one day."

For the surprise of almost the entire square, the Duke let out a hearty laugh, throwing his head back as his whole body shook with the force of his cackles.

"Oh, please! As if I'll need to do literally anything," he said, amusement lacing every word. "This is your funeral, dude. You really angered the wrong royal."

Nautilus frowned, opening his mouth to reply -probably to ask what in the world the other was talking about- but all that left his lips was a startled yelp, fighting to keep himself steady as the earth started to rumble and shake beneath his feet. Because of the sudden distraction, all the tendrils of water broke off, included the one holding the Puppeteer. Without missing a beat, Remus jumped down and grabbed Janus before he could pummel the ground, holding him bridal style while sporting his best shit-eating grin.

"Told ya!" he sing-sang, sending Nautilus a mocking glare. Not that the hero was looking at him, mind you. He was more focused on his fellow "hero" standing just a few feet to the center of the square, his eyes blazing golden.

"Duke," called Roman, his voice clear and authoritative as it carried all around the plaza, "get him out of that damned muzzle, would you?"

"Aye aye sir!!" Remus chirped, easily ripping the piece of metal away. "Do you think you could leave a few bones intact for me to break? I wanna have some fun too!"

"Sorry, Duke-" the other chuckled, the sound sounding almost haunting to everyone else's ears- "but I don't know if I’ll have enough self-control left to do that."

A circle of golden light appeared at Roman's feet, rising up in the air and enveloping his body as it went. And then it was gone as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving behind a vision no one had ever thought they'd see again.

Bright, golden eyes. Hair as dark as the night. The uniform of a royal, a burgundy sash crossing his chest from shoulder to hip. In his hand, a familiar sword glinted under the artificial light of the street lamps, the hilt the same golden as its owner's irises.

The Prince was gone, lost in a circle of golden light. And at his place stood a very angry-looking King.

"That- that can't be!" Nautilus exclaimed, taking a step back. "You're gone, you can't be here!"

"Can't I?" The King -Roman, the King was Roman- asked, cocking his head to the side. "Who are you to tell me where I can and cannot be, Nautilus?"

"I'm a hero!!" the other snapped, his words laced with the desperation of a man who is standing face to face with his impending doom. "I'm a hero, you rotten king, and I after tonight I will be remembered as the one who wiped you and your villainous reign out of this city!"

Roman hummed, looking absolutely unimpressed as he calmly inspected his sword.

"You call yourself the hero… and yet, you are the one using downright torture-like methods to try and squash down those who don't fit your narrow view of good. All the Duke and I did was rescue our companion form your grasp. So tell me, Nautilus -are you really sure I'm the one you should call "villain" here?"

The hero growled at those words, eyes flashing in barely contained rage as tendrils after tendrils of water rose up behind him. "By the time I'm done with you, you'll be begging for forgiveness at my feet."

"Oh honey," the King drawled, lips stretching into a feral grin, "at the end of this, I won't be the one begging for their life."

And off they went, crashing into each other in a whirlwind of water and metal.

Taken as they were with each other, the two supers barely spared a glance to the huddle of five people looking on from the side of the square.

"What the fuck." Storm whispered, staring shell-shocked at the scene in front of him. "What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck-"

"I know, right?" the Duke exclaimed, completely ignoring the hero's obvious growing panic.

"Duke, play nice," the Puppeteer drawled, with the heat of someone who had had to deal with the other's antics for way too long to really care anymore.

"Storm, please take some deep breaths for me," Logic said, stepping into Virgil's line of sight. "Do you remember your breathing techniques, yes?"

Storm nodded, visibly trying to get his breathing under control to do just that. Heart, obviously worried, moved to sit beside him, resting one hand on his shoulder to tap a regular rhythm there.

Virgil looked up at him with a small, grateful smile, raising his own hand to cover Patton's before closing his eyes to focus on his breathing.

Once it was clear Storm's panic wasn't going to advance any further and risk affecting his powers, Janus let his eyes wander towards Logic's standing figure, the hero's gaze fixed on the ongoing fight.

"You don't seem too fazed with the revelation," the Puppeteer pointed out, arching an eyebrow. "I mean, it's not every day you find out your teammate is actually the very ex-vigilante that used to terrorize the city."

"If I remember correctly, the people targeted by the King's actions were almost all corrupt politicians and crooked cops," Logic pointed out, turning his head to look at the vigilante. "And besides, I already had my suspicions."

Janus couldn't help but let out an amused chuckle. "What was it that tipped you off?"

"Honestly, I started growing suspicious during the Prince's first day on the field," the hero shrugged, pushing his holographic glasses up his nose. "He looked way too familiar with fights involving supers to be a newbie. Add in the pseudo he chose, plus the somewhat similar outfit… once the doubts started creeping in, it was relatively easy to connect the dots."

"Roman," the Puppeteer piped up, "I know you guys know him outside of the mask, so we can use his name -all the royal pseudonyms can get real old real fast."

Logic gave the vigilante a long look before nodding, letting out a soft sigh. "I suppose that makes sense, since you all were allies prior to the King's disappearance. I suppose you won't be sharing the reason of that, by the way?"

Janus shook his head. "It isn't my story to tell -I'm a keeper of many secrets, Logic, and I'm not about to go divulge them without a valid reason to. If he wants to tell you, he will. In his own time."

"Normally, I would point out that we cannot be sure that Roman will even be able to tell us, since he's currently going against one of the heroes with most raw power," Logan pointed out, "but I have heard enough stories about the King's power to be fairly optimist about his odds in this fight."

Janus chuckled, nodding in agreement.

"Case in point-" he said, gesturing back towards the square- "it looks like the winner has just become clear."

Just as he finished speaking, Nautilus came skidding on the pavement towards them, bruises and cuts covering his whole body as he struggled to get up again.

"Told you I wouldn't be the one praying for mercy on my knees, hero," the King drawled, his uniform looking barely crumpled by the fight.

"I will never bow to you, villain," Nautilus growled, fighting to keep himself upright.

Roman arched an eyebrow, an infuriatingly amused smirk tugging at his lips. "Are you sure about that? because you look just about to fall over."

"You may have defeated me, but soon the entire world will know the truth!" the hero shot back. "Their beloved Prince, hiding such a rotten secret… how do you think they will react? Every hero will not rest until you and your companions are locked shut behind bars. Your time is coming to an end, King, and I'll make sure to save myself a front-row seat for the day you'll finally be kicked down from your throne of evil."

"A very poetic imagery, I'm sure," the Puppeteer drawled from behind them, gathering everyone's attention on himself, "though I'm afraid you won't be able to reveal jack shit, you pompous asshole."

Nautilus frowned in confusion until he felt a slight tugging at his hand. Eyes widening, he snapped his head down, eyes zeroing on the yellow string wrapped loosely around his wrist.

"Sleep now, and forget," Janus ordered, eyes flashing bright yellow, and down Nautilus went, knocked out cold.

Silence fell, only interrupted by the faint sounds of sirens approaching from afar. After a few seconds, Heart went to open his mouth, hand outstretched towards the King's back, only for the vigilante to suddenly bolt without a single word and disappear into the night.

Janus and Remus exchanged a look, obviously debating something between themselves without using any words.

"Go," Logic called, catching their attention. "We won't tell, we promise."

The two vigilantes looked at the trio, watching as both Storm and Heart nodded in agreement. Then they smiled, saluted, and took off.

"Do you think Ro will come back?" Heart asked worriedly, eyes traveling from the direction the three had taken to the quickly-approaching blue and red lights in the distance.

"He better, or I'll go and find him myself," Storm muttered darkly, biting at his thumb.

"Only time will tell, there is no use in worrying about that now," Logic sighed, just as the first police car drove into the square. "For now, we better come up with a believable story. They'll want to know what exactly caused the square to blow up in the first place."

"Why lie?" Heart asked, giving his friend a small smile, "after all, Nautilus was the one who did it, wasn't he?"

Logic smirked lightly, nodding. " I suppose that is true."

"You know, sometimes I forget just how much of a little shit you can be," Storm commented, tone laced with amusement. "Then you go and pull things like this, and I get reminded all over again."

"Kiddo, language!" Heart gave an exaggerated gasped, eyes twinkling in mischief. "I just don't like lying, you know that."

Logic watched as the two snickering heroes approached the police, shaking his head with a small smile. Tonight might have raised quite a few questions, but he had no doubt the answers would come, eventually.

All in due time, he supposed.

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#sanders sides #superhero au #roman sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #heroes of our time #hoot #anon asks #maxisanswering #bad things happen bingo #ts fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction #maxiswriting

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nayutai · 4 years ago

Text

The Task At Hand

Pairing Mingyu x Female OC

Word Count 15.1k

Warnings mentions of infidelity, mentions of racism, foul language, anxiety, insecurities, therapy sessions, dumbasses in love, light choking, dry humping

Summary The first year of marriage is always the hardest. Unfortunately for Mingyu and Kamile, the first year as husband and wife may also be their last.

Notes This absolute behemoth of a fic is my contribution to The Intimacy Anthology where I, along with many other fantastic writers, have explored intimacy in all of its many forms. This fic is incredibly close to my heart and I hope that you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please check out the other stories featured in the project here as well!

Mingyu fumbles with his keys in the dark as he searches for the one that’ll get him into his house. The alcohol coursing through his system is making this very simple task a lot harder than it needs to be. He shouts victoriously when he finally manages to unlock the front door to stumble inside. He freezes when he hears someone clapping slowly off to his right.

“Two minutes and forty seven seconds. That didn’t take you as long as I thought it would but then again you have been good at finishing quickly these days.” Mingyu groans deep in his throat at the scathing words from the woman staring him down from the love seat in the living room. She lifts a glass of what he can only assume is white wine to her lips, draining it quickly.

“I’m too drunk for your bullshit tonight, Kamile.” Mingyu grunts as he leans back against the door to steady himself while he toes his sneakers off. All he wants to do is crawl up the stairs to the guest room he’s been sleeping in so that he can go to sleep. He rolls his eyes when he hears Kamile clear her throat from across the room. If he knows anything about his wife, nothing good is about to come out of her mouth.

“If you didn’t want to hear my bullshit then maybe you should’ve shown up for dinner with my parents tonight.” The venom in her voice makes Mingyu’s blood run cold. He’d totally forgotten about her mother’s birthday dinner tonight. Fuck. As much as he hates to hear her nagging him, even he has to admit that he deserves it this time. This dinner has been planned for months and he should’ve been there.

He forces his eyes to focus when he looks back over at the brooding woman shooting daggers at him from across the room. It’s then he registers the fact that she’s still fully dressed despite the late hour. Kamile is a huge proponent of being comfortable within the walls of her own home and for her to sit in a dress and heels as she waits on his appearance does not bode well for him in the slightest. He’s surprised that she hasn’t launched her wine glass at his head.

“Whatever or whoever you were out doing,” Kamile rises slowly from the couch, impressively steady in her heels despite the bottle of wine she ran through waiting on her neglectful husband to come home. Silence stretches between them interrupted only by the damning clicks of her shoes against the hardwood flooring. Kamile stops to appraise the man she married when she reaches him, wondering where it all went wrong.

“…I hope it was worth it.” She silences his groveling with a raised hand. She’s tired of the arguing. Tired of the excuses. Just tired in general.

Most people would have some sort of emotional response to this but her exhaustion leaves nothing but an empty void in its wake. Mingyu may as well be yelling at a brick wall for all the response he gets from Kamile as she slowly climbs the stairs. The sound of the bedroom door clicking shut echoing around the house may as well have been a gunshot.

“One more thing for her to hold over my fucking head.” Mingyu grumbles as he slowly blazes his own trail up the stairs. He pauses before the closed door to the bedroom they once shared, hand gripping the doorknob in his hand as he contemplates going in to apologize. “What’s the use? Not like she’d listen to me now anyway.”

The bed in the guest room welcomes him like an old friend when he flops down on it, draining him of his energy. Thoughts of how he’ll fix things in the morning drift through his head. Sleep evens out his features, lulling him into a peaceful slumber despite the fact that he’s still fully clothed. The perfect cover for the plans being set in motion right down the hall.

The sun rouses Mingyu from his sleep way before he’s ready. He could’ve sworn that the curtains were pulled closed when he went to bed but it’s hard to know what’s what when you’re three sheets to the wind at god only knows what time. Blindly, he reaches out for his phone where he’d left it on the nightstand but comes up with a piece of paper instead. It takes a minute for his eyes to focus enough to read the words on the page, but when they do he finds himself bolting for the ensuite bathroom. The offensive piece of stationary gently drifting to the ground as if it hasn’t just ruined his life.

He heaves and wretches until he has nothing left to give. His knees buckle several times as he tries to brush his teeth which is an incredibly difficult task to complete when one is sobbing with everything they have. This can’t be happening. He refuses to believe that this is his reality. Mingyu’s heart sinks even lower when he drags himself back to the bedroom and sees Kamile’s wedding ring on the night stand next to his phone. He retrieves the letter from where it rests on the floor, reading it over until the tears he’d fought back make a reappearance.

Doing this feels incredibly impersonal but I feel like it’s probably better this way. I realized that the flame I thought would burn forever is barely a spark anymore. Tonight was an epiphany for me. I realize that I deserve better and I’ve decided that I will have it. I’ve always wished you joy and light and I will probably never stop doing that despite everything that’s happened but I can’t do it as your wife anymore.

Take care,

Kamile Dexter

The usage of her maiden name feels like the final nail in his coffin. He calls. He texts. He emails. He even sends her a message on instagram. Every single attempt to reach her goes unanswered. Anyone could see that things hadn’t been the best between them for a while, but never in his most horrific nightmares did Mingyu think that Kamile would actually leave.

Time is irrelevant to Mingyu in the days that follow Kamile’s departure. He wakes up when his alarm goes off and drifts through the day. His nights are spent calling Kamile despite the fact that she never answers which then leads to him drinking himself into an alcohol-induced sleep complete with all the blessed numbness that it provides until his alarm goes off once more. This is without a doubt the lowest point of his life and he doesn’t know how to fix it. Kamile grew up with Vernon so naturally Mingyu tries to enlist his help. Unfortunately, it seems that she has anticipated that move and stops answering Vernon’s calls and texts as well.

With all of his other options seemingly exhausted, Mingyu calls the one person that could possibly help him, Sidra Dexter. A woman with many accolades to her name, Sidra considers being Kamile’s mother to be the most important among them. If anyone knows how to get through to his wife, it’s Sidra. Mingyu prays that she still has a soft spot for him as the phone rings in his ear. If this call goes unanswered, then he really will lose all hope in saving his marriage.

“It’s about damn time you called me, Gyu Bear. My daughter left you a whole week ago tomorrow and you’re just now enlisting my services? Tell me why that is.” Never a woman to beat around the bush, Sidra gets right to the point with the accuracy of a heat-seeking missile.

“I don’t know what to do, Mama Dee. She won’t talk to me.” Mingyu whines, on the verge of tears for the umpteenth time today.

“Of course she won’t. She’s stubborn just like her ornery ass father.” The aforementioned father pipes up in the background to defend himself but is quickly shut down. “Now back to you, Gyu Bear. You have messed up big time but I love you so I’m going to help you fix it but I have one question first.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Did you cheat on my daughter? And yes that ‘harmless flirting’ shit you men folk like to do counts as cheating in my book.”

“Of course not! Wait…does Kam think I cheated?” Mingyu is floored and honestly a little angered at the fact that after all these years together Kamile thinks he’s actually capable of infidelity. The alcohol-induced haze clears long enough for his brain to recall a comment she’d made the night she left about whoever he was doing being worth it.

“She sure does,” Sidra starts up, “but luckily for you, my gut says that you’re telling the truth and it hasn’t steered me wrong in the last 56 years so I don’t see a reason not to trust it now. So here’s what we’re going to do.”

Mingyu listens intently as Sidra outlines her master plan. Not for the first time, he’s in awe of the way her brain functions. The tightness in his chest subsides a little bit with every word she says. For the first time in the six days since Kamile left, Mingyu feels like his life has meaning again. His marriage might not be over after all.

Despite the fact that Kamile had no intention of answering any of Mingyu’s desperate pleas for attention, the sudden cessation of said pleas only serve to further increase her anguish. She’d originally thought she’d be able to finally find peace when he gave up, but that does not seem to be the case. A part of her didn’t want him to stop trying. Didn’t want him to stop fighting for her.

Did I make the right choice?

The question has haunted her every waking moment as she adjusts to her new normal. She’s been adrift for the last ten days trying to figure out her next plan of action. Should she stay in Korea? Should she go back to America? Should she throw a dart at a map and go wherever it lands? The possibilities are endless but Kamile finds herself unable to fully commit to either option which is how she’s ending up existing on takeout in a hotel for the past week and some change. God, why did she have to be so impulsive? She should’ve made sure that she had a game plan before she just up and left like that.

Her phone rings on the small night stand, interrupting her self-loathing thoughts. Kamile groans when she sees that it’s her mother. Ever since she’d broken the news to her parents that she’d decided to leave Mingyu, her mom has been giving her grief. Kamile had always had a hunch that her mom loved Mingyu just as much if not more than she loved her, but their break up has made her think that her hunch had been closer to the truth than she’d previously thought.

“Hey, ma.” Kamile greets her mother apprehensively, bracing for the latest round of her mother’s reconciliation efforts.

“Hello, my lovely daughter. I just landed in Seoul so if you don’t mind coming to get me from the airport that would be great.” Kamile chokes on the mouthful of noodles she’d been munching on. There’s no way in hell that her mother just said that she’s in Seoul. Sure enough, Kamile pulls her phone away from her ear to check her mother’s location and it says that she is in fact at the Incheon Airport.

“Baby, what did I tell you about making sure you properly chew your food before swallowing. Did you forget what happened to your Uncle Tommy?” Kamile barely hears her mother’s recounting about the uncle who’d died from choking on a fish bone as she rushes around her hotel room gathering her things. She can’t believe her mom really flew halfway across the globe. Thankfully, her hotel isn’t far from the airport so Kamile is helping her mother put her bags in the back of her SUV in no time at all.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you or anything, but what are you doing here?” Kamile questions as she eases her car into the steady stream of traffic bound for the exit.

“You just left your husband and you didn’t come home to me so I don’t know what made you think that I wasn’t coming out here. A friend of mine is letting me stay with her since I know how you are about your space.”

Kamile is more than a little thankful for that. Her mother can be overbearing when she’s on a mission and the fact that she’ll still be able to maintain some personal space is comforting. She’s only too happy to let the gps in her guide her to this friend’s house. The closer they get to their destination though the more unsettled she becomes. She has no idea why her gut is telling her to be suspicious, but she’s definitely not about to ignore it. Kamile’s sense are on high alert when she turns into the driveway of a nondescript home in one of the more affluent suburbs of the city.

“Mom, what’s this friend’s name?” Kamile eyes the structure in front of her as if it could possibly grow teeth and bite her. Something is not right here and if there’s one thing her mother taught her, it’s to trust her gut instinct and right now her gut is telling her to throw her car in reverse and get the hell out of dodge. The only thing keeping her from running for the hills is the fact her mother seems so at ease as she hops out of the car to grab her bags.

“Her name is Bae Yeojin. She studied abroad at Villanova her junior year and we were roommates. She’s got a pretty successful business now.” Kamile hums in acknowledgement. She vaguely recalls her mom telling her about a girl named Yeojin from college, but that does nothing to assuage the uneasiness in her gut.

Kamile waits at the bottom of the steps as her mother knocks on the front door. Her fingers are drumming on banister, eyes glancing back and forth from the ornate door and her car. She clutches her keys like a lifeline. At the slightest provocation, she’s ready to bolt. The two women squeal like school children and not the established professionals they are at the first sight of each other. Kamile wonders briefly how long it’s been since they last saw each other.

“Kamile Danielle Kim get your ass up here and say hi.” Not one to disobey a direct order, especially one accompanied by her full name, Kamile reluctantly climbs the short staircase.

“Jesus, Sid, you really spit this one right out. She’s practically your twin.” Yeojin exclaims. She pulls Kamile into a quick hug before ushering the both of them inside.

One deep breath and Kamile instantly realizes why she felt so uneasy. There’s candles burning in the foyer, but they do nothing to mask the familiar scent she’s spent the last six years smelling. Mingyu is in this house somewhere. She spins around to fix the two women with what she hopes is a threatening glare. Unfortunately, neither one of them appears to be phased by it in the slightest.

“What the hell is going on here?” Kamile’s quickly starting to realize that not trusting her gut has landed her in a situation she most definitely has no interest being in. Her eyes quickly dart back and forth between the two scam artists in front of her.

“I told you she’d figure it out. Pay up.” Yeojin doesn’t take her eyes off Kamile as she holds her hand out to Sidra who is grumbling while she digs in her purse to hand over a few bills.

“Dammit, Kam, did I really raise you to be this observant? You’re costing me money.”

“Yes, now what in the fresh hell do y’all have going on?” The answer to her question comes in the form of timid footsteps sounding off behind her. Her spine stiffens. She doesn’t have to turn around to know who it is. She can sense him. “Fuck this. I’m leaving.”

“No, you’re not. Now turn your little narrow butt around and have a seat.” Sidra adopts the tone she’d frequently used when Kamile was growing up and even now as an adult Kamile knows that disobeying this direct order is not the right choice to make.

It’s with a grimace, that she pivots on her heel to face her husband for the first time since she walked out on him. The satisfaction she feels when she sees just how awful he looks is cancelled out by the fact that she probably looks just as bad. It would be a lie to say that she hasn’t missed the comfort and solace his presence used to bring her. That she doesn’t want to let the outside world fade away as she hides away in his embrace. She wants that back. Craves it even, but enough is enough.

Curse words flow like running water through Kamile’s mind as her mother situates her on a love seat in the living room with Mingyu sat right next to her. His large frame dwarfs the slightly undersized piece of furniture. She can feel the body heat radiating off of him and it’s a battle of wills to keep from leaning into him.

“First things first…” Sidra claps her hands as she and Yeojin take a seat on the sofa opposite the troubled couple, “I think now is a good time to mention that Ms. Yeojin here is actually a therapist who specializes in couples therapy.”

Of course she is.

Kamile rolls her eyes as the puzzle pieces start clicking into place. She could be buried under her blankets, binging on The Golden Girls right now, but no, her meddling ass mother has scammed her into marriage counseling instead. She should’ve ran when she had the chance.

“Based on what Sid has told me, the two of you are exactly one week shy of your first wedding anniversary and already on the verge of divorce. So, who would like to dump their emotional baggage on the floor first?” Yeojin glances between Kamile and Mingyu looking for a crack in their demeanor that she can exploit. Mingyu looks like he wants to hurl while Kamile’s face is a carefully constructed mask of indifference. She makes her choice easily.

“Mingyu, thank you for volunteering. Let’s hear it.”

Put on the spot, Mingyu chances a glance sideways at Kamile before clearing his throat. Yeojin sits at the ready with her notebook and pen. She listens intently as Mingyu tells the fiasco as he sees it.

“I know I forget things sometimes. I try not to, but I’m an idol. I have a lot going on but that’s no different from when we first started dating so I don’t know why it’s suddenly such a big issue now.” Mingyu seems to find his voice as he speaks up on how he believes that he’s been wronged. The timid nervousness he’d felt before quickly getting pushed down so that his frustration can take over.

“When we first started dating, I wasn’t being abandoned in a house all day with nothing to do.” Kamile may have been grumbling under her breath but Mingyu hears her loud and clear. His head whips around so fas that the two mothers across from him silently worry about the neck pain that may cause him later.

“You have nothing to do because you’ve turned down every opportunity that’s come your way.” Thoughts of the numerous job and consulting offers from Pledis and other entertainment companies like them that she turned down come flying to the forefront of his memory. Human resource agents have practically been beating down their door for the chance to work with Kamile, a creative visionary in her own right, but she’s rejected them one after another without a moment’s hesitation.

“You mean every opportunity that you have sent my way. Like why would I want to work at that entertainment company and be forced to watch that bitch Miyeon flirt with you every day like you’re not married?” Mingyu is forced to concede to her point with that one. Miyeon is one of the stylists at the company and, despite his repeated rejection, is too flirtatious for his liking as well. Unfortunately, she’s deeply entrenched in the corporate hierarchy and nothing short of murder would make the higher ups get rid of her even if all of the members have lodged complaints against her.

“Is that the simple hoe you come home smelling like every time you’re ‘out with the boys’?” Kamile adds on as if she’s finally started connecting some dots in her overactive imagination. The fact that she has even entertained the thought of Mingyu not only cheating on her but cheating on her with Miyeon of all people makes his blood boil.

“Why do you think I’m cheating on you? Why do you always just assume the worst about me? Do you think Vernon would ever let me even think about cheating on you? The man hates violence but he would beat my ass over you and we all know that.” The frown on Kamile’s face falters at the mention of her oldest friend. Mingyu is correct in saying that he would absolutely fight him, but there are still some thing that aren’t adding up. Yeojin attempts to halt the conversation so that they can delve deeper into what Mingyu just said but Kamile beats her to the punch.

“You come home smelling like warm vanilla sugar every night when everybody knows that I am a Japanese cherry blossom supremacist. What am I supposed to think, Mingyu?” She can’t believe that he has the audacity to sit next to her and still lie. The palms of her hands itch with the urge to throw things but she’s done enough of that plus this isn’t exactly her house either.

“Seokmin always sprays us down with some random perfume because he says it keeps the women away and honestly, it actually works like a charm so I’m always first in line to get sprayed.” Kamile’s anger deflates almost immediately. To anyone that doesn’t know Lee Seokmin that would sound like a crock of shit, but it’s perfectly on brand for him.

“Well, how was I supposed to know that?”

“We’re fucking married, Kamile. You could’ve just asked. Better yet you could have come with me to these events like I’ve asked you to do a million times.”

“You know I hate those things.”

“Everyone hates them, but I would hate them a lot less if I had you there with me. I just feel like I’ve been trying to make an effort but you’re not meeting me halfway.”

“I knew my Gyu Bear wasn’t a cheater!” Sidra, who hasn’t set a word since things had started to get heated, pipes up.

“God, Mom could you at least pretend that you love me more than him?” Kamile throws her hands up in frustration. Her mother’s obvious favoritism is really starting to get to her right now.

“Not until you start giving me less grief.”

“Now, now, Sid. Let’s not derail the progress we’re making here. Kamile, is there anything you’d like to bring to the table?” Yeojin pats her dear friend on the back of her hand to reign her back in. She’d hate to ruin the momentum they got going by having Kamile suddenly switch gears to argue with her mother.

Kamile is only too happy to tell her side of the story as she recounts the events of the night that she decided to leave Mingyu and how it was the tipping point for her. Yeojin listens intently, taking note of the fact that none of the issues that Kamile has with her husband are particularly heinous aside from the debunked cheating suspicions. Each transgression on it’s own wouldn’t be enough to end in divorce, but rather it’s the heaping pile of them that overwhelmed Kamile to the point that she felt she needed to get out.

The more she listens, the clearer it becomes to Yeojin that their marriage is suffering not because they don’t love one another but because they’ve forgotten how to talk to each other which has lead to an unfortunate disconnect. The biggest obstacle is definitely going to be Kamile’s determination to end things. She’s made up her mind and getting her to change her mind is not going to be easy.

“I think I’ve heard everything that I need to hear for today.” Yeojin sets her notepad down on her coffee table, relaxing in her chair a bit before she continues. “The first year in a marriage is usually the hardest, but that seems to have been exacerbated by the fact that the two of you have never lived together before now plus Kamile here has uprooted her entire life and moved to a new country.”

“Saving this marriage is going to take considerable effort on both sides in order to restore the balance you had before you said your vows. Here is what I recommend.”

Yeojin challenges the young couple to separate themselves from their daily lives for the next week and go somewhere remote. A place where it’s just the two of them without any outside influences. Of course, this won’t be just some run of the mill vacation. They’ll have “homework” of sorts that Yeojin will be checking to make sure they complete. Mingyu is all for it but Kamile is much more hesitant. All they’ve done is argue for the past few months and she’d rather not be stuck in a house arguing for two weeks straight.

“I’ve spent the past year stuck in a house with no outside influences and look at where that’s gotten me. On the verge of a fucking divorce!” Mingyu looks like he has something to say, but Yeojin thankfully stops him before he can rile his wife up any more than she already is.

“You’re not just going to be ‘stuck in a house’. Think of it like a game of Among Us. The two of you are crewmates and this wall that’s been built between you is the imposter.” Kamile looks at Yeojin as if she’s grown three extra heads. There’s no way she just related this counseling session to a freaking video game.

“I will also stop bugging you about grandkids for six months if you go.”

“You should’ve just started there. I’ll go.”

Yeojin claps her hands excitedly. She sounds way too happy to be shipping them off to self-guided marriage boot camp, but Kamile stays silent though that becomes increasingly difficult as her mother’s friends lists out the “tasks” she expects them to complete.

“So here’s the game plan, I want you two to be totally and completely honest with each other as much as possible for the entire time you’re gone. Often times in relationships, both parties will censor themselves as a way to keep the peace but that can be detrimental as it has been for you guys.” Mingyu and Kamile don’t realize it but they both frown simultaneously at the proposal of this honesty idea. Yeojin takes it as a positive sign that they are still in sync on some level.

“If the thought of doing it all day is too daunting, then start with just one hour. This doesn’t mean that you have to sit and stare at each other for a whole hour and trade statements just act normally but speak honestly. Okay so far?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Mingyu casts a glance in Kamile’s direction, fingers twitching with the urge to reach out to her. He’s had to stop himself several times since she arrived and it’s not getting any easier.

While Kamile’s mind is running wild with all of the potential for disaster that an hour of honesty could result in, Yeojin powers on with the rest of her required tasks. On top of separating themselves from society and this so called honest hour, Yeojin has mandated that they share at least one meal together every day with one of them being dinner on their wedding anniversary. Just when Kamile thought that Yeojin couldn’t possibly pile more on, she brings up the “activity days”. Each of them will have to plan some sort of activity for the two of them to do together while they’re away. It could be as big or as small as they want, but it has to be meaningful. Mingyu draws Kamile’s attention when he pulls his phone out of his back pocket to start tapping away on the screen like a mad man.

“You guys have a lot of preparing to do in order to be ready to leave tomorrow so we’ll stop here for today. I’ll be checking in on you daily to assess your progress and offer any guidance you may need.”

Kamile is out of her chair and halfway to the door before anyone can blink. The room suddenly feels too small as the gravity of what’s about to happen sinks in. She’d convinced herself that she no longer wanted to be married to Mingyu. She was so sure that her run as Mrs. Kim, albeit short as it was, had come to an end, but now she’s been confronted that her main reason for ending things was baseless. This is not how she thought things would go.

Day 1

The drive from the hotel to the home she’s shared with Mingyu for the past year goes way too quickly for Kamile’s liking. Mingyu had texted her about having to go gas up the rental car so he’s nowhere to be seen when Kamile arrives. She sits in the driveway for a few minutes thinking of the memories saturated into the home that looms before her. The memories she had hoped to create. A stray tear slips down her cheek and she swipes at it furiously. She swore that she was done shedding tears over this but they just keep on coming.

Her pity party is interrupted by an unfamiliar SUV pulling into the driveway behind her. Kamile looks in the mirror to see Mingyu getting out of the driver’s seat. She does her best to erase the evidence of her tears, but the look on his face when she opens her own door says that she wasn’t very successful.

“Are you-”

“I’m fine.” Kamile cuts him off before he can even finish his question. She stalks to the back of her car to start transferring her bags from her car to the behemoth of an SUV behind her.

“I’ll get them.” Mingyu takes the bag she’d already grabbed from Kamile’s hands, motioning to the passenger’s seat. Kamile, no longer in the mood to speak, wordlessly follows his directive and climbs into the SUV.

It takes Mingyu no time at all to load Kamile’s bags into the back with his own.

“Obviously this is a sign that we should just leave.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m not about to let a lost set of keys stand between me and keeping my marriage.”

“Why do you even care? Why are we even doing this?” Kamile screams. She’s been holding this in for far too long and she can’t take it anymore.

“For better or for worse.” Mingyu’s face is a mask of carefully controlled fury and it’s giving Kamile pause. She’s never seen him like this before. “We promised each other for better or for worse and yet you’re ready to run for the hills at the first sign of trouble. I’ll admit that I’m not perfect and certainly played a role in why we’re here but I’m willing to put in the work to make it better because those vows meant something to me. I thought they meant something to you too.”

Kamile is incredibly taken aback at Mingyu’s fervent desire to stay married. She didn’t think that he cared that much anymore. Without any further protest, she joins him in the hunt for the elusive key to the front door. Fifteen minutes pass and they are no closer to gaining entry than they were when they first arrived. A rep with the rental company calls as they’re checking the bottom of the flower pots that line the front porch and tells them that the keys were mistakenly put in the mailbox. The same mailbox that sits at the end of the mile long driveway. Kamile makes to get back in the car to drive to the end of the driveway but Mingyu suggests walking it.

“It would be faster in the car.”

“You heard that therapist lady. We’re supposed to be spending time together. What better way to do it than by walking two miles?” Kamile walks back and forth as she considers her options. She can resist which will probably lead to yet another fight or she can just suck it up and walk to the mailbox. With a groan, she makes her decision.

“Fine, but if I get tired you’re carrying me.”

“Anything for you, my lady.” He bows deeply which almost makes Kamile crack a smile. She steels her resolve quickly though and reminds herself not to get caught up in his antics. He’s going to have to do a lot more than make her laugh in order to get out of the dog house.

The walk to the mailbox and back is quiet for the most part. Their footfalls join the hum of the wildlife in the woods that line the driveway on either side, but the jokes and playful jabs that used to fill the air between them is noticeably absent. Neither one is sure of what to say or do around the other anymore. Thankfully, the key is hanging on a hook inside the rather large mailbox.

Mingyu fully expected for Kamile to ask to be carried on the way back. She’s never been a huge fan of physical activity so it doesn’t come as a surprised to him when she starts whining halfway back to the cabin.

“I can’t do it just leave me here with my flower friends. I’ll become one with the forest.” Mingyu wordlessly moves to crouch down in front of her. He’s thankful that she can’t see his face to save himself the embarrassment of having to explain why he’s so excited to carry her for the last half mile to the end of the driveway.

Kamile doesn’t hesitate a single second to climb onto his back, clinging to him like a koala. It’s not lost on either one of them that this is the most physical contact they’ve had with each other in months. She’s wrapped around him tight enough that he doesn’t need to support her thighs, but he does it anyway. No way in hell is going to let this moment pass by without taking full advantage.

They opt to spend the rest of the day just getting settled in. Yeojin had encouraged them to share a bedroom but Kamile is not down with that. Mingyu is disappointed when she wheels her suitcase into one of the guest bedrooms but he takes solace in the fact that she’s chosen the one right across the master where he’d dropped his things hoping she’d follow. He hopes that at some point in the next few days she’ll finally share a bed with him again.

Dinner ends up being Thai takeout. Kamile has to admit that she’s impressed when Mingyu is able to rattle off her usual order with practiced ease. There once was a time when they’d get Thai food together all the time, but they’re so far removed from that time that she was sure he’d have forgotten by now. They eat without a single word exchanged before going their separate ways to bed.

Day 2

Mingyu wakes up before the sun despite the fact that he slept all of two hours the night before. His hands are on the verge of trembling from all of the nervous energy coursing through his body. Today is the official first day of marriage bootcamp and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. It’s barely seven so there’s no way that Kamile has even attempted to get out of bed yet. Like a thief in the night, Mingyu creeps down the hall to peek into the bedroom that she had claimed as her own. A small smile graces his face at the cute way she hugs one of the throw pillows to her chest. It falters a little when his brain reminds him that she used to hug him close to her like that and not a pillow, but he shoves that depressing thought away for now. He has work to do.

The smell of bacon rouses Kamile from sleep, luring her down the stairs. She grunts a greeting at the man currently tending to a pan of scrambled eggs as she reaches for the stack of bacon on the counter to his left. Mingyu is quick to swat her hand away before she can secure her bounty.

“The eggs are almost done. Be patient.” Kamile whines at being chastised, scowling at the back of Mingyu’s head with disdain.

In the midst of her grumbling, she finally takes notice of his attire or the lack thereof. Saliva pools in her mouth at the sight of his muscles flexing as he cooks the eggs. Her gaze moves lower to his trim waist and the pair of gray sweatpants hanging from said waist in a way that has no business being as attractive as it is. Her fingers twitch with the urge to slide her hands beneath the waistband of those sweatpants to get at that prize she knows is there but she keeps them to herself.

“Earth to Kamile.” Mingyu chants as he waves a spatula in front of her face. She blinks rapidly, doing her best to clear the thick fog of arousal from her mind. The uncomfortable sensation of her panties sticking to her skin is quickly forgotten when Mingyu holds up a plate peeled high with bacon, eggs, and blueberry pancakes.

“Thanks, Gyu.” Kamile murmurs as she takes the proffered plate and heads for the table. She falters half a step when she realizes that she’s let his nickname slip. She prays that he didn’t notice and if he did, she prays he doesn’t say anything about it.

“Gyu? Haven’t heard that one in a while.” Looks like that prayer went unanswered. The shit eating grin on Mingyu’s face makes her itch.

“I’m hungry and thankful. Don’t push it.”

They eat in silence. The only sounds are their forks as they make contact with their plates. Mingyu is kicking himself in the ass for not saying anything but his brain is short circuiting. Thankfully, the buzzing from the intercom by the front door signaling that someone is at the front gate. It’s the special grocery delivery he’d requested for the first of their planned activity days.

“What’s all this for?” Kamile asks curiously. She pokes through a few of the bags to see fresh strawberries and a variety of other fruits along with a very large bag of rice cakes.

“I was thinking we could have a picnic today for our first planned activity.” His heart races as he waits for Kamile’s reaction to his idea. She munches on a piece of bacon as she continues to pull things out of bags.

“I dig it.” Mingyu feels weak with relief at his idea being well-received. “Why so many rice cakes though?”

“You’ve been a tteokbeokki fiend since we met. Didn’t see the point in depriving you while we’re here if I could just make it for you.” Kamile groans at the thought. She’s more than capable of feeding her own addiction with the spicy rice cake dish, but she’s never been able to make it as good as Mingyu. Despite the fact that she just ate, she contemplating requesting that he make a batch of it right now.

Mingyu grabs a knife to start chopping up some of the fruit. Kamile takes a seat at the island across from him, propping her chin in her hand as she watches him work. She’s always loved watching him cook almost as much as eating the food he makes. She can’t even remember the last time that she was able to do this. It feels like a lifetime ago. Her eyes with sparkle with fascination watching him prepare the food for their picnic.

“Open up.” Mingyu holds a strawberry up to her lips and Kamile opens her mouth without hesitation. The berry is perfectly ripe and so juicy that a stream of it runs down her chin. Mingyu reaches out to swipe it away, licking the liquid from his thumb.

“Tasty.” Kamile squirms in her seat at the way his lips wrap around his thumb. Time for her to make an escape before she does something crazy like fuck her husband in someone else’s kitchen.

Mingyu watches Kamile hastily retreat with barely concealed glee. He’d thought that she’d stopped being attracted to him, but that is incorrect if the results of the little experiment he’d decided to conduct are to be believed. He smiles to himself as he continues cutting up fruit. There might be hope for them yet.

After agonizing longer than he should have over the best spot to set up their little picnic, Mingyu finally picks a spot. He’s so focused on how best to arrange everything on the blanket that he doesn’t even notice Kamile creeping up behind him. He nearly jumps out of his own skin when she clears her throat much to Kamile’s amusement.

“Did I scare you?” It’s clear to her that she did, but making him admit it is too good for her to pass up.

“No…maybe.” Kamile hums in response, kneeling across from him on the blanket. “That dress is really pretty on you.”

“Thank you.” She mumbles in response. It’s been so long since she’s heard any sort of praise or compliment from Mingyu that she doesn’t even know how to respond anymore. It almost feels brand new.

Eager to rid herself of the awkwardness blooming in her chest, Kamile grabs a fork and shoves what she thinks is a potato straight in her mouth. In her haste, she fails to realize that the potato she thought she had is actually an onion. Mingyu doubles over with laughter at the pure disgust painted across Kamile’s face. She desperately wants to spit it out but she was raised to believe that spitting out perfectly good food is only a half step below a sin so she powers through. She chugs one of the glasses of fresh squeezed lemonade on the small tray to her right as Mingyu continues to cackle at her plight.

“You set me up for failure.” Kamile has hated onions from the womb according to the stories her mother told about the smell of onions making her nauseous for her entire pregnancy. Mingyu must pay for this.

“I purposely cut them big enough for you to easily pick them out. You weren’t supposed to eat them.” Mingyu defends himself breathily as he tries desperately to stop laughing. Kamile reaches out to punch him in the arm which only serves to make him laugh harder.

Silence falls over them again although, unlike breakfast this morning, they’re able to exchange some small talk here and there. The awkwardness that they’d started off with wanes and wanes until they’re left comfortably enjoying each other’s presence for the first time in a long time.

Mingyu finds himself unable to take his eyes off of Kamile. He’d meant it when he’d said that the yellow sundress she’s wearing looked pretty on her. It compliments the rich mahogany of her skin as if it was made especially for her. The plethora of curls that he’s always loved are full of life as she bobs her head side to side, one of her many habits that Mingyu has always adored. His chest feels tight with the weight of his love for her. He can’t believe that he nearly let her slip away.

“You’re staring, Mingyu.” Kamile says between bites of the strawberry she’d grabbed. Mingyu opens his mouth to answer when a distant rumble beats him to the punch.

“Oh shit.”

The two of them hastily toss the near empty dishes back into the picnic basket. Dark clouds are steadily rolling in with the speed of a bullet train. Just when they think they might be able to make it back into the house, their luck runs out. The rain comes down in sheets, drenching them in seconds. Kamile is so thankful that the lack of pockets on her dress lead to her choosing to leave her phone inside.

Kamile is the worst mood when they finally reach the safety of the house. She just went through the stress and physical exhaustion of wash day two days ago and now she has to do it all over again five days ahead of schedule.

“Did you not check the fucking weather before you decided to turn us into sitting ducks outside?” She seethes. Mingyu arches a brow in confusion at her sudden mood swing.

“Of course I did. It was supposed to be nothing but sunshine all week.”

“Well, clearly that was a lie but I’ve grown to accept that from you. Now I’ve got to go suffer through wash day ahead of schedule.” Mingyu winces at her words, but he’s nothing if not an opportunist so he chooses to ignore it in favor of jumping on the more important statement Kamile just made.

“Can I help you with your hair?” He asks as he follows his grumpy wife up the staircase. She pauses outside her room to fix him with a glare.

“Absolutely not.”

“Why? I’ve always helped you with your hair.” In his mind, this isn’t a huge request. The Kamile he knew used to be only too happy to allow him to hand over her hair products for him to do her extensive wash day routine for her. He’d actually gotten so good at it that he’d even started doing her younger sisters’ hair whenever he was in the states to visit.

“I barely know who you are anymore and you expect me to let you touch my hair? Not a chance in hell.” Kamile’s voice climbs in volume until she’s practically yelling.

The last thing Mingyu wants to do today is fight, but enough is enough. Their screams echo through the spacious house as they go back and forth over Kamile’s mistrust of Mingyu. He doesn’t get it and she thinks it’s incredibly shocking that he doesn’t. Kamile’s phone rings somewhere in the bedroom she has yet to enter, effectively interrupting their spat. She leaves Mingyu in the hallway in favor of answering it and groans out loud when she sees that it’s a FaceTime call from Yeojin. She’d forgotten all about the daily check-ins that the therapist had mentioned she’d be conducting. She goes back out to the hallway and drags Mingyu with her to the staircase so they can get this call over with without ruining the carpet in her room.

“Hello, love birds! How’s everything going?” Yeojin chirps once the call connects. Her hopeful smile falters slightly when she sees the sour looks on her clients’ faces.

Mingyu is only too happy to give the attentive marriage counselor a full rundown of what was happening before she called. Kamile scowls at him the entire time. To hear him tell it, she’s the bad guy but anyone with common sense would’ve left her alone after she’d made it perfectly clear that she was not in the mood to have a conversation. She can’t wait for Yeojin to drag him therapeutically for not picking up on that.

“Kamile, what do you think lead to you lashing out like that? The rain was not his fault.” The woman in question is thrown off when the outcome she was expecting doesn’t come to fruition.

“He should’ve checked the weather before deciding to have a picnic outside but that’s neither here nor there. I feel like I made it very clear that I didn’t want to talk to him and yet he kept pressing the issue.” Kamile can’t believe that she has to defend herself. Mingyu is so hasty with responding that it sounds like a keyboard smash is coming out of his mouth.

“I would like to make it known that I did not say one word to you when we came back inside until you started yelling at me.” He looks incredibly smug as he watches Kamile’s mouth open and close as she tries to think of a way to refute his statement. “I would also like to make it known that I have been obsessive about every detail of this picnic and I would have never had it outside if there was even a slight chance that it might rain. Maybe if you had a little more faith in me you could see that.”

“And that brings me to my next point.” Yeojin begins. “We’ve established that the infidelity was a myth, so why do you continue to hold on to that mistrust, Kamile? I want you to really think about it and be completely honest with both us and yourself. I’m not saying that whatever you’re feeling is wrong because you are entitled to feel that way but I think it would be good for the both of you if why you feel that way is better understood.”

The theme of the day continues to be silence as Kamile ponders the question put before her. She’s mature enough to admit that not trusting Mingyu while also admitting that she believes him when he says that he didn’t cheat is contradictory. The root of that contradiction is something she’s been trying to avoid ever since she got roped into that surprise therapy session. Mingyu’s alleged infidelity had been her out. Her escape. She had cut and run on the back of a false truth and that reality is something that’s been hard for her to process. Tears well up in Kamile's eyes as she thinks back to Mingyu’s rant about their wedding vows when they’d first arrived. She’d thought that everything was his fault and being forced to face the truth is difficult. Mingyu’s harsh glare softens as he reaches out to wipe the tears from her face as they start to fall. He sighs when she pulls away from him.

“I can see that I’ve found a sore spot so I won’t press this any further today. We’ll revisit this in the future.” Yeojin gives them some tips on how to better communicate before she ends the call.

Kamile is only too happy to end the call so she can lock herself in her room. She doesn’t even come back out for dinner despite Mingyu all but begging outside of her door. He’s not sure what mental dots she connected when they were talking to Yeojin, but whatever it was seems to have upset her more than he’d originally thought.

A weather alert comes through on Mingyu’s phone as he watches TV downstairs. Apparently the storm that had snuck up on them earlier is part of a much larger system of severe weather that changed course and is expected to hang around the area for the next day or two. His first thought is Kamile. She’s terrified of thunderstorms. Always has been.

He thinks back to a time before they started dating when Kamile was just Vernon’s pretty American friend that he had a huge crush on. She had come to Korea to visit and insisted on sleeping on the couch despite the fact that everyone tried to give up their room for her. Much like today, a nasty storm rolled in and in her panicked state she had accidentally ended up in his room instead of Vernon’s. The realization had been comical and she’d tried to leave to go to the right room, but a sudden clap of thunder that seemed to shake the whole building sent her diving into his arms where she stayed for the rest of the night. She slept through a thunderstorm for the first time in her life that night. A selfish part of him hopes that this storm brings him the same luck he had all those years ago.

Day 3

Heavy rain beats against the window like a prize fighter while thunder rattles Kamile’s brain until she feels like screaming. There aren’t many things that strike true fear in her heart, but thunderstorms are definitely somewhere in the top five things on that list. She’s got her headphones in and her music blasting, but it does very little to drown out the war going on outside. She rips the blankets from her body and makes for the bedroom door to go get in bed with Mingyu but like the fifty other times she’s attempted to do that she stops herself in the hallway. The door shuts with a soft click as she seals herself back in her own personal hell.

Kamile jolts awake not even aware of when she had even managed to fall asleep. Sweat has glued her clothes to her skin and it’s making her skin crawl the longer she lays there. She groans aloud when she hears the rain still beating against the window pane. The alarm clock on the nightstand says that it’s just barely six in the morning which means it’s been exactly one hour since she apparently passed out from exhaustion. A rumble off in the distance lets her know that she probably won’t be getting more sleep any time soon so she drags herself to the bathroom for a shower.

Freshly showered and in desperate need of caffeine, Kamile makes for the kitchen. Mingyu’s bare back comes into view for the second consecutive morning when she rounds the corner. His hair is sticking up in odd directions and he looks to be five seconds from falling asleep standing up as he stabs at the buttons on the coffee maker.

“Why are you up so early?”

“You need coffee.” He replies with a yawn.

“Yeah, but I can make it myself. You didn’t need to lose sleep to make me coffee.” She protests. Mingyu turns to glare at her until Kamile raises her hands in surrender.

“If you’re up, I’m up.” Kamile shakes her head at him as she pulls two mugs out of the cabinet. No sense in arguing with him when he’s clearly made up his mind about suffering.

The two of them sit in silence side by side, sipping their coffee, and staring out the window watching Mother Nature do her thing. Out of habit, Kamile leans over to rest her head on MIngyu’s shoulder. She stiffens when she realizes what she’s doing. Mingyu holds his breath. Scared that if he makes any sudden movements the bubble will burst and she’ll move away from him. She surprises the both of them when she lets the tension drain from her shoulders instead, relaxing into him.

“I’m sorry.” Kamile whispers into the void. If Mingyu wasn’t so acutely focused on her every move, he probably wouldn’t have even heard it over the wind.

“Me too.” He turns his head to softly kiss the top of her head, taking a moment to inhale the familiar scent of her hair products. He never knew it was possible to miss a singular smell so much.

They’ve exchanged exactly four words since they sat down at the table, but they mean so much. There’s a near palpable shift in the air. Like a switch has flipped. An unspoken truce between them that they are in this together. Kamile lifts her head to finish her coffee and Mingyu immediately misses the weight of her head on his shoulder.

“Did you ever finish watching The Originals?” Kamile asks before downing the last of her coffee.

“No, it was kind of our thing so I haven’t watched it since we stopped watching it together.” She hums in response.

“Well, it looks like we’re going to be stuck in this house all day so we may as well pick up where we left off.” Mingyu nearly chokes on his coffee. He can’t even remember the last time Kamile willingly suggested that they spend time together. He pinches himself to make sure he’s not dreaming which she rolls her eyes at.

“Come on. You’re in charge of snacks.”

For the next eight hours, their butts are glued to the couch. They only get up to use the bathroom and replenish their snack pile. They’ve spent so much of their time arguing that Kamile had forgotten how much she loved just being with Mingyu. Klaus is about to rain down hellfire on some of his enemies when Mingyu’s phone vibrates in the pocket of his sweatpants. Kamile can feel it against her own thigh and it’s only then that she realizes the way that they’ve gravitated towards each other over the course of the day. If she were to get any closer to him, she’d be sitting in his lap. Mingyu had intended to ignore the call, thinking it might be someone from the company despite his strict instructions not to contact him, but he answers it instead when he sees that it’s Yeojin.

“Well don’t you two look cozy. I was planning to pick up where we left off yesterday, but I’d rather talk about this first.” Yeojin looks entirely too smug as she brings attention to the lack of space between the two of them. Mingyu half expects Kamile to scoot away from him now that it’s been pointed out just how close they are, but she stays put.

“Can’t a girl just sit next to her husband without being questioned to death?” Kamile asks playfully. Yeojin chuckles and moves on with their daily check in.

“Fine, fine I’ll leave it alone. Let’s get down to business. Mingyu we didn’t get to hear from you a lot yesterday so I’d like to get into how you felt when Kamile left. What was that like for you?” Yeojin rests her chin on her hand as she waits to see what’s going to come out of the box of emotions she just opened.

Mingyu briefly realizes that this is the first time he’s talked about that day to anyone as he recounts that dark morning like the nightmare it was. Kamile listens in stunned silence while he tells his story. After seeing the bags under his eyes at Yeojin’s house, she’d figured that he’d suffered just like she had, but she’d never imagined that waking up to find her rings and the note she’d left had affected him to the extent that it did. The guilt that’s been festering in her gut increases tenfold at the thought of him heaving into the toilet.

“I knew things weren’t the greatest but I truly did believe that we were strong enough to get through whatever. Divorce never crossed my mind even once so it killed me to know that it had not only crossed her mind but became a viable option that she ran with. I get why she thought that was the best option now, but then it felt like I’d been blindsided.” Mingyu explains. His words are laced with the hurt that he’s been keeping to himself. Kamile picks at the words screen printed down one of the legs of her sweatpants wishing that a hold would open beneath her and swallow her up. She’s never felt so low.

“Kamile, I see you’re getting emotional. What are you feeling right now?” Yeojin gently pries. Mingyu pulls Kamile into him as his own emotions start getting the better of him. Yeojin is pleased to note that, unlike yesterday, Kamile doesn’t snatch away from him.

“I was so focused on how unhappy I was that I didn’t consider anything else. It was all about me, me, me.” Kamile stares off into space as she opens up. She’s never talked about this with anyone but her best friends. In hindsight, they might not be sitting where they are right if she’d just talked to Mingyu about it ages ago but then again hindsight is always 20/20. “I visited Korea plenty of times when we were dating, but living here as the black wife of an idol has been so hard. Being from America, I’m used to people treating me different because of my skin color but when people feel entitled to be so invasive about it because of who I’m married to…it’s different.”

Mingyu’s jaw is on the floor as he listens to the struggles that his wife was having right under his nose and he never knew. He noticed that she’d become more withdrawn and hostile but he could never figure out why and she wouldn’t tell him when he asked. It comes as no surprise to him now that she stopped going outside. He can’t exactly blame her. Seventeen is going on their eighth year so Mingyu is a seasoned veteran at ignoring the things people say on the internet. Unfortunately, Kamile didn’t have that luxury. His stomach turns at the tales of her being approached on the street by people who wrongly called themselves fans thinking they were protecting him. The racist comments made about her online. She was suffering and he just let it go on thinking that she was just being moody.

“Do you think that caused you to develop a little resentment for Mingyu and his idol status?”

Kamile’s first instinct is to say no, but given that they are supposed to be as honest possible she tamps down the lie before it can slip out. She did resent that she’d fallen for someone with such great public notoriety sometimes. It was different when she was just one of Vernon’s childhood friends. The general public didn’t really care what she did from day to day, but now one wrong move turns her into a trending topic and she doesn’t know how to handle it. There are days that she wishes that Mingyu was just a normal person, but then they would have never met and that’s not a reality she truly wants to live in despite her feelings towards him when she walked out.

“Maybe a little bit but I know we’d have never met if he wasn’t Mingyu from Seventeen so it’s pointless really.”

They talk with Yeojin a little while longer before she has to go to her next appointment. The air between them is heavy with the weight of the secrets that have come to light. It’s a stifling atmosphere and it’s beginning to drive Kamile insane. She reaches for the remote to restart their show, but Mingyu takes it from her.

“Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?” His eyes are misty as he struggles to hold himself back from crying once more. He could kick himself for not doing his best to shield her from the people that had killed her spirit.

“You’re already so busy and the last thing I wanted to do was add to everything else on your plate.” Mingyu wants to scream. She means more to him than being an idol. She always has. He cups her face in his hands, pressing his forehead to hers.

“Promise me that you won’t hold stuff inside like that anymore and I promise to be better at not letting you. Deal?”

“Deal.” Kamile’s eyes flutter closed as Mingyu pulls away to press his lips to her forehead.

He clears his throat before grabbing the remote to resume their show. For the next few hours, conversation is limited to the messy lives of the supernatural beings on the screen before them. The wind still howls. The rain is unceasing. Yet in the little bubble of Netflix and snacks that they’ve created, it may as well not even exist.

Until bedtime that is.

“You know,” Mingyu says as they file up the stairs. The seemingly ever present bad weather still continues, “…you don’t have to sleep alone. I know you don’t like storms.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” It would be so easy to take him up on his offer. She could finally get some sleep, but for whatever reason she can’t bring herself to do it.

“Well you know where I am if you change your mind. Good night, Kamile.”

“Good night, Mingyu.”

Kamile stares at the ceiling in despair. She didn’t think it was possible for the storm to get worse but apparently Mother Nature took that as a challenge. She’s starting to genuinely concerned about whether or not the window by her bed can withstand the force of the weather it’s being forced to deal with. Kamile contemplates running to Mingyu’s room but shuts that idea down for the millionth time. Things feel...different between them after today’s call with Yeojin but she’s not sure if they’ve been different enough to justify hopping into bed with him quite yet.

“This is fine. I don’t need to sleep.” She whispers into the void.

She’s accepted her fate and made peace with it. Or at least that’s what she thought she’d done. A crack of lighting illuminates the room despite the blackout curtains over the window followed by a thunderous boom so loud it seems to vibrate her very being. Kamile is across the hall before she even has the time to process what she’s doing. Mingyu is out cold when she bursts into the room. Her brain chooses that moment to catch up to what she’s doing and flips on the switch of self-consciousness. Another loud boom has her throwing caution to the wind once more, sliding beneath the blanket to get as close to him as possible without waking him up.

Kamile lays next to him a trembling anxious mess as the storm rages on. She’s so consumed by her own fear that she doesn’t even notice the man next to her has roused from sleep until he’s wrapped both of his arms around her to pull her into his warm chest. It’s as if the environmental warfare outside ceases to exist the second Kamile’s cheek makes contact with Mingyu’s skin. His presence drowns everything out just like it did all those years ago. The sleep that had been evading her comes quickly in his embrace.

Day 4

A ray of sunlight shines perfectly through a crack in the curtain to hit Kamile square in the face. She squirms around trying to escape it and gets a frustrated groan in response. It’s then that she registers the weight of the arm that rests loosely across her midsection. The memory of running to Mingyu’s bed in the middle of the night comes rushing back to her. Her first instinct is to bolt, but she’s so touch starved that she finds herself turning in his hold in a bid to get closer.

“Good morning.” Mingyu grunts something in response that she’s sure he thought sounded like good morning.

He slots one of his legs between hers and unintentionally allows her to feel the morning wood barely contained by his boxer briefs. Mingyu’s even breathing indicates that he’s fallen back asleep. Kamile would love to do the same but all of her attention is laser focused on the hardened appendage intimately pressed against her upper thigh. A damp spot has already started forming in her panties. She needs to get out of this bed now. Kamile squirms and wiggles around trying to get away, but it would seem that her efforts are having the opposite effect. A throaty groan slips from Mingyu’s lips.

“Stop moving.” He mumbles still half asleep. Kamile does her best to stop fidgeting and focus her attention elsewhere, but it’s not working. Her inner muscles clench around nothing as thoughts of what Mingyu could do to her dance dangerously through her mind.

“I have to pee.” Mingyu cracks one eye open. It doesn’t take a genius to tell that he doesn’t believe her for a second but he releases her anyway. He sighs as he watches her run off to the en suite bathroom.

Mingyu is noticeably absent when Kamile emerges from the bathroom fresh off a rushed orgasm though hardly sated. She follows the scent of coffee downstairs to find Mingyu bent over digging through one of the crisper drawers in the refrigerator. Back before everything went to shit she would’ve slapped his ass with glee and run away before he could exact his revenge. Good times.

“Did you hear what I said?” Kamile was so focused on his ass that she hadn’t even registered the fact that Mingyu had said anything.

“Huh?”

“I said do you want to get in the hot tub later since we can go outside now?” He repeats as he hands over a cup of coffee already milky and sweet the way she likes it.

“It’s almost 80 degrees outside and you want to get in a hot tub?” She questions slowly to which Mingyu responds with an emphatic yes. “Be honest. Are you just trying to see me in a bikini?”

“Absolutely.” He giggles when Kamile reaches out to smack him on the arm. “Why are you attacking me? Yeojin said we have to be honest at all times.”

“I don’t think that included being a horny little shit.”

“I’m a man with eyes and a hot wife. I can’t help.” Despite the compliment, Kamile’s mood sours at his words. Mingyu’s freshly honed observation skills picks up on it immediately.

“Uh oh, did I say something wrong?”

“If I’m so hot, then why haven’t we had sex in four months? We used to go at it like rabbits and then one day you just stopped initiating things.”

Mingyu is quick to point out that he did try to have sex with her plenty of times, but she pushed him away. Eventually, he gave up. It’s almost funny when the dots start connecting in her head. Her personal struggles had originally been why she denied him sex, but then he’d started coming home doused in perfume so she really didn’t want anything to do with him then. Mingyu has never been a very pushy person so he figured he’d just wait her out. He didn’t think that he’d end up in a four month dry spell (and counting), but he was also not about to look for satisfaction outside of his marriage either.

“How about we save this sex talk until after I’m finished cooking? All of the blood in my body is rushing south and these rice cakes are starting to look like nipples.” Kamile nearly chokes on the water she’d just taken a sip of. Tears pour from her eyes as her body can’t decide if it wants to laugh or die of asphyxiation.

“Woah, woah! When we said till death do us part I was hoping we’d be farting dust not barely 26.” Kamile is sure that he wants her dead now as her internal war between laughing and choking only gets worse.

Despite her earlier protests, Kamile finds herself seated across from Mingyu in the hot tub later that evening as they watch the sun set. She fully expects him to try something from the way his eyes keep drifting south to stare at her chest, but he’s on his best behavior the entire time.

Day 5

“Hello, love birds! I missed you two yesterday. What happened?” Yeojin looks hesitant almost as if she’s scared of their answer. She looks downright relieved to hear that they missed her call because they fell asleep cuddling on the couch. After getting a run down of everything that’s happened since they last spoke, she encourages them to continue sleeping in the same bed together.

“Couples often downplay the amount of good that just being physically close to your partner can be. If you’re both comfortable sleeping next to each other without a thunderstorm being the driving force, please keep doing it.” Yeojin pleads before ending the call to go to her next appointment.

Her words hang in the air even after she’s gone. Mingyu looks over at Kamile with a questioning look on his face. It’s clear that he’s after her opinion on this whole shared bed situation, but Kamile doesn’t have much to say on the matter. The two of them have been pretty much inseparable during the day now, but she’s still nervous about sleeping in the same bed together and she doesn’t know how to shake that feeling. She was too scared to think about it last night but without the weather to distract her she’s not so sure if sit’s a good idea.

“What’s going on in there?” Mingyu taps a finger against Kamile’s temple to get her attention. She shakes her head but he’s got a feeling it’s about what Yeojin’s bed sharing idea.

“If this is about sharing a bed, don’t worry about. You’ve got the rest of the day to decide.” She nods in acknowledgement of his point but Mingyu can tell that the gears in her head are turning even faster than before. Her overthinking is going to give her a headache.

Night time comes entirely too quickly for Kamile’s liking. Mingyu has kept her so busy that she hasn’t had the time to sit down to sort through her thoughts. Knowing him, he probably did that on purpose. He always hated her habit of overthinking everything, preferring to live in the moment and make decisions as they arose. Kamile has never had much success doing that which is why they work so well together. He balances her out and helps her weed out the important aspects of the topic at hand to make faster decisions.

Her mind is racing as they climb the stairs on their way to bed. Mingyu stops at the door to his bedroom and looks at her with such hope on his face that she almost feels guilty for what she’s about to say. His face falls when Kamile tells him that she thinks it’s better for them to sleep in their own respective rooms tonight. Mingyu is a good sport about it, bidding her good night with a lingering kiss to her forehead.

Falling asleep has never been a problem for Mingyu which is why he’s utterly confused when he’s still wide awake three hours after getting into bed. He’s in danger of pulling the sheets off of the mattress on one side from how much he’s been tossing and turning.

This is bullshit. I’ve been sleeping fine every night. What’s the difference now?

Mingyu sits up to fluff his pillows. It doesn’t help. He kicks the ceiling fan up a notch. That doesn’t help either. He counts sheep, ducks, and even cows, but nothing is working. The longer he tries to avoid the obvious the more awake he seems to be. Sleeping in the guest room most nights to avoid arguing had taught him to sleep alone. Now that he knows what it’s like to hold her again, he’s ruined. He wonders briefly if Kamile is awake too. Is she just as restless too?

He tosses and turns for the better part of another hour. The clock on his phone says that 3 a.m is quickly approaching and Mingyu caves. It takes less than ten seconds to cross the hall to her room, but practicing his explanation as to why he’s in her room at ass o’clock in the morning takes much longer. He knocks twice and pokes his head in.

“Kam?”

“You can’t sleep either, huh?” She asks without even turning to look at the man poking his head into her bedroom.

Mingyu nearly collapses from sheer relief when Kamile simply reaches behind herself to lift the blankets after he confirms that he’s been unable to fall asleep just like her. He wastes no time sliding in behind her. Before he can even get it out of his mouth to ask, Kamile reaches back to find his arm, pulling it across her waist.

“Good night, Gyu.” Kamile whispers. Her words are slurred as if she’s already half asleep. Mingyu kisses her shoulder, letting his lips linger against her skin.

“Good night, Kam.”

Day 6

A feather light touch to her lower lip is what prompts Kamile to open her eyes long before she’s ready. She pulls back slightly once her vision clears and she realizes just how close Mingyu’s face is to her own. He even has the audacity to laugh at her surprise.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d wake up.” He’s not sure how long he’s been watching her sleep, but he’d do it for the rest of his days. The pesky organ in his chest skips a beat as he holds Kamile’s gaze like a lifeline. He mulls over his next words very carefully, preparing for a possible rejection just as he did when he came to her room in the middle of night. “Can I kiss you?”

“Please do.” She whispers into the inch of space that separates them.

Mingyu closed the gap slowly as if he’s giving her time to change her mind. Kamile sighs when his lips finally touch hers. One of his hands comes up to untie the silk scarf tied protectively around her head so that he can bury his hand in the curls he’s always been obsessed with. He uses his grip on her to guide her head as he deepens the kiss.

She rolls onto her back and pulls him with her so that his much larger frame nearly covers hers entirely. Mingyu lets his primal instincts take over. Too lost in the way her lips are moving against his own. A groan rattles his chest when she squirms beneath him until his hips are situated between her thighs. The thin fabric of their respective underwear are the only barriers separating his aching erection from the place she needs him most. He can’t resist the urge to grind himself against her. If his brain wasn’t so clouded in lust, he’d probably have the mental capacity to feel a little embarrassed at just how quickly he’s risen to full mast. Kamile is floating somewhere beyond cloud nine when Mingyu’s hand that had been cradling her head moves to lightly grip her throat instead while the other rhythmically squeezes and pushes at her ass in time with his thrusts. Her head is tipped back in ecstasy as he kisses along her jaw.

It takes a herculean effort that he wasn’t totally sure he was even capable of, but Mingyu separates himself from the panting woman in his arms. He rocks back on his heels and Kamile’s eyes are immediately drawn to the tantalizing bulge at the apex of his shapely thighs. She reaches for him but Mingyu grabs her wrist before she can get her hands on him. He lifts her hand to his lips, pressing kisses to the back of it.

“Trust me when I say that I would love nothing more than to ravage you right now but if I’m going to be inside you again, I want you to have my ring on your finger.” Kamile starts to speak but stops when Mingyu presses his index finger to her lips. He traces the outline of her kiss swollen lips almost as if he’s in a trance. “I don’t want you to make a decision that you’re not totally comfortable with just because you’re horny. I want you to really want it. I want you to really want us. Now get up so I can feed you.”

A vulgar comment about what she really wants him to feed her crosses Kamile’s mind as Mingyu playfully swats at her thighs to get her moving. She respects his resolve and keeps it to herself but only barely.

“It’s super nice outside. Wanna go for a walk?” Kamile would actually rather stay inside and enjoy the comforts of the air-conditioning, but Mingyu looks so excited that she finds herself giving in. She disappears upstairs to put on her sneakers mentally kicking herself for being so whipped for the man waiting for her by the patio door.

Mingyu laces his fingers between Kamile’s

They happen across a small stream during their casual stroll around the property. Kamile stops to look at Mingyu to see if he’s on the same wavelength as her.

“Let’s do it.”

Their shoes are abandoned under a tree near the creek before running full speed into the water. The cooler temperature of the water feels like heaven. Kamile squeals when Mingyu splashes her with water. Mingyu suddenly lifts her over his shoulder, using the hand that’s not holding on to her to splash Kamile with more water. She’s out of breath from laughing when he finally lets her down only to steal the rest of her breath away when he surprises her with a kiss.

“What was that for?” She’s slightly dazed both from the lack of oxygen and the searing kiss he’s just laid on her.

“Because.” He smirks at her before swooping in for yet another kiss.

“And that one?”

“Because part two.” Kamile giggles at his corniness even though she does her best not to give him the satisfaction of knowing it gets to her. Mingyu’s smile somehow gets even bigger at the sound of her laughter. He digs his fingers into his sides to prolong her laughter for his own enjoyment.

They spend a little longer frolicking around before finally heading back to the house to shower and start on dinner. Kamile unsuccessfully lobbies to shower together but Mingyu is adamant in his refusal. He’s positive that the self-control he exhibited earlier that morning used up all the restraint he could’ve ever hoped to have for the next six months. There’s no way he’d be able to deny her. He kisses her quickly before running off to his own bathroom.

Mingyu is totally and completely in love. He absentmindedly pushes his food around with his fork as he listens to Kamile rant about the mistreatment and near erasure of some X-Men character named Darwin. He’s got absolutely no idea what she’s talking about but she’s so passionate about it that he can’t help being fascinated.

“Darwin’s whole entire superpower was that he could adapt to anything and you mean to tell me that robots designed to adapt to and counteract the powers of mutants were built off of Mystique’s DNA? Absolutely not. I might be a little-” Her rant is cut short by her phone ringing on the kitchen counter where she’d left it. She grumbles about being interrupted as she gets up to go get it. It’s Yeojin.

Kamile returns to the table with her phone, choosing to sit in Mingyu’s lap for their daily check-in. The marriage counselor should get a kick out of that one. Sure enough, their seating arrangement is the first thing that Yeojin comments on. They take turns updating her on everything that’s occurred since they last spoke with her though they leave out some of the more sordid details.

“This is what I like to hear!” She exclaims with an excited clap of her hands. “It seems that everything is going well right now. Is there anything we haven’t talked about this week that one of you wants to go over? If not, I’m comfortable ending the call here.” They say their goodbyes after confirming that they feel like they’re in a good place right now. Yeojin makes them swear to call her the moment they think they need her but she doubts that she’ll be hearing from them until their follow-up appointment in a few days.

Kamile makes to get up to return to her own chair but Mingyu stops her. She shrugs and reaches across the table to grab her own bowl. He smiles to himself as she resumes the rant that she’d been in the middle of before Yeojin’s call. He still has no idea what she’s going on about but he’s content to just listen to her vent.

Day 7

Anxiety twisting her gut into knots is what eventually pulls Kamile from the bliss of sleep. Mingyu’s side of the bed is empty and she’s thankful for that to a certain extent. She heads for the shower, taking extra care with everything she does until she realizes how cowardly it is to stall like this. Deciding against putting on actual clothes, Kamile opts to just pull on one of oversized hoodies.

“Good morning!” Mingyu leans over to kiss her sweetly before turning back to the pan he’s tending to on the stove. He’s been doing that a lot since yesterday. Just randomly stealing kisses like he’s making up for lost time.

“Just so you don’t get freaked out when they show up, I’ve got a private chef coming to cook us dinner tonight.” Mingyu mentions as they sit down to eat breakfast. She’s pleasantly surprised that he’s put in so much thought into their anniversary even though he’s yet to directly mention the fact that today is their anniversary.

Today is their last day in their little safe haven away from the world and the status of their marriage is still technically up in the air. They both know that a decision needs to be made before they leave in the morning, but neither of them has brought it up. It’s like they’ve been tip toeing around the giant elephant in the room and expecting for it to just disappear on its own.

Other than Mingyu making tteokbeokki, extra spicy and extra cheesy just the way Kamile likes it, they don’t really do much throughout the day. A majority of their time is spent tangled in each other on the couch just talking. They reminisce on the days when they’d first started dating. Kamile nearly falls off of the couch in a fit of laughter at Mingyu’s spot on impression of Vernon’s face when he’d caught them sneaking a few kisses in the dorm kitchen one day. Each memory is sweeter than the last and Kamile is overcome with the urge to make more of those memories. Now that she’s been able to let go of the anger and misplaced resentment that had made her bitter, she actually has hope in that possibility.

The heels of the platform pumps she’d decided on for the night click with every step as Kamile slowly descends the staircase. She’s determined not to let her natural clumsiness send her to the hospital on such an important day. Mingyu holds his hand out to her when she reaches the last few steps. He looks every bit the international superstar that he’s known to be.

“You look absolutely stunning.” Warmth spreads across her face at the whispered compliment. She barely manages to return the favor. Kamile’s nerves are starting to get the better of her and she hopes and prays that there’s wine on the table so that she can drink them away.

Thankfully, Kamile notices a bottle of white wine chilling in an ice bucket next to the table when Mingyu leads her into the dim dining room. The dinner prepared by the chef looks delicious and she’s can’t wait to taste it but wine is her first priority if she expects to make it through dinner without bolting. Her first glass is tipped down her throat in record time much to Mingyu’s amusement. He refills without hesitation though she chooses to actually sip that one as intended.

Conversation flows easily between them as they eat. However, the topic that deserves their attention the most continues to stew on the back burner as they talk about literally anything else. As nervous as Kamile was when she first came downstairs, Mingyu is doubly so. He’s done his almighty best to convince Kamile that their marriage is worth saving without outright begging her. Based on the past few days, he’s incredibly hopeful that she’ll come back home with him tomorrow and stay there but she’s always been a wildcard. You never truly knew what move she was going to make until she made it. The small velvet box in his pocket feels like a stone. During a lull in the conversation, Mingyu makes his move.

“Kamile,” He reaches across the table to grab both of her hands, “Four years ago you agreed to be my girlfriend and I thought that surely that was the happiest day of my life but then you said yes to being my wife and I knew then that I was wrong. You’re the most precious part of my life and I was a fool for not making sure that you knew that every day for the last year.”

Mingyu pauses to get down on one knee next to Kamile, pulling the ring box from his pocket. Her ring is nestled in the tiny velvet box. It sparkles brilliantly even in the dim lighting. “Kamile Kim, will you do me the honor of staying my wife?”

Tears well up in Kamile’s eyes as she nods her head yes. She’d made countless lists and weighed her options, but in that moment she throws all of that logic to the wind. At the end of the day, Mingyu is the one. He always has been and he always will be. She can’t believe that she almost threw everything away over her own assumptions and insecurities. Mingyu doesn’t hesitate to slide the piece of jewelry onto her trembling hand when she holds it out to him. He stands, pulling her with him so that he can kiss her senseless.

“I’ve been waiting to say this until I knew where we stood but….happy anniversary, babe.”

“Happy anniversary, Gyu.” She whispers against his lips before kissing him deeply once more. “Now take me upstairs.”

“Your wish is my command, my lady.”

#the intimacy anthology #kim mingyu #mingyu seventeen #mingyu idol au #mingyu au #mingyu established relationship #mingyu x oc #mingyu x reader #mingyu x black oc #mingyu x poc oc #mingyu smut #seventeen smut #vernon

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newobsessionweekly · 5 years ago

Text

First time in love🌿

Arón piper x reader

a/n: I edited it and I like it. I’m not a writer, or at least I don’t think I am, and it’s my first attempt to write something like this. It felt good. It’s my first attempt to write something in English (English is not my native language) so I hope I didn’t messed up anything. Tell me what you think and tell me if I should do that again. I liked it though. 🌿

warnings: none, I am still not good at this

Word count: 3k

Y/n watches the first season of Élite with Miguel, her best friend and only friend here in Spain. They became friends in college in LA and the passion for ocean brings them closer and closer as the years flew by. Her biggest dream is to fly around the world and in their four years of friendship, they travelled together to the most unique places she never dreamed she would see, Indonesia, Himalaya, Ibiza. But the place she loved the most is Spain, Miguel’s native country; her obsession with the Latin country began at a very young age when her parents took her to Tenerife for her tenth birthday. She only dreamt of living there, because her parents were strict and planned a different life for her; they chose her high school classes over the years and even the college, wanted for her to become a successful actress, just like Miguel. But now she decided to take her life into her own hands after a big fight with the people that bring her into the world and raised her to be this amazing woman she is today. It didn’t take long for Miguel to convince her to come with him in Spain and to start a new life there, with him by her side.

Staying with legs crossed in front of the TV from Miguel’s living room, he is trying to explain for the third time already every actor´s real name but she wasn't really paying attention to his words. In high school, though she was so obsessed with Spain, she just couldn’t understand this language and learned properly only a few words. And now she was desperate to learn faster a few phrases and focusing on TV, hearing the actors talking and keeping up with the subtitles she thought was helping. Tonight she is supposed to meet a few friends of Miguel’s, and she didn’t understand the importance of knowing every actor from the cast of Elite in order to know at least how to introduce herself to everyone. He promised her a million times they are going to love her while they were dressing and again a gazillion times while he was rushing her out of the flat because the cab was waiting for them for ten minutes already.

She was so nervous that the whole ride to one of the most luxurious clubs in Madrid, her hands were caressing her dress over and over as her bottom and upper lip were switching turns between her teeth. She is very insecure and wants to make a proper first impression, hoping that maybe after this night she could call them her friends, not only Miguel’s.

What she didn’t knew, was that Miguel already spoke to his friends and told them that his date is a little shy and is worried about not making through the night. Well, maybe to be more convincing, he used the words “she is fucking freaking out right now” with some laughing emojis. He subtle asked them to try and talk to her first and give her a chance, because she became one of the most important people from his life, he could already call her his little sister. They love each other, but there are no romantic sentiments involved; Miguel is over heels in love with Aitana and Y/n is secretly crushing over his co-star, Arón Piper.

When they arrived, her hands started to shake and she was constantly telling herself that she wouldn’t survive the night. Miguel is different than Y/n, he is very dynamic, smiling maybe too much and he has a lovely personality so no one could resist to him, or this is what she thought. She didn’t believe him, she is convinced that his friends wouldn’t like her. But Miguel rolled his eyes again at the sight of his dearest friend worrying so much; he finds her so funny and amazing, with a golden heart and the best in everything. Seriously thought, he couldn’t understand how she is can perfectly change a lighting bulb and also fix everything around the house, emanating so much seriousness and experience. And also he couldn’t understand how she is so smart, astonishing him with so many random facts about any subject he could made out, even the weirdest one and not so usual. He is so sure she would make friends easily that if he could give her all of his assurance, he would take her worries away without blinking.

Danna and Ester were waiting for them in front of the club, supposing about Y/n. Miguel had sent Danna some funny videos of Y/n and some cute photos since they live together and she could tell she’s as peppy as he is and there is no coincidence that Miguel calls her his sister, they are alike. Danna couldn’t wait to meet her and Ester is scrolling down on y/n’s Instagram and appreciates her beauty and let a few appreciative comments about her the talent for modelling to slip her mouth. They already like her.

As they approaches the trio – Álvaro joined his girlfriend soon enough to hear a part of the conversation about y/n – that was waiting for them already for fifteen minutes, Miguel put a hand over her shoulders and smiled to her before turn to his friends and smile to them too. He shake hands with Álvaro and hugged him as he tells how much he missed him. Álvaro come to introduce himself and then followed two kisses on your cheeks – a very strange habit that those Spanish people have, but y/n finds it very sweet actually.

“Well, Joder chica!” Danna exclaims as she approaches y/n and kiss her cheeks as greeting. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! Miguel talks about you nonstop!”

She blushes at Danna’s words and accepts Ester hug. Y/n smiles bright that soon enough her mouth and cheeks will hurt her. She is happy, they all seem so nice and finally understood why Miguel tried to familiarise her with the names of Elite cast. She thought that he wants to introduce her to more surfing friends and when she asked, he refused to give her any details, fuelling her worries even more.

As the night flew by, her worries were found sinking in one of the many drinks, maybe in the fifth glass that once was filled with y/n’s Mojito. Danna is laughing at one of y/n’s jokes and squeezes Jorge’s hand even harder. Everyone is laughing, starting with Miguel who is so proud of her for letting those worries away and continuing with Omar who couldn’t introduce himself properly and doesn’t even know the name of the funniest girl at the table. Even Arón is laughing while studying her face and the way she’s trying so hard not to burst into laughing while telling another funny story of hers.

Miguel smiles bright at the sight of his best friend integrating into his group. He doesn’t have to worry anymore about her, she is surrounded by his dearest friends and already being part of the family. That’s what made her felt a little bit overwhelmed; y/n found herself standing beside these amazing people, so talented and so fucking kind for allowing her to feel again that family vibe she’s been missing, due to the fact she is so far from home already for an entire month.

Her eyes couldn’t move away from where Arón was dancing and singing to the remix hearing through the speakers, with a drink in his hand and, sometimes she saw him with a cigarette in the other one. Arón is the life of the party, she knows that, every other girls knows, even he knows that. He is a very good-looking man, that screams all the looks that are destined to him, but y/n can see beyond that. She can see how good friend is with other members of Elite cast, she can see how much fun everyone has around him and all she could do is to stand there and watch him with her mouth opened in surprise as Arón started rapping to one of his favourite songs.

This is far from her favourite music genre, she couldn’t help smiling and enjoying that moment so much that she even considers listening to that king of music more often. Why everything sounds so perfect in Spanish? Why is everything so perfect in this country?

Y/n didn’t speak to Arón much, only few phrases related to his drink and her wanted to sit next to Miguel, but that was all. A few drinks later, Omar initiated a Poker game and though it was y/n’s first time playing, she surprised everyone – even herself – by winning too many rounds and collecting too many useless cigarettes, a bunch of them coming from Arón. That was Arón’s idea, to play with usual cigarettes instead of money, it makes the game more interesting to him.

There were far too few hours until the sun rise when the party was over, and y/n is barely keeping her eyes open. Standing outside the club, saying goodbye to everyone, made her heart heavy; she didn’t wanted to say goodbye to anyone, she didn’t wanted the party to end because she is so sure she’s never goona hangout with them again. But when y/n felt Danna’s hand patting her softely on the shoulder, asking for y/n’s phone number, talking about a future gathering, maybe a shopping session, just the girls, made y/n’s heart skip some beats.

Arón didn’t remain untouched to her charm, he saw something in her too, and all night was trying to somehow catch her attention. He hoped that she is maybe more brave than he is, he hoped all night she would come to his side and start a conversation. But when the party ended, he realised he has to do something – however little – and not just let her go. He wanted to hangout with her again, to have a chance to speak properly and know more about the girl that beated the shit out of him at – what he thought poker was – his game.

Y/n watches as Danna get into the cab and from the corner of her eyes, she saw Arón approaching. Her hands started shaking so hard, she had to hide them in the pockets of Miguel’s jacket. She admits it feels weird to wear his jacket, but it was all his fault that she forgot hers back at his place, because he was rushing her. She never worked well under pressure.

“Nice played! I’ve never thought I’ll met someone who can beat my ass at Poker.” He admitted, scratching the back of his neck nervously. He has the most gorgeous smile y/n has ever seen and her legs almost yielded, but she put the blame on the beers and the high heels. Y/n hates wearing heels, but even she knows sneakers don’t really fit for clubs.

“I’ve never thought I’ll met someone with so many cigarettes. Like, the world is ending and you had to make your full?” she smiled as she watched him laugh. He has a beautiful laugh too and his face just lights up when he’s not putting on that bad ass face Y/n finds interesting and hot.

“Speaking of cigarettes, here, take them!” she handed him the packs she won at the game, excluding the ones that she owes Miguel because he shared his so that she would be able to play.

“I figured you’re not a smoker. Damn, that’s what I call a profit. I arrived here with like two packs and I’m leaving with three. And I smoked a lot too.” Both of them laughed, and Y/n just couldn’t believe he’s a funny one as well. Damn, this boy has the whole package.

When Miguel informed her about the cab’s arrival, Arón smiled and opened his arms. He likes hugs and likes hugging people, being affectionate to them. So doing this move to her, the fact that he was maybe into y/n couldn’t be recognised. She looked at him astonished, but accepted his invitation anyway. Since the first time she saw him, she wondered how it is to hug him, how does his body feels and how his cologne smells. It was neither a short hug nor a long one, just perfect for them to memorise each other’s shape of the body and to share their perfume on each other’s clothes.

—————

Y/n moved out from Miguel’s place a while ago, but she was around a lot so she’s not really missing many things. He often makes little comments about it, but he didn’t mind having her around; y/n and Aitana are very close friends now and them allying together to beat Miguel’s ass at some video game is going him nuts, they are sometimes successful.

Everything reminded her of Arón. Y/n even started at some point comparing the hugs Miguel gives to that one stupid drunk hug outside the club when she met Arón. Miguel is taller than Arón, but also much more imposing. Arón is tall too, much taller than she, but he’s body isn’t that worked out, she felt his biceps in that stupid hug and hurt pretty bad when she accidentally hit her head to his jawline. But despite that, she finds so hard to stop staring at his Instagram profile and not to be excited when he posts something new on his profile or he films something for his Instastory. She had to admit at some point, he’s a total snack, even though he doesn’t have a six-pack. Y/n didn’t like that kind of boys anyway, she finds Arón perfect as he is, with his beautiful brown eyes, those little tattoos that can be seen on his naked torso and his messy, curly hair. When Miguel told her that she had a type and that in the category fits Arón perfectly, y/n just ignored him and rolled her eyes. After that she couldn’t stop thinking about it; he did it to see how her face is changing and to strengthen his suspicion.

Arón was thinking about Y/n a lot lately, and the short videos with her laughing or doing something stupid or funny that Miguel shares on their group chat isn’t helping. He couldn’t focus on set, in the last few hangouts with his friends, he hoped to see her and hear her laugh again, he hoped this time would be able to look her in the eye and made a proper conversation. But she didn’t show up at any of them. Everyone was asking about her, but Miguel just waved his hand at them and told everyone y/n has her own life and her own problems; she didn’t have to show up beside him at every gathering. Arón soon enough found out that Danna was keeping in touch with her and asked maybe too often about her. When he texted Miguel and asked what is y/n’s Instagram, Miguel understood soon enough that Arón got the hots for y/n.

Y/n was going back and forth through Miguel’s kitchen as she was trying to make a healthy smoothie for her and Miguel, with his dogs following her everywhere. Miguel’s dogs are her favourite and she always makes fun of him saying that she’s around this much because of the dogs.

“Aye, chica” she turned her head towards Miguel who was standing on the couch in the living room watching some boring Tv show on Netflix.

Y/n was dwelling on these dreams of Arón. He was hanging out too much inside her mind, being there with his lovely eyes, his bright smile and the dazzling cologne coming after her. She was one day walking through Madrid and somehow recognised it. It’s like he was following her everywhere.

“Sí” y/n answered back when she figured he wanted to capture his attention.

“Check your phone” he wickedly smiled and that made her raise her eyebrow at him, with only bad things running through her head because that smile of his means only trouble.

“Instagram: @aron.piper started following you”

She froze. What the heck is going on? Y/n stalked him maybe too many days on Instagram because she never thought he might find her through his endless list of likes or followers.

“Joder!” she almost screamed when he responded to her story. Miguel was laughing his ass out at her reactions, he thought she is very funny.

“I’ve never thought I’ll met someone who is more obsessed with this tv show than me”

“I’ve never thought I’ll met someone who can make me listen to that rap music kind of thing and made me like it. But then I met you” she responded.

And then they talked over and over and almost every night. On some point they ended up where he just likes her message, not knowing what to say more. And those moments made Y/n think “That’s it, the conversation ends here and I might never talk to him again”. She fears every times that happens this way that that might be the end of the most beautiful moments she has had in the past couple of months. And while he’s looking for any proper response, she’s clenching every time her heart between her teeth and allows herself to be a pain in the ass and just write him one of the many random facts she knows.

She has never felt this kind of emotion before, neither one of them. She has never felt the love from another person. Of course, Miguel loves her, he’s her best friend, she laugh at her phone too when he sends her funny messages, but she never felt like she could fly any moment and never thought her cheeks could hurt so much from smiling hours and hours at a phone talking to this amazing man. He is so beautiful inside and out and her stomach hurts when she thinks about him and that stupid hug.

Arón’s not less than Y/n. He’s also confused by the feelings from his chest and the thoughts that are containing Y/n in every single one. He also wonders why does he smiles like a sociopath at his phone and why he feels the need to talk to her any moment of the day. Y/n fascinates him in a way he never thought any woman would.

“You’re so in love, tonta!” Miguel smiled at her and rolled his eyes again. She has been neglecting him for the previous hours, and he is kinda pissed – he had to play alone their favourite game, for the countless night in a row – however he doesn’t make any comments. He has never seen her so happy; he is very proud,because two of his dearest friends managed to find someone right for each ohter.

For the first time, she’s in love. In love with the best person she could find, with a curly haired boy that smokes too many cigarettes but still manages to smell so good. Arón found out a few days later than Y/n that he’s heart had been stolen by the most brilliant woman he has ever met. But both of them are as scared of that.

#aron piper #aron #aron x reader #aron piper x reader #imagines #aron imagine #aron piper imagine #miguel #miguel bernardeau #danna #danna paola #ester #ester exposito #elite #netflix #elite imagines

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all1e23 · 5 years ago

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Aeipathy

Pairings: Hades!Bucky x Persephone!Reader

Summary: You wandered into the forest on your own and met a handsome stranger.

Warnings: Um, none for this chapter I don’t think? General series warnings: angst, death, bloodshed. Ya know, fun stuff. Bucky is still sappy. It is what it is.

A/N: This is my entry for @itsbuckysworld Summer Writing Challenge. My prompt was Enchanted Forest AU. This was going to be a series but it will not be continued. It’s my own take/spin or whatever on Hades and Persephone and I am making shit up as go because I’m the writer and I can. 😉 Send me love, write me a song or come scream at me if you like it. Pic Credit [x]

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam though! Thanks!*

“Y/n!” Steve hissed through his panting. He was running as fast as his small legs could take him, but you were still quicker. “We can’t go into the Enchanted Forest. It’s forbidden! Everyone knows that."

"When have you ever cared about the rules?” You asked and slowed your pace to allow Steve the chance to catch up; his breathing was labored but nothing you needed to worry about, yet anyway. You wiggled your toes in tall strands of grass, you’ve always liked the way the soft grass felt against your bare feet. The gentle blades turned sharp the closer you got to the edge of the treeline, the shadows that lurked within enticing you as they always did. For as long as you could remember you’ve been told to fear the darkness before you, but now that you were standing on the edge of it you couldn't see why.

It was beautiful; even the shadows.

Steve rolled his eyes, stopping a few steps behind you to catch his breath. This was becoming your new normal. You had an obsession with finding out what was beyond those trees, and Steve had a feeling it was going to get you both in trouble. “That’s not the point. There’s a reason it’s forbidden. No one knows what lives in there. It’s been centuries since anyone has gone inside.”

You turned back to look at your best friend with a mischievous gleam in your eye. "Doesn’t that make you a little curious to see what lives in there?”

“Not even a little,” Steve answered you, dryly and slightly annoyed. “Come on. We need to get back. Your mother would have a fit if she knew we were out like this.”

You sighed but linked arms with Steve and allowed him to direct you back towards the castle. You smiled, amused as you listened to Steve, complain about the grief you were going to get from Sam. It was not the first time you ditched your personal guard and would not be the last. Before your mother agreed to let, Steve stay in the castle -- after you agreed to her terms, of course. Steve had to be by your side for your good, and you had to let a new girl, Wanda, be your lady in waiting -- before that happened, you often snuck out of the castle and out from under Sam’s nose so you could spend time with Steve.

He should be used to it by now, but by the look on his face as he waited outside the gate for your return, he was not used to it.

Sam raised his brow and pursed his lips the second he laid eyes on you, disappointment was oozing off him, and you couldn't help but smile. “I thought we had moved passed the sneaking out, my lady?”

“You don’t like to lie, Sam. I was saving you from having to lie for me.”

You continued right on by Sam, spotting the smile he wanted to hide from you. As much as he adored your adventurous spirit, it wasn’t safe for someone of your status to be out by herself. You weren’t royalty, but you weren’t nobodies either. Your family had enemies as did all prominent families you supposed.

“You don’t have to follow so closely, Sam. I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s what you said this morning.”

Steve snorted from his place next to you, and you shot him a playful glare. “You know what they say, Y/n. Fool a man once…”

“Hush, Steve.” You muttered under your breath as you approached your panicked mother.

“No.” Your mother said in a harsh whisper. “It’s best if that stays between us. You know what Heimdall said about her and that... thing. This stays here--” Her guard - Brock Rumlow, a terrible man, one that never failed to make you feel uneasy, cleared his throat and nodded behind her where you were approaching rather quickly, avoiding the man’s glare as you did.

Sam wasn’t fond of him either from what you gathered over the years. He stood a little closer to you when Rumlow was around, but when you asked about it in private, he would never give his reasons, and you suspected he had plenty.

“Where have you been?!” Your mother's shout filled the bustling hallway startling nearly everyone walking nearby, enough to draw their attention.

“I was out picking flowers with Steve.” You pulled a small bundle of wildflowers from behind your back for proof, and Steve frowned. You saw the question in his eyes without him having to ask, when did you pick those? A small shrug of your shoulder had Steve narrowing his eyes. Your mother, on the other hand, simply nodded -- content with your answer. “Fine, but next time Samuel is to stay by your side and for the love of the Gods, change out of that dress before dinner. You have grass stain all over it.”

You glanced down at the blush-colored fabric and grimaced at the dark green and brown marks covering it. Another dress ruined then. Perhaps you should start wearing black, no need to worry about grass stains when everything you own is black. You opened your mouth to give another feeble excuse behind the stains, but she pointed to your bare feet covered in mud, and your mouth snapped shut.

“Honestly, Y/n. You’re not a teenager. You can’t expect to win over suitors running around with bare feet.”

“I don’t want to win--” Your mother lifted her hands, silencing the same argument you’ve had for months now, and ushered you towards your chambers.

Steve was quiet as he walked a few steps behind you like he was supposed to when you were in public. He waited until the hallway was empty and your room was within sight before he jogged up to your side and asked in a whisper, careful for any spying ears. “Where did those flowers come from? You didn’t have them when we walked through the gates.”

You grinned and linked your arms with the smaller man before placing a small sprig of lavender behind his ear. Your grin widened watching the blush on his cheek spread down his neck, turning his ears bright red.

“We are not supposed to talk about it, Stevie. It’s a secret.”

--------

The sun rose too early for most. Not for you. It was your favorite time of the day. Early morning, just before the sun had a chance to warm the air and spread its light over the olive-colored bushes that rest along the castle walls. It was rare that people were up and moving about the halls, so it gave you the perfect opportunity to sneak out, no Sam and no Steve to watch over you.

You loved them both dearly, but sometimes it was nice to have a few moments alone to be yourself, and it happened to be the perfect time to make your way into the Enchanted Forest. What could be so scary about a few flowers hidden amongst the trees?

That was the very question you asked yourself as you stood at the entrance once more -- alone this time, no one to tell you to go back or run and find Sam after you entered, who drag you back to the ‘safety’ of your home. Maybe you spent too much listening to whispers, there was a voice in your head telling you to go back, but the pull to go in was stronger. It felt as if there was a string wrapped around you and someone was pulling, pulling you into the dark. You pushed your fear aside and ventured into the blackness, passed the trees and thorny vines covering the only entrance for hundreds of miles and the sight before you sucked the air right out of your lungs.

It was beautiful.

Dreary, yes. The trees were nearly on top of each other, and they were so tall you could have sworn, now that you were standing under them, the tops had to touch the clouds. There were vines of some kind tangled from branch to branch connecting every tree you could see for miles. It was strange you couldn’t place the flowers that littered the ground under you. You knew every flower in existence but these, sweet-smelling purple buds had you falling in love with each petal you came across, and you didn’t even know its name.

You were so taken with the beauty surrounding you that you had not realized you wandered so deep the entrance was merely a speck behind you. You should turn back, stay near the edge of the forest but… were those steps? Yes, those were stone steps in the middle of what you knew was the trunk of a dying tree. You could feel it from where you stood, but your curiosity was outweighing the ache. A hundred questions were swimming in your head; how could the steps lead down to anything? And who put them there? Where they did lead to? What was… under all of this?

A preliminary step towards them had your heart racing, and the pull you had felt at the treeline was stronger than ever before. Before your feet could touch the stone, a sparkle caught your attention. You looked up to see what it was, and the darkness was glittering with hundreds of bright blue lights floating in the air.

You grinned and whispered into the quiet, “Fireflies…”

You leaned back against the closet tree, and a soft hum left your lips as you watched the light show above you before it disappeared with the rising sun.

"Do you hear that?"

It sounded like humming -- the most beautiful humming to ever grace his ears. He didn’t know the song, but the siren that was singing it certainly had his attention. That was a first. Well, the first in a very long while.

"No, my king." The redhead didn’t even glance up. She had no interest in whatever James was talking about, but she could sense he had something on his mind. “I’ve told you over and over I can’t hear anything that happens up there unless I want to and right now, I do not. I’m assuming you’re going up to investigate whatever it is?”

He didn’t answer her question, only listened to the sugary melody drifting down. He liked the way there was no pause, the tune carried on as if she was unafraid of who would hear her. It was fascinating. No one stepped foot into the forest, let alone wandered this far into the middle near his home.

Perhaps he had been gone for too long if people are no longer scared of what lies within. It might be time to change that.

He pulled his legs off the arm of his chair, and gracefully rose to his feet, gently tapping the nose of the orange cat that laid next to him. “No, you stay, Goose. No eyes to scratch out.”

The melody in his head was getting louder, and by the smirk on his face he had made up his mind, he was heading towards the surface. Natasha watched until he faded from her sight, but that didn’t ease the worry on her face. She leaned back against the chair she was resting in and took a deep breath, letting her bright green eyes fade to a foggy white. If he was going to the surface, she was going to keep a close watch over him.

It didn’t take him long to find the source of the humming. You were standing right on his doorstep, disturbing his rest and his underlings. Had no one taught you manners? Taught you of him? He watched as you leaned over an old tree trunk that was full of water, you let your fingers skim delicately over the top of the water. Manners or not, he was memorized by you. Your hand froze over the water, and you turned to face the trees he was watching you.

“Hello?”

He smirked but not unkindly; he liked the strength in your voice and the look of awe in your eyes as you took in your surroundings. Your eyes landed on the shadow he was hiding in as if you knew he was there and he watched as you took careful steps towards him -- fearful of scaring whoever or whatever was lurking nearby.

“Is someone there? You can come out. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

He chuckled to himself, amused by your gentle words as if you could hurt him, even if you came with the intention to, you wouldn’t succeed. Your fingers were inches from finding him, and he decided to make himself known for if you inched any closer your hands would be pressed against his chest.

He wondered how long it would be until you were frightened.

"What's your name, sweet thing?" You startled at how close the voice was to you, and you quickly pulled your hand back from the shadow. Whoever it was, they didn’t sound scared of you.

"Y/n. What's yours?"

‘That is not her given name, but she’s unaware.’

The man grinned, and you swore something red glimmered in his eyes, but he spoke the red faded away to nothing, and you were back to staring at a shadow. "I'm afraid my real name would scare you. Didn't you hear about the dangers lurking within the shadows of this forest?"

There were dangers everywhere. What made this forest anymore threatening than the castle you grew up in? There were plenty of threats hiding behind those stone walls. At least out here, none were masking themselves behind pretty clothes and well-practiced smiles.

"What makes you so dangerous?"

The man laughed and slowly stepped out from behind the shadow of the century-old oak. He didn’t look frightening now that he was in the light. He was dressed in all black, dark brown hair tucked behind his ears and bright blue eyes that crinkled when he laughed at you. Only... his left hand, it looked black -- a glove perhaps.

"You don't think I'm dangerous?" He asked, amused, and humoring you no doubt.

Distracting? Yes. Dangerous? No, you would bet your life on it.

"You don't look like it to me."

He grinned.

"Even roses have thorns, sweet thing."

You stood quietly, your fingers toying with the sheer black fabric of your gown as you watched him. You’ve never seen him before; you would have remembered him if you had. So where had he come from? He met your eyes and quickly averted his gaze; he did not like the way he reacted to feeling your eyes on him. His heart thumped against his chest for the first time in centuries, and it made his skin crawl.

Natasha’s voice in his head rang loudly in his head once more, and it was beginning to grate on his nerves. ‘You’re far too interested in her. Let her go and back home where you belong.’

"I know all about roses and their thorns.” You finally told him, still watching him curiously. “They don't scare me. Thorns can be just as pretty as the petals or haven’t you heard? There’s a bit of beauty in roughness.”

Bucky smirked, and this time she saw the red in his eyes thanks to the sun catching the burning flecks through the holes in the tree canopy. As much as you wanted to stay, you needed to go. The height of the sun meant you had stayed longer than you intended. Steve probably sent himself into an asthma attack looking for you.

"I overstayed my welcome. My friend will be looking for me. I should find him before he panics."

‘Let. Her. Go.’

Bucky snapped the fingers of his left hand, severing his connection to Natasha. He would discuss this with her later. He can only tolerate the Fate interfering in his affairs for so long. She was lucky he entertained it at all. Friend or not, his patience for her games only lasted so long.

"Will you -- will you come back?" He grimaced at the weak, stutter in his voice. He did, however, like the way it made you smile.

"Would you like me to?"

"I'd like you never to leave." He answered, honestly.

You’ve only talked for a few seconds, and he was wondering when you would return? And where would you stay if you decided to? Sleep in the trees it would seem. It was an odd thing to say to someone you just met. Yes, you’ve met with lords and princes and soldiers, and yes, many were very forward with what they wanted from you, but not one sounded like that. None were a desperate plea to be in your company, and it made your insides warm.

“I can come back tomorrow. At the same time. I only have a few minutes before they realize I’m missing, but I… I can come back tomorrow.”

You pulled a deep red rose that appeared to be pulled out of thin air and held it out for him to take. He reached out with his right hand, leaving the left tucked safely into his side. Showing you his left arm now would only ensure you never came back and that would be a terrible, terrible waste.

“Be careful of the thorns. They pinch.”

He smiled at your worry and nodded towards the edge of the forest. “You better run along. I believe your.. friend is looking for you.”

You couldn’t hear any shouts or see much of anything thanks to how deeply you wandered, but you knew the stranger was right. Steve would have come here once he saw you were nowhere to be found in the castle. You started towards home with tentative steps because truthfully you did not want to go. You turned to peek back at the distractingly handsome man one more time, but he was already gone, and it felt like a hollow pit in your chest.

You hoped you wouldn’t have to sit with it until sunrise tomorrow.

The rose in his hand began to turn black as it slowly burned from the inside out, stemming from where his fingers were gripping it firmly. He watched as the flame delicately worked it’s way up the steam and turned the petals black, and it hardened to a dark stone. A thorn that had yet to turn stuck into his thumb, letting a bit of blood trickle down. He peeled his thumb away and gently sucked the blood from his thumb as he held up the rose to examine it.

He knew every inch of the forest, and this particular rose was not a resident. You just happened to have one at your fingertips.

Intriguing, but everything about you was very intriguing.

“What did you mean it is not her given name?” He asked into the empty surrounding him. A stretch of silence meant Natasha was still mad at him. She would answer him when her anger settled. He waited, staring at the stone flower in his hand as he progressed down the stairs, brick crumbling under the pressure of his feet. The light from above was stamped out by the darkness he carried with him and the screams of those trapped within his walls, and still, the flower in his hand consumed all of his thoughts.

‘Persephone. Her name is Persephone.’

#hades!bucky #hades!bucky x perdephone!reader #ibworldsummer19 #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #alternate universe #Enchanted Forest AU #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes

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