#but I’m at school and have to remind calm and civil | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

waitimcomingtoo · 3 years ago

Text

Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Synopsis: since your mom doesn’t like Tom, she invites your ex boyfriend to dinner and tries to set you up

Masterlist

“Does this tie make me look thick?” Tom asked as you set the table.

“We’ve been over this. “Thick” does not mean what you think it means.” You chuckled and went to fix his collar. “The tie looks fine. Stop worrying.”

“I don’t know.” He frowned at his reflection in the mirror. “I should change.”

“You’ve changed six times already.” You reminded him. “Your outfit looks great. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Yes I do.” He insisted. “It’s my first American thanksgiving with your family. I want to impress them.”

“You will.” You assured him. “It’ll be fine. The food tastes good, the decorations look great, and we’re wearing complementary colors. Everything will be fine.”

“You’re right.” He decided. “I just worry about your mom. She doesn’t like me very much.”

“Debbie doesn’t like anything very much.” You sighed. “Don’t worry about her. She’ll probably be too busy pointing out my flaws and short comings to notice you.”

“Okay.” Tom nodded. “Wait, that sounds like a bad thing.”

“It’ll be fine.” You said through a forced smile. Then, as an after thought added, “Just don’t mention the time we hooked up on the London Eye.”

“How would that even come up?” Tom furrowed his eyebrows.

“I don’t know. But if it does, don’t let it.”

“What about the engagement? Are we telling them tonight?” He asked as he rubbed your arms.

“Not yet. I’ll tell them on my own time. You know how my mom is.” You frowned as you slid your ring off your finger.

“Yes. A hater. Of me.” He said under his breath.

“She doesn’t hate you.”

“For the sake of our impending marriage, we shouldn’t lie to each other.” He said as he tapped your nose.

“I’m sorry.” You laughed apologetically and pulled him into a hug. “My dad likes you if that’s any consolation.”

“Does he?” He questioned. “He just pats my shoulder and then puts on a football game.”

“At least he remembers your name. He doesn’t know who half my friends are. But he always asks me how you are.”

“That does make me feel better.” Tom realized. The doorbell sounded in the house suddenly, making you both jump.

“They’re here.” You gasped. “Oh God. I need a drink.”

“Do you want me to get you some water…” He trailed off as he watched you down a shot of vodka without flinching.

“Okay.” You clapped your hands. “I’m good.”

Tom watched as you plastered on a fake smile, went to the front door, and opened it.

“Happy thanksgiving!” You greeted your parents. “Come in, come in.”

“Happy thanksgiving, honey.” Your mom said as she hugged you. “Op! Feels like you already ate a thanksgiving feast. Getting a little chubby there, huh honey?”

“Oh wow. Right away. Tom?” You looked at Tok for help and he was quick to the rescue.

“Debbie.” Tom smiled at your mom. “Thank you so much for coming. You look beautiful.”

“Yes. And you look very…comfortable.” Debbie said with an uneasy smile. “You should lose the tie. It makes your head look enormous.”

“Yes ma’am.” Tom mumbled as he yanked his tie off. You looked up at the ceiling and counted to ten to calm yourself down.

“Okay. Tie gone. Happy Thanksgiving, sir.” Tom said as he shook your fathers hand.

“Happy thanksgiving to you too, Tom.” Your dad said. “Do your people celebrate it?”

“Dad.” You said warningly.

“No.” Tom laughed. “But I’m happy to celebrate it with Y/n.”

“Excellent. TV in here?” Your dad patted Toms back before heading towards the living room.

“Debbie. Can I take your coat for you?” Tom offered.

“Have you washed those hands recently?”

“Um, no.” Tom said slowly.

“I didn’t think so.” Debbie scrunched her nose at Tom before turning her back to him completely.

“You’ll never guess who I ran into at the airport.” She beamed as she took your hands.

“I don’t know. Who?” You asked, hopes high for a civil conversation.

“Leo!” She gushed. “From high school.”

“Leo Montez?” You asked. “Oh, wow. I thought he moved to Canada.”

“He didn’t. He saw me and gave me a big hug, which is so sweet. Not a cold handshake like I’m some salesman.” Your mom chuckled as she side eyed Tom. “He and I talked the whole plane ride here. He’s such a gentleman. And he’s just as cute now as he was back then.”

“Who’s Leo?” Tom wondered.

“Nobody significant.” You shrugged.

“Don’t be silly. There is no one more significant than your first love.” Your mom said as she looked at Tom.

“Than your first who now?” Tom raised his eyebrows. Your mom looked proud of herself as you buried your face in your hands.

“You haven’t told Tom about your first boyfriend?”

“No, mother. I haven’t.” You said through clenched teeth.

“How come? You were so in love with Leo.” She continued. “I always thought he would be the one you ended up with.”

“Yes, I know. You never fail to remind me of that.” You smiled weakly and clenched your hands into fists.

“Sorry, going back to the “first love” statement.” Tom laughed awkwardly. “Who is Leo exactly?”

“He was my boyfriend in high school.” You said simply.

“Don’t sell him short.” Your mom playfully smacked your arm. “You obsessed with him. I remember you telling me he was the man you were going to marry. You had the wedding all planned out, right to the date. I have never seen you adore anyone the way you adored him. Even to this day.”

Tom felt jealously bubble in his tummy as your mom expressed how much you loved some other guy. You, on the other hand, blew out a shaky breath as you tried not to strangle your mom for bringing up your past relationship in front of Tom.

“Mom.” You warned as you glared at her. You knew what she was doing and it was driving you crazy.

“She used to stay up with him all night on the phone. I could never get a hold of her when they were together. She was always off one some romantic adventure with him.”

“If by “romantic adventure” you mean getting ice coffee and walking around Target, then yeah. He was a real charmer.” You said sarcastically.

“You two were so perfect together.” Debbie gushed. “I bet that magic is still there.”

“It’s been ten years, mom. I doubt he even remembers me.” You dismissed her.

“Of course he does.” She insisted. “He could not stop asking about you on the plane. And when I showed him your picture, he asked if you were single.”

“Which prompted you to show him my picture, I’m sure.” Tom laughed awkwardly, trying to remind your mother of his existence.

“It’s not polite to interrupt, Tom.” Debbie’s tone changed immediately as she shot daggers at Tom.

“Mom, why don’t you go get a glass of wine before dinner?” You suggested in an attempt to get rid of her.

“Sounds good.” She squeezed your arm and left the room. You shook your fists in frustration once she left before going over to Tom.

“Soooo.” He drew the word out. “Sounds like you have a lot of history with this Leo guy. I get the feeling your mom wishes you were with him and not me.”

“Tom, I’m so sorry.” You sighed and wrapped your arms around him. “I know I never mentioned him before but honestly forgot all about him until now. I had no idea she was going to bring him up.”

“It’s not your fault.” He said as he hugged you back. “But how do you forget your first love?”

“It was high school.” You shrugged. “It wasn’t real love. Not like what we have.”

“I guess I just feel weird that I haven’t heard of him today.” Tom answered honestly.

“Because once I met you, I forgot the names of the boys from my past.” You said as you cupped his face. “None of them mattered anymore. What I had with them is nothing compared to what I have with you.”

“Really?” He smiled hopefully.

“Really.” You promised. “I love you. I haven’t thought about Leo since I was 16. I’ve been too busy thinking about how I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“I can’t wait either.” He said. “But just so we’re on the same page, how many “boys from the past” are we talking about here?”

“Don’t worry about it.” You waved your hand. “It’s not like you’ll ever have to meet any of them.”

The doorbell rang again, making you and Tom look at each other in confusion since you weren’t expecting any other guests.

“I’ll get it!” Your mom called and came back into the room.

“Who’s that?” You wondered.

“Leo!” Your mom cheered as she opened the door.

“Leo?!” You and Tom gasped in unison.

“Oh, I didn’t tell you?” Your mom asked coyly. “I invited him for dinner.”

“No, you did not tell me that. Seems like a really important detail to leave out!” You raised your voice as you gripped Toms hand.

“Come on in. We’re so happy to have you.” Your mom gushed as she welcomed Leo inside. All Tom could see was a taller, stronger, more attractive man that you used to be in love with.

“Are we?” You squeaked. “Are we happy?”

“Wow. You look as lovely as ever. I can honestly still say that you are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.” Leo told you as he pulled you into a hug. You weakly hugged him back as you held eye contact with Tom over his shoulder. Your mom watched the two of you hug and let out a happy sigh.

“He used to say that all the time in-“

“In high school.” Tom cut your mom off. “Yeah. I got it.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Leo.” You lied as you quickly stepped out of the hug.

“I’ve actually been thinking about you a lot lately It felt like fate when I saw your mom at the airport.” Leo continued. “I mean, what are the chances I run into your mom at the airport?”

“Pretty high. Since this is a small town with one airport and it’s a holiday.” Tom spoke up.

“I’m sorry-“ Leo began.

“You will be.” Tom mumbled.

“Who is this?” Leo pointed to Tom. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“We haven’t.” Tom said as he held out his hand. “I’m Tom.”

“Leo.” Leo firmly shook his hand. “How do you know Y/n?”

“I know Y/n from being her boyfriend.” Tom said as he put an arm around you.

“Oh.” Leo raised his eyebrows. “I’m sorry-“

“You’re will be.” Tom mumbled.

“I didn’t realize you were seeing anyone.” Leo continued. “Your mom said you weren’t tied down.”

“Yeah. Seeing as I’m not a bouncy castle, I’m not tied down at all.” You said as you gave your mom a stern look. “I do, however, have a boyfriend.”

“Oh. How nice.” Leo nodded as he narrowed his eyes at Tom. Tom looked at you in fear and you wrapped your arm around his waist.

“Mom, you didn’t mention that I had a boyfriend before you invited Leo to my home without my permission?” You asked through a fake smile.

“It didn’t come up.” She shrugged.

“My long term, serious boyfriend didn't come up?” You raised an eyebrow. “The one I’m hosting dinner with? Whom I share a home with? He wasn’t mentioned?”

“No.” She said simply. “I guess I didn’t realize you two were serious.”

“We’ve been together for three years.” You reminded her.

“Must’ve slipped my mind.”

“Wow.” You said sarcastically. “That’s amazing coming from the woman who remembered every single detail about my high school boyfriend.”

“Be polite.” Your mom whispered. “We have guests.”

“I know we have guests.” You said sweetly. “I’m just a little annoyed that some guests were invited without my knowledge.”

“Do you think she’s talking about me?” Leo whispered to Tom.

“I wanted it to be a surprise.” Your mother shrugged. “I thought you’d be happy to see him.”

“Oh, I’m definitely surprised.” You replied through gritted teeth.

“Me too.” Tom added.

“Quiet, Tom.” Your mom hushed him as your father came back into the room.

“Dad, did you know about this?” You asked as you nodded towards Leo.

“Know about what?” He asked.

“That mom invited Leo.”

“Who?” Your dad furrowed his eyebrows.

“Hi again, sir.” Leo stepped forward and held out his hand.

“Have we met?” Your dad asked him, making Tom hold in a laugh.

“Yes.” Leo smiled tightly. “Several times.”

“Honey, you know Leo.” Your mom cut in. “He dated our daughter all throughout high school.”

“Hm. I don’t remember.” Your dad shook his head before shooting a wink at Tom.

“Well personally I’m feeling a lot better.” Tom smiled to himself.

“I think we all just need some alcohol in us. I bet that will get the party started. Y/n, let me get you some wine.” Leo offered.

“I’m good, thanks.” You smiled tightly and took a step closer to Tom.

“No, let him go. I need to speak with you for a minute.” Tom smiled at your family before pulling you into the next room.

“Why is he here?!” He whispered harshly once you were alone.

“You’re asking me?!” Your eyes widened. “I’m just as confused as you are.”

“Get rid of him!”

“How?” You whined. “It’s thanksgiving. I can’t just kick him out on the street.”

“You’re right.” Tom agreed. “You can’t.”

“Okay.” You nodded.

“But I can.” He declared and went to leave the room.

“Wait!” You pulled him back. “We need to go in there with a plan.”

“You’re right.” He nodded. “The plan is I kill him and you visit me in jail.”

“Thomas.” You warned.

“He’s your ex-boyfriend.” He whined. “And your mom likes him more than me. He needs to be eliminated!”

“I don’t want him here anymore than you do. But his dad died in high school and I know he doesn’t have a good relationship with his mother. He probably has nowhere else to go.”

“I’ll give him a place to go.” Tom mumbled.

“Don’t say a gr-“

“A grave!” He shouted.

“Calm down.” You cupped his face. “Let’s go in there and make it clear that we’re in a committed relationship. That’ll at least put an end to the flirting.”

“And if it doesn’t, I’ll put an end to his life.” Tom nodded along.

“Okay. Sure. That.” You waved your hand. “I just hope we can get my mom off my back too. She always does this. Not this exactly, but stuff like this. This happens every holiday. She pushes my buttons until I lose my cool at her and we end up screaming at each other, all while my dad is totally oblivious.”

“I know she makes you angry.” Tom sympathized. “But this could be our chance to show your mother how strong of a couple we are. Then, we’ll get her blessing for our marriage.”

“I don’t want her blessing. I don’t even want her to be there.”

“Her blessing is important to me. I just her to like me. This could be the night I finally get through to her.”

“It doesn’t matter if she likes you. I love you.” You reminded him. “That’s all that matters.”

“Aw.” He smiled softly before kissing you.

“Also, she hates you.” You said quickly once you pulled away.

“What?”

“I’m sorry.” You whined and buried your face in his neck. “I don’t want to yell on Thanksgiving. I just wanted a peaceful holiday.”

“I’ll make sure you have that.” He said as he rubbed your back.

“You will?”

“Yes. Just as soon as I smite Leo.” He said sweetly. “And if you feel the urge to yell at your mother, just squeeze my hand instead.”

“Fine.” You sighed. “I’ll make you a deal. If I can get through dinner without getting into a screaming match with my mom, you’re allowed to kill Leo by the end of the night.”

“Works for me.”

“As long as I get to kill my mother as well.” You added quickly before leaving the room.

“I feel like we should discuss that further.” He called after you as he followed you into the dining room.

“Hi.” You greeted your family with a fake smile. “Thank you all for coming. Tom and I are so excited to host this year.”

Tom pulled your chair out for you as took a seat at the end of the table. He sat beside you with Leo and your mother sitting across.

“Everything looks amazing, Y/n.” Your mother complimented.

“I love the napkin art.” Leo said as he held up his neatly folded napkin.

“Actually, Tom did that.” You said.

“What an interesting use of your time, Tom. Making origami out of napkins while my daughter cooks a feast. Alone.” Your mom said as she sipped her wine. You and Tom exchanged a look and you gave his hand the first angry squeeze of the night.

“I didn’t cook alone, mother.” You tried to stay calm. “Tom also made the mashed potatoes.”

“They’re a little gummy.” She said as he poked them with her fork.

“Mom.” You scolded as you gripped Tom hand under the table.

“It’s okay.” He assured you. “Thank you for the advice, Debbie. I’ll do better next year.”

“No one likes a kiss up, Tom.” She smiled tightly. “And who knows? Maybe next year, Y/n will be cooking with someone else.”

“Why would I be cooking with someone else when I already have a cooking partner?” You asked with a huge fake smile.

“Because you’re current cooking partner over cooked the asparagus.” She replied with the same smile.

“Well.” You dramatically dropped your fork. “How dare he? Call the police. Get this criminal out of here.”

“The turkey is delicious, honey.” Tom spoke up. “You did a great job.”

“Thank you.” You relaxed a little and sat back in your chair.

“Leo was telling me about his new job on the flight here. Why don’t you tell her, Leo?” Your mom suggested.

“Oh, it’s nothing really.” He shrugged. “I was just offered a position at the leading company for duel legged denim over garments in the United States. I run oversees sales.”

“Duel legged denim over garments?” Tom repeated.

“Yes.” Leo replied.

“So, jeans?” Tom asked, making you snort back a laugh.

“We don’t really use that term anymore. It’s pretentious.” Leo said as he narrowed his eyes at Tom.

“Totally.” Tom sarcastically agreed.

“What do you do for a living, Tom?” Leo asked, never dropping his death glare.

“You’ll laugh.” Your mom prefaced. “He plays dress up for a living.”

“Actually, he’s an actor.” You corrected her. “A really good one.”

“Have I seen you in anything?” Leo wondered.

“Maybe. I play Spiderman in the Marvel movies.”

“Hm.” Leo shrugged. “Never heard of that.”

“You haven’t heard of marvel?” You asked skeptically.

“No. I’m not really into those interpretive indie films. I like real cinematography that makes you use your brain. Have you guys heard of Quentin Tarantino?” Leo looked around the table, making you face palm.

“I wouldn’t exactly call Tom’s films indie.” You said under your breath.

“No one would. It’s Marvel.” Tom backed you up. “It’s literally a four billion dollar company. How much is your double trouble denim under - whatever they’re called company worth?”

“First of all, it’s duel legged denim over garments. It’s not that hard.” Leo snorted. “And we don’t believe in numbers. They’re pretentious.”

“That’s right. And Tom, it’s not polite to talk shop at the dinner table.” Your mom cut in. You rolled your eyes at the ceiling and gave Toms hand another frustrated squeeze.

“Would anyone like more mashed potatoes?” Tom tried to change the subject.

“Not me.” Your mom mumbled as she she side eyed Tom.

“I’ll take some.” Leo spoke up. Since you were closest to the bowl, you picked it up and put some on his plate.

“Thank you so much, darling. I hope we can get a minute alone at some point. I’d love to catch up.” He smiled at you, making sure your hands touched as you put the bowl down.

“I’ll give you something to catch.” Tom said sweetly.

“Yeah?” Leo challenged him. “And what’s that?”

“These hands.” Tom whispered harshly as he leaned across the table. You pushed him back in his seat a little and rubbed his back to calm him down, not wanting a fight to break out.

“So, how long have you and Tim been together?” Leo asked as he watched you soothe Tom with an unamused expression.

“It’s Tom.” You said flatly. “And we’ve been together for three years.”

“Wow.” Leo shrugged before taking a long sip of his wine.

“What?” Tom asked, not liking his tone.

“Nothing.” Leo replied. “I’m just surprised she lasted that long. Y/n and I broke up a hundred times in high school. She never liked to settle down.”

“Well you haven’t known me for ten years.” You reminded him. “I settle now.”

“We’ll see.” Leo said smugly.

“We’ll see?” You raised your eyebrows.

“Yeah. We will see.” Leo repeated.

“See what?” Tom asked.

“How long this lasts.” Leo said as he pointed to you and Tom. “Which, to be honest, I don’t think will be very long.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Your mom added. “I think we all were.”

“How can you say that?” You asked them. “You don’t even know us.”

“But I know you.” Leo insisted. “And you never stay committed to things for long. You definitely didn’t stay committed to me.”

“Whats he talking about?” Tom asked you.

“I’ll tell him.” Leo said before you could speak. “Y/n and I planned to do long distance when we went off to college. But less than a week after graduation, she dumps me over text.”

“Y/n.” Your mom gasped. “Over text?”

“I was a kid.” You defended. “I didn’t have the guts to do it in person. Is that really so bad?”

“That’s not the worst part.” Leo continued. “I thought we could fix our relationship when we came back home for thanksgiving break, only to find out she was dating Cory Fisher.”

“So what?” You asked. “He lived on my block and was in my intro to economics class. We started dating months after you and I broke up.”

“Question, does he still live on your block?” Tom spoke up. “And will he be joining us tonight?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask my mother since she loves to invite people from my past without warning.” You said as you glared at your mother.

“Forgive me for thinking you’d be happy to see the man who gave you the greatest relationship you ever had.” Your mom replied. Tom sadly looked down at his lap, but you weren’t finished yet.

“Funny you say that.” You faked a laugh. “I was very happy to see Tom this morning when I woke up.”

“I was talking about Leo.” She sighed. “You two were such a great couple. Don’t you remember all the good times?”

“I do.” Leo chimed in. “Remember when I won you that giant teddy bear at the carnival?”

“I’ve won Y/n a hundred teddy bears.” Tom stated.

“Yeah.” You backed him up. “And a goldfish.”

“Well I took Y/n to the prom.” Leo continued.

“I’ve taken her to multiple movie premiers.” Tom replied. “Even Boss Baby 2.”

“Family Business, bitch.” You added.

“I was her first kiss.” Leo retorted.

“And I was her most recent.” Tom said. “As I have been, for the past three years and will be for the rest of her life.”

“Rest of her life?” Leo scoffed. “Are you sure about that?”

“Oh, I’m positive.” Tom insisted.

“Turkey is great, honey.” Your dad added between bites.

“Leo used to take Y/n out on all kinds of dates. But he always had her home before curfew. Such a gentleman.” Your mom cooed as she rubbed Leo’s arm.

“I do love a gentleman.” You agreed. “You know, I haven’t opened a door for myself since the day I met Tom. He always does it for me.”

“Remember the long walks we used to take on the beach?” Leo changed the subject.

“I hate the beach.” You grumbled.

“And all the sunsets we watched together.” He continued.

“She hates sunsets.” Tom lied.

“Hideous things, really.” You agreed. “I find them absolutely disgusting.”

“You used to love them.”

“I used to love a lot of things that I don’t love anymore.” You quipped.

“Wow.” Leo nodded, unamused. “You’ve changed.”

“We’re supposed to.”

“Y/n.” Your mother scolded.

“Debbie.” You matched her tone.

“Be nice.” She said in a sing songy voice.

“I am. I haven’t said half the things I’ve thought of saying.” You replied in the same way as you gripped Toms hand.

“Squeezing my hand a little tight there, love.” He wheezed as you crushed his fingers.

“Sorry.” You quickly let go. “Can we have a family meeting in the kitchen?”

“But we aren’t finished eat-“

“Now.” You cut your mom off as you stood up.

“Excuse us.” Your mom squeezed Leo’s arm before following you out of the room.

“You won’t win.” Leo said once he and Tom were alone.

“Oh. My bad. I wasn’t aware there was a competition.” Tom played dumb. “It didn’t seem like there was.”

“Debbie invited me here because she knows that Y/n and I are meant to be.” Leo continued. “We always found our way back to each other in high school. We can do it again.”

“No you won’t.” Tom said. “She and I are in love. You and your jeans won’t change that.”

“Don’t call them that.” Leo whispered gravely.

“What? Jeans?” Tom asked. “Jeans, jeans, jeans!”

“Shut your mouth!” Leo slapped his hand on the table.

“Shut yours!” Tom yelled back.

“It’s only a matter of time before Y/n realizes she’s supposed to be with me.” Leo laughed maniacally. “By the end of the night, I’ll have her eating out of the palm of my hand.”

“Oh really? What’s the matter? Are forks too pretentious?”

“As a matter of fact, we only use bamboo utensils at our company. It’s better for the environment.”

“I have a feeling beating the shit out of you is gonna be real good for my environment.” Tom smiled sweetly.

“I took her virginity.” Leo whispered harshly.

“Well you can have it back. Because I’m sure that snoozefest is nothing compared to what we do. I’ve broken two hotel beds. And one dresser.” Tom whispered back.

“What are you boys talking about?” Your mom asked as you all came back into the room.

“I was just telling Tom a cheeky story about the time Y/n and I went to see a movie but didn’t watch the movie.” Leo snapped back into his sickly sweet attitude towards your mom.

“Oh. Leo.” Debbie laughed and patted his arm. “What a bad boy.”

“Y/n and I had sex on the London Eye.” Tom blurted.

“Tom!” You exclaimed before giving him a high five. “Nice one.”

“How dare you talk about my daughter that way at the dinner table?” Your mom gasped.

“He did it first!” Tom pointed to Leo.

“It was charming when he did it. Honey, say something to Tom.” Debbie said to your dad. “He’s being fresh.”

“Tom.” Your dad said sternly.

“Yes sir?” Tom gulped.

“Excellent asparagus.” Your dad smiled.

“Thank you, sir.” Tom smiled back.

“They’re delicious. I can’t get enough.” Your dad said as he reached for the asparagus.

“Let me give you a hand with that.” Leo grabbed the pan and handed it to your father. “The man of the house shouldn’t have to lift a finger.”

“I wasn’t gonna.” You said flatly.

“Oh. Such lovely manners, Leo.” Your mom gushed.

“Thanks, Debbie.” Leo grinned.

“Of course, Leo. You’ve always been like a son to me. And who knows? Maybe one day, you’ll be my son in law.” Your mom shrugged. Tom looked at you sadly, and that was the last straw.

“Are you kidding me?” You yelled as you abruptly stood up from your seat. “Are you actually kidding me?”

“What’s the problem?” She played dumb. “I’m just expressing my admiration for Leo.”

“Enough, mom.” You protested. “I am not going to let you disrespect my relationship anymore. I am with Tom. I am always going to be with Tom.”

“You don’t know that.” Your mom insisted. “Things could change.”

“I do know that. Because Tom asked me to marry him.” You blurted, making the room fall silent.

“You did what?” Your mom asked after a minute. “You asked without my permission?”

“Yeah, he did. It hurts when people don’t ask for your permission, doesn’t it?” You asked her. “But he didn’t need to ask for your blessing. We don’t want it. I can’t wait to marry him and I don’t care what you have to say about it. You’re not even invited.”

You stormed out of the room after your outburst, leaving everyone in stunned silence. You came back in after a minute and grabbed the pumpkin pie.

“I’m taking this.” You hissed before leaving the room again. Awkward silence filled the room in wake of your outburst and Tom felt desperate to fill it.

“Would anyone like some cornbread?” Tom weakly offered to the group. When he we met with nothing but unamused glares, he excuse himself and ran after you.

“Darling?” He asked when he found you sitting on the ground in the dark kitchen, eating the pie you had taken while crying.

“Hey.” You said with a teary eyed mouthful.

“How’s the pie?” He sighed as he sat down beside you.

“It’s really good.” You sniffled. “Did you bake it?”

“Honestly darling, I had my brother Sam cook all the things I “made” and drop them off this morning.” He admitted.

“Normally I would be mad that you, but this pie is really good.” You started to cry again as you took another bite.

“Are you okay?” He asked as he rubbed your back to comfort you.

“No.” You whined. “I totally lost my cool and yelled at my mom. I’m so embarrassed. I can’t imagine what you’re thinking right now.”

“I’m thinking that my fiancé is really brave. And that she could only be poked so many times before she fought back.”

“Really?” You said as he wiped your face.

“Of course.” He told you. “I’m also thinking about how proud I am that you stood up for us. We went in there planning to show your family what a strong couple we are, and that’s exactly what you did.”

“You’re not mad that I embarrassed you?”

“I’m not embarrassed. Why would I be embarrassed of having such a cool wife?” He asked with a smile.

“I love you.” You said as you pulled him into a grateful hug.

“I love you more.”

You hugged each other tightly, only pulling away when you heard someone clear their throat. You looked up just as your dad sat down beside you and Tom.

“Oh, hi dad.” You said as you wiped your face.

“I sent Leo home.” He told you. “He’ll be fine. Turns out, his company doesn’t pay him that much and he’s been living with his mom.”

“Bless his heart.” You blew out a breath.

“Your mother would like you to go back in there so she could apologize.” He continued.

“Why should I go back in there?” You sighed. “So she can diss my relationship some more?”

“Maybe.” He answered honestly. “But this time, you’ll have another player on your team.”

“What do you mean?” You wondered.

“I came out here to give Tom something.” Your dad said as he held out his closed fist.

“Is it a rock?” Tom asked hopefully. Your dad chuckled softly and opened his hand.

“It’s my blessing.” He explained as Tom shook his hand. “Not that you need it. But I wanted you both to know how happy I am that you found each other. I haven’t always paid the most attention. And I’ve never been very observant. But I did notice one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“This man right here loves my daughter.” Your dad said as he smiled at Tom. “And if you let me, I’d love to come to the wedding.”

“Someone has to walk me down the isle, right?” A happy tear slid down your cheek as you hugged your father.

“That’s right.” He smiled as he hugged you back. He opened his arms suddenly to include Tom in the hug as well.

“Thank you, sir.” Tom said into the hug. “Your approval means a lot to me.”

“You always had it.” He replied. “Unlike that clown your mother brought. He used to walk on our carpet with his shoes on.”

“What an animal.” You chuckled.

“Come on.” Your dad said. “Let’s go finish the meal.”

The three of you went back into the dining room, where your mother was sheepishly sitting by herself at the table.

“I would like to apologize.” Debbie said as she stood up.

“Go on.” You folded your arms.

“I should not have brought Leo here without your permission.” She continued. “I shouldn’t have brought him here at all.”

“Thank you for admitting that.”

“I know it was wrong of me to try to push you and Leo back together.” She admitted. “I just missed when you used to have to ask us for your boyfriend to come over. Now, you ask us to come over to have dinner with your boyfriend. Every thing just happened so fast. When did holidays become the only time I see my family? I don’t understand it. One minute, I was driving your first day of school and now you’re getting married.”

“Kids grow up, mom.” You said softly. “I’m not a little girl anymore.”

“I know.” She sighed. “I guess I thought setting you up with Leo would keep you in your hometown, closer to your father and I. Leo is familiar. I don’t really know Tom at all.”

“Because you never gave him a chance.”

“If I may.” Tom cut in. “I know you always tell me it’s not polite to interrupt but-“

“Go ahead.” Debbie smiled fondly at him.

“I went to school for carpentry but I’ve always preferred a more creative work environment.” Tom began. “I like to golf, especially when your daughter tags along and cheers for me. I’m not much of a reader but I read all of the books your daughter keeps beside her bed. Even the instruction pamphlet for her watch so I can fix it when it runs out of battery.”

“What are you doing?” You whispered.

“I’m pitching myself so your mum can get to know me.” He explained. “Let’s see. I like to go for runs when I need to clear my head. I hate cilantro. I can’t cook but my brother is one hell of a chef. I’ve got three brothers actually, and my youngest worships the ground your daughter walks in. Seriously, she has been the best baby sitter my family has ever seen. My dads a stand up comic, but not the kind that just talks about how much the hate their wife. My mum goes out for tea with Y/n every time she’s in London, whether I’m there or not. I never raise my voice or shout at your daughter. I wasn’t raised that way. I don’t like corner pieces of cake. I never pass up an opportunity to pet a dog. I love those American cookies that are pink and green and yellow. And the most important thing about me is that I will do every thing in my power to make sure your daughter lives the rest of her life feeling safe, comfortable, wanted, important, and loved.”

“Wow.” Debbie sighed. “I may have misjudged you, Tom.”

“You think?” You mumbled.

“Let her speak.” Your dad told you.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so cold to you. But when I see the way my daughter looks at you, I know she’d follow you anywhere. And that’s exactly what I’m afraid of. You whisking her away and us never seeing her again.”

“I’ll always bring her back.” Tom assured her. “You just have to create a home environment that she feels comfortable coming back to. You don’t have that right now. I honestly thought she was gonna kill you with the turkey baster tonight.”

“I was.” You admitted.

“He’s right.” Debbie realized. She walked over to you and took your hands in hers, giving them a soft squeeze.

“I’ll do better.” She told you. “I promise.”

You looked over at Tom and watched him nod before looking down at your enjoined hands.

“We were gonna go to the mall tonight to see if we can get some Black Friday deals for the wedding. Do you want to come, mom?”

“I would love to.” She beamed and pulled you into an apologetic hug.

Soon enough, dinner was resumed as you all sat around the table. Without Leo there, you were able to catch up with your family as they properly got to know Tom.

“I’m just glad Leo left.” Tom sighed at the end of the meal. “I’ll tell you what I’m not thankful for this holiday season. That guy.”

“Cheers to that.” You clinked your drink against Toms. “I forgot how annoying he was.”

“I didn’t.” Your dad sighed.

“I’ll miss him.” Your mom admitted. “But I’m delighted to have Tom join the family.”

“Me too.” You leaned in to kiss Tom’s cheek. “But I won’t miss Leo. He deserved getting dumped over text.”

“Totally.” Tom agreed.

“And I’m glad I cheated on him with Cory Fisher.”

“Yeah.” Tom agreed. “Wait, what?”

Tag List 🏷

@awesomebooklover17 @thebookwormlife @imanativeofswlondondahling @serendipitous-amor

@lavender-writer @whatareyouhidingpeter @takenbyheartstrings @ultrunning @imyourliquor-youremypoison @andreasworlsboring101

@letsloveimagines @peterparkoure @a-villain-vying-for-attention @justcallmehitgirl @jackiehollanderr @mara-twins @iamaunicorn4704 @maryjanee23 @geeksareunique @emmamarshmellow @unbelievableholland @flixndchill @sovereignparker @thisisthebiplace @every-marveler-ever @undiadeestos @caelestii-e @eridanuswave @itscaminow @fiantomartell @solarxmoonchild @canyouevencauseicant @illwritetomorrow @thehappygrungelife @saysomethingspiderman @smilexcaptainx @quaksonhehe @kelieah @kickingn-ames @seasidecrowbar @lovelessdagger @electraheart-3174 @unbelievableholland @yourtypicalhotmess @horanxholland @thesuitelifeofafangirl @marshxx @heyheycharlatte @nooneinvitedfascistbarbie @tomshufflepuff

@maybemona @alexxcorona113 @lethal-wisdom @xo-spidey @pandaxnienke @thestylestour @officialsimppage @mrvelscaptains @peterbenjiparker @itsemohours @okkulta @parkerlovebot @jungkxxkk @olixerwxxd @starkbrain @ilovefrogs1000 @itstaskeen @wrendermeuseless @amazinggracy @iprobablyshipit91 @magicalxdaydream @whereismytelephone @theonly1outof-a-billion @leilanixx @namoreno @dracoswhore007 @tomhollandloml @avengers-hamiltrash @gh0stgurl @so-very-asleep @veryholland @white-wolf1940 @spideycheles @firwproof-blog

@nowayhomeparker @willowestelle @imobsessedzs @spideyspeaches @bookfrog242 @hihiweezing @mathletemadison @mackenziejanine @dhtomholland @insomniac-nerd-posts-things @prancerrparkerr @aayaissaa @loudthoughts-softspoken @hallecarey1 @tom-holland-is-bae @adayasgeorgia @sam-hollandsgirl @blackwidowisthebest @imawhoreforu @noimaginationforblognames @mrs-brekker15 @celestialholland @ciarahollands @nellabellaa @pinklxmonade @supermouse1234world @boogywoogywoogy @freakofmusic25 @elizabethraymond @tom-softie @big-galaxy-chaos @crowleysqueenofhell @televisionboy @tomholland85 @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @laic2299 @daydreamingchaos713 @marvel-asgard @marajillana

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland jealous #tom holland thanksgiving #tom holland x y/n

3K notes · View notes

husky-twst-and-obeyme · 3 years ago

Text

Anon Asked : "You know how some twst fan artists like to draw Yuu with their face blocked out, usually by Grim? I have this headcanon that in the Twisted Wonderland universe, it’s impossible to get a picture of Yuu, there’s always someone standing in front of them, a piece of paper floating by, or they’re just out of frame, but no one noticed until after the picture was taken. No one knows why, Rook even tried to draw them once but a Pomefiore first year spilled nail polish on the picture when he finished. " I do like that idea! I did see one artist who just had a mickey shaped head with blank eyes and it really looked cool! Now as for the scenario or story i will only do Dorm leaders for this situation, if anyone wishes for more i will provide ! BUT i have a small twist :) Warnings: Cursing Riddle

Riddle wasn't sure why but he it really irritated him how whenever they did civil group pictures, you always end up blocked or something happens to you in your part of the picture

It's not your fault really but it bugs him

he made it a goal to get a perfect picture , such as asking for a selfie

He actually wasn't a fan of it but he wanted at least ONE good picture of you because he cherishes his friends

but EVERY. SINGLE . TIME . IT'S THE SAME-

He's frustrated to no end

He eventually gave up and just accepted fate

he even tried to draw you and it somehow got ruined which made his mood worst

At one point , you came to him with a strawberry tart to cheer him up but he was really pouty

You asked if he wanted to try the selfie again but you hold the phone , which he reluctantly agreed to

afterwards when you left , he went to see the picture and he couldn't believe his damn eyes

a perfect picture of you and him

" i don't know if i want to cry of joy or behead them . "

He stilled loved the photo and refused to show anyone else in case it somehow got ruined or deleted

Leona

He wasn't too interested in photos but in your case it caught his interest slightly

he noticed from school activity photos that your face was always somehow ruined.

he thought it was funny but rare

so he tasked ruggie to take a picture for a small amount , mainly because he thought it would be easy

plus it's not like he wants a photo of you for anything psssshh

but when ruggie returned , he was frustrated and tired

confused leona questioned him

"Leona san. i loved getting money from you but i might just not even try anymore ..."

he got baffled that Ruggie had given up money for any easy task. or so he thought was easy

So thinking ruggie was being lazy , he went to do it himself

as a predator, he knows how to be sneaky and hide well , so once he locked you in , he took a snap

he looks ats the photo completely ruined

he took another , ruined. once again , it was ruined

he repeats many tries after and it all ends the same

" ahh fuck it ... " and went for a nap

later on you wanted a selfie with leona

being smug he said " would you even get the picture right ?~"

with a pout " of course i can!" you posed for the picture and snapped

he took a glance and he'll be damned ,, it was perfect

" don't talk to me for the next few day, herbivore."

"huh-"

Azul

azul didn't like photos , much at least because of certain ones of his past

though he took note of a particular incident

(Event after chapter 3) when you all took a picture at the museum , he noticed that your part of the picture , floyd's arm covered your face

He thought nothing of it until he noticed it often

Ace took a photo of you and deuce and somehow grim flew in front of your face

Cater took a selfie but it ended up blurred

it was pointless but hard to ignore so he assigned Jade and floyd into getting the perfect picture of you

after a couple hours, jade and floyd came back frustrated

even jade looked visibly irritated which was VERY rare to the point it scared Azul

they showed him nothing but blurry pics, he knew something was up because even jade wouldn't fail this bad

He knew he couldn't stand the chance if the tweels failed

but later on , you wanted to take a selfie with him

he refused immediately but you promised to keep the photo private , then he did agree , reculantantly

His immediate thought was that the picture would of been ruined anyways but was shocked to see a cute selfie of him and you

"....send me that picture . " you turned to him "what???" "SEN ME THAT PICTURE"

Kalim

We all know this absolute dork would love to take pictures , possibly from Cater's influence , because he sees it as a fun thing to do

So you , being one of his favorite people, he obviously wants a good photo of you

but to his disappointment, when he wanted to take a pic of you while you were at the gardens, it turned out super blurry

he thought nothing of it , just might of moved a bit , until the next one came blurry

he was getting semi frustrated and you had already left , so for once, he was actually grumpy to the point where he just asked Jamil to take a good picture for him

he felt lowkey bad of course but he was a tiny bit frustrated

Jamil didn't care until he had the same issue

Jamil tried a it but gave up when he kept getting the same result

then kalim was just sad , he just wanted a cute picture of you

you visited one day and he was his usual self but you here reminded him of the picture incident

you offered to try again , he was hard for him to say no to you

but after looking..you took a perfect photo

he wanted to cry and you were just so confused

hug him he needs it

Vil

Vil is a perfectionist of course, which includes photos too

you , him and a few others went on a small trip , you wanting to take a photo to remember the trip

you're one of the only people he's allowed for a picture minus fans because he's aware you just want a genuine picture and knows you won't share/ brag about it

Rook offered to take the photo

you two posed and rook took the shot but Vil automatically saw Rook's confused face

"Rook?.. is there a problem?" "non non roi du poison! I must of moved a little fast, part of it came blurry

he didn't think on it , just a small mistake no biggy

that was until the problem kept repeating itself

Irrigated , he took the camera and looked at the photos , each and every one of them was blurred of were you were at while vil looked completely fine

he slowly looked at you while you just stood there worried that we weren't going to get a picture

"Vil senpai? maybe i can just take a selfie? Rook's camera's probably broken"

sighing in defeat , he agreed ,after getting in a cute pose , you snapped a photo

he took a look and he was legit about to burst

It was an absolute beautiful picture

He was stunned that you did an even better job then rook

might make you his photographer

Idia

we all know for a fact, he hates pictures , at least mainly of himself

though he doesn't mind pictures of you

of course , he doesn't take pics of you willy nilly , he asks you first because he'd be hypocrite to take a picture of someone who didn't want a photo

You often cosplayed as some of his favorite characters and of course he'd want a picture of it but he was in for a surprise

The first time you cosplayed in front of him , he asked and you agreed

he snapped the photo , it blurred

he got irritated but thought nothing of it and tried again

still failed

he has plenty of cameras ( I dunno it's for the story make up your own reason XD ) and used a different one to get a photo

it failed and he tried many times , it was too a point he built up the courage *cough*two hours*cough to ask rook to help

he was dumbfounded when rook couldn't do well

you later went home , while idia was sad , he really wnated to take a good pic

soon after, you sent him a text

"I'm sorry you couldn't get a cute picture earlier, so i took a shot at it with a selfie!"

and there he saw the perfect picture

"...what the f**k is this voodoo magic- "

he of course loved it but he was so confused

Malleus

oh boy here we go-

he was still confused on the idea of photos

but he thought it was similar to a painting but it's instant

so of course he wants one with you

he attempts to use an old style camera (hey be lucky he made it this far)

he sets it up to where it takes a picture with a timer and you both pose

After it was done, he looked at the photo and somehow it blurred

he just thought it was a small mistake and tried again

second time, same result

this is where his temper slowly rises and it's shown every time it fails

and after about the 20th time , he smashes the camera

you attempt to calm him down and offered to use your phone

he agrees because he trusts you more than a dumb camera

after you took the photo, he was very happy , it looked wonderful

he didn't care about the camera anymore, he just cared that he got a good photo

I hope you enjoyed!

#twst disney #twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #azul ashengrotto #kalim al asim #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #malleus draconia #heartslabyul #savanaclaw #octavinelle #scarbia #pomefoire #ignihyde #diasomnia

545 notes · View notes

duuhrayliegh · 4 years ago

Note

Hello, darling! I was wondering if you could right some Bucky x reader, where the reader worked along Sharon during Civil War and she meets Bucky. Then she runs always with Sharon and meets Bucky again in Madripoor and continue their story. I hope that makes sense. Thank yooouuuu✨✨✨

hey babes!! yes i absolutely can! i kind of gave more background than i meant to making it way longer, but i hope you enjoy it anyway! i do want to continue this story and most definitely will be so be on the lookout for the other parts of it lovie <3. i hope you still enjoy it even though it isn’t quite what you asked for yet :)

A Friend of Yours

FATWS SPOILERS

warnings: not much, canon lvl violence, some suggestive stuff closer towards to end, language, i think that’s it

word count: 6140 i went a bit overboard, it’s fine i’m totally fine

a/n: i got this request and then didn’t stop writing all day. i didn’t get anything else done all day. i got home at like seven-ish? and i’ve been sitting on the floor of my bedroom just writing this fic (for context it is now 12:47 pm where i’m at)

check out A Friend of Yours - pt. 2 and A Friend of Yours - pt. 3

p.s.: this is the first fic that i’m writing with an actual ‘x reader’ i’m so proud

xoxo ray

ray’s m.list

******************************

You grew up with Sharon, the two of you were best friends from birth it seemed. Honestly, Peggy raised you more than your own parents did. When Aunt Peggy got Sharon her first thigh holster, she got you one too. You enlisted together, moved up the ranks together, everything. So, it was of no shock to anyone that after the fall of SHIELD, you both moved together into the CIA’s Joint Terrorism Task Force.

You were inside the hotel with Sharon, Steve and Sam when the bombing on the UN took place. The look of unbridled fear that fell over Steve’s face as they announced Barnes as the primary suspect was heart wrenching. You weren’t able to watch it for long because your phone was already ringing off the hook.

“Look, you need to get me more information, and now.” You gritted into your phone speaker before quickly hanging up the phone and turning to a crestfallen Steve who was still watching the news casting. Sharon ended her phone call and turned to you.

“We have to go to work.” A few short hours on a jet later, you and Sharon were coordinating the operation. Close by, Steve and Sam were awaiting new information. Steve had this insane plan to find Barnes before the whole rest of the world did. Like that’s going to happen, it took the world 70 years to find Barnes. Of course, Steve and Sam are going to find him in about half that time.

You followed the blonde woman into a busy coffee shop and up to the counter. She slid a manila folder over to a well disguised Captain America. “Tips have been pouring in since that footage went public. Everyone thinks the Winter Soldier goes to their gym. Most of it’s just noise, except this.” Sharon was talking quietly, trying to not draw attention to the fact that she was committing a serious offense.

“We have to give the briefing, like now Shar, so we have to go.” The two of you pushed off the counter and you turned quickly to say one last thing. “And you better hurry. They’ve given the order to shoot on site.”

You left the shop quickly and made your way back to the white tent, passing the redheaded spy who was watching you like a hawk. A look of understanding crossed her features as you kept a calm facade. She fucking knows, how the hell could she read you that easily?

*********************************

The next time you saw any of them, they were exiting the back of an armored prison van. It was no surprise that his eyes flitted over to his best friend from childhood. You glanced over at Barnes, who was strapped in all different ways, and your heart hurt for him. You tried not to pity him, you know you would’ve gotten a slap on the wrist from Aunt Peggy about it.

Bucky must’ve felt you looking at him because his steel blue eyes locked with your pair. This was the first time that you’ve ever actually seen the man in person. It was startling, in a good way. You grew up going to the Smithsonian and hearing Aunt Peggy’s stories about the great James Buchanan Barnes. You never thought that you’d get the chance to meet the man you did a history report on your freshman year of high school.

“Y/N?” Sharon’s voice cut through your thoughts, recalling you to reality and out of your past. “We have to go. We’ve been assigned to monitor Steve and Sam while they’re here.” Sharon was clearly not a fan of this, which made you laugh loudly.

“Oh, score! We get to babysit Captain America and the Falcon!” You spoke in an unnecessarily upbeat voice and then clapped your hands together. “Our dream job! Let’s go, Shar!” She stared at you for a millisecond before slapping a hand on your shoulder.

“Let’s go, you fucking dork.” You followed her through the office building into the control room where you observed Tony talking to Steve. Apparently, the conversation was not going well because both their faces held angry glares. Eventually, Tony left the room, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts and that can never be good.

“How you doing, Cap?” You asked as you less-than-gracefully plopped yourself into the chair across from him. He looked over at me and released a heavy sigh.

“Honestly, Y/N, not that great at the moment.” He looked at you with his iconic mom Steve stare. Wow, so that’s what it’s like to be on the receiving end of that. Sam walked in and sat next to you. You drowned out their conversation as your gaze focused on screens outside of the glass office.

The video feed of Barnes in his metal cage was displayed on a TV screen. How is this considered humane? Obviously you knew that the CIA had pushed boundaries in the past, but this was just insane. “Are those restraints really necessary?” Sam seemed to be just voicing his thoughts, not expecting a response back.

“Well, he is considered an international terrorist, so yeah, they’re kind of necessary.” You said quickly and then muttered under your breath, “No matter who thinks that it’s excessive.” Steve’s gaze met yours and he was about to speak when Sharon walked in and dropped a paper in front of Sam.

“The receipt for your gear.” A scoff sounded from Sam as he glared at Sharon.

“‘Bird costume’? Come on.” Always quick to defend your best friend.

“Hey, we didn’t write it up.” It came off snappier than you had meant it. Sharon shot you a look, signaling you to back off. You raised a brow at her as she leaned over the table to the intercom buttons.

The audio from Barnes’ evaluation echoed through the glass room. Everyone around you was unsuspecting the four of you listened in. The psychologist was talking to Barnes, who seemed incredibly closed off. Who could blame the guy though?

“I’m not here to judge you. I just want to ask a few questions. Do you know where you are, James?” The psychologist paused for a second, looking down and off to the side. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, James.” The caged man spoke for the first time.

“My name is Bucky.” His voice was rough from not being used. A look crossed Steve’s face and he turned to Sharon.

“Why would the Task Force release that photo to begin with?” Sharon’s body turned to face the man speaking to her. Her brows furrowed while she answered.

“Get the word out, involve as many eyes as we can?” Your head tilted, trying to follow Steve’s train of thought.

“Right. Good way to flush a guy out of hiding. Set off a bomb, get your picture taken. Get seven billion people looking for the Winter Soldier.” Oh shit.

“You’re saying someone framed him?” You wanted to believe it with every fiber in your being.

“Steve, we looked for the guy for two years and found nothing.” Sam reminded in a calm tone.

“Yeah, you didn’t bomb the UN though. That turns quite a few heads. Especially if prominent people like King T’Chaka end up dead because of it.” You made a good point, but there were still pieces missing.

“That doesn’t guarantee that they would find him. It guaranteed that we would.” Sharon and Steve began examining the room around them. Your attention returned to the audio emitting from the intercom.

“You fear that,“ the doctor paused, “if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop. Don’t worry.” He glanced down again and moved his hand to swipe something away.

“Guys?” You pointed to the screen as the doctor held up his pointer finger.

“We only have to talk about one.” All of the sudden, the screens went dark and the lights flickered off. Secretary Ross was yelling at technicians to get his video back. Tony was speaking to his AI, Friday, about locating the source of the outage. Steve and Sam tensed at the thought of what could be going on with Barnes.

“Sub-level five, east wing.” was all Sharon said as the pair ran off. You looked at her and threw your hands in the air.

“What the hell do we do now, Shar?” She glared at you as she started reasoning with you.

“They’re stronger than we are. If they can contain whatever the hell is happening down there then great. In the event that they can’t, we’ll be up here with Natasha and Tony to deal with it.” You nodded quickly as you both ran out of the room.

You quickly followed Natasha, Tony and Sharon to the main level of the building. Clearly Steve and Sam were unsuccessful in containing the situation because Barnes could be seen through the glass, fighting his way to his destination.

Tony stunned Barnes with a previously concealed Iron Man glove. Barnes started towards Tony and quickly attacked. After Barnes bested Tony, it wasn’t long before Natasha rushed the man alongside Sharon. It wasn’t hard for Barnes to throw Sharon across the room. Natasha took the opportunity to launch herself onto his shoulders, which caused Barnes to slam her into a table with his metal hand wrapped around her neck.

She mumbled something to him as you kicked his ribs, releasing his chokehold on her. He stumbled backwards, his hard gaze landed on yours as he approached. Your eyes locked on his as the two of you traded blows.

They weren’t the same eyes as before. Those eyes were soft and remorseful, these were hard and unattached. There was no emotion behind the pair staring at you. The fraction of a second that you were analyzing his eyes in your head was enough for him to catch you off guard. His metal fist landed in your rib cage. The opposite hand jabbed at your face, busting your lip and sending you flying backwards.

You hit your head on the concrete below, making your eyes roll back. The wind left your lungs and you gasped to get it back as Barnes and T’Challa fought in the background. It was a few minutes later that a concerned Sharon made her way over to you.

“Are you okay?” You looked her over as she did you, checking for any severe injuries. You offered a small nod, not wanting to shake your head too much in fear of a concussion. “Let’s go check in with Ross.”

******************

“And how the hell did Rogers and Wilson even know where to find Barnes?” Ross’ voice boomed through the office. No one said anything, not wanting to incur the wrath of Secretary Ross. “I’ve already allowed Stark 36 hours to find them and bring them back here.” Ross turned to you and Sharon standing in the corner of the room. “If they contact any of you, report it immediately.” Rounds of ‘yes, sirs’ bounced around the room, then chaos ensued as everyone got back to trying to clean up this mess.

“Carter. Y/L/N. Elevator now.” He raised two fingers to point toward the elevators before walking into one. It was just the three of you in the enclosed space. He clicked the button for the ground floor. “I know you have some kind of connection to Rogers but do not let that cloud your judgement. The both of you are CIA agents first.”

“We understand, Secretary.” The elevator doors opened again and you went to step out when Ross stopped you again.

“I mean it, girls. This is your job on the line here.” You and Sharon shared a look before continuing walking. Did he just call us girls?

“Do you think that was supposed to be intimidating?” You laughed under your breath as you went out to the parking lot. Sharon sighed and shrugged her shoulders.

“Probably.” She looked at you over the top of her car. “You don’t have to come with me.”

“Where do we start?”

****************************

Getting that fucking shield and bird suit wasn’t easy. They had moved it from the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre to the US Embassy to await transport back to the States. It made it easier but still damn near impossible to get. Thankfully, you and Sharon are good liars. Skills of a misspent youth.

The two of you walked in the front door and displayed your badges. “We’re here to pick up Captain America and the Falcon’s effects.” The man behind the counter didn’t even question it. Man, they need better people at the Embassy.

“You’ll have to sign some paperwork saying you picked it up.” There it is. You both flicked a brow and Sharon held her hand out for the clipboard. Small scratches from the pen in her hand were echoing throughout the empty building.

She handed the clipboard back to the man behind the counter. “Okie dokie, just pull your car around to the side of the building and we’ll get you loaded up.” He shot them a small smile and turned around to file the papers.

“That was easy enough.” You whispered to Sharon as you left, not wanting your voice to carry. You walked to your car that was parked in front of the iron wrought gate. Pulling your car around to the side of the building, you popped the trunk. The gear clad Embassy soldier carelessly tossed Sam’s suit inside before gently placing the shield on top of it.

“Hey, if there’s a scratch on that suit, it’s coming out of your paycheck buddy.” You held your pointer finger up to the man’s unimpressed face.

“Y/N, let’s go. We’ve got to get these to the jet or Ross will have our heads. Remember it’s our job on the line here.” What Sharon said made you laugh big while hauling yourself back into the driver’s seat of the car. As you pulled out into the street, Sharon was typing away on her phone and pushing it to her ear.

“This is a secure line but I don’t know for how long, so don’t talk just listen.” She took a deep breath and then continued. “We want to help. Meet us under the bridge on Route 6. We’ll be there in two hours.” She ended the call quickly and threw the phone outside the car. Glancing over at you, she nodded and sighed again.

“We’ve gotten this far.” You had one question burning in your throat that you were afraid to ask.

“Where do we go after they’ve gone?” She looked at you and she was biting her lip, something she only did when she was incredibly stressed.

“I don’t know yet. Do you have any ideas?” You smiled and thought of the one place that you wouldn’t be followed.

“Yeah, I’ve got one, but it’s rough.”

***************************

The drive to the underpass wasn’t a hard one. You had beat the boys there so you and Sharon were sitting in the car. You had the radio playing softly in the background.

“Who the hell do you know in Madripoor?” You laughed and shrugged.

“I’m supposed to tell you all my secrets for free?” You shook your head and shifted in your seat to face her fully. “I was tasked with tracking some artwork down there. One of my assignments when we went through initiation for the Agency.” You picked at the holes in your jeans. “I thought it was just all fake stuff, but I researched it more and more. Turns out, the underground artwork dealing is really lucrative over there.”

Sharon stared at you in amazement. “What did you do, Y/N?” You smirked.

“I haven’t done anything.” You held her gaze, “Yet.” She released a small laugh and her mouth hung open a bit. “I may have a warehouse out there.” You squinted one of your eyes, and leaned forward. “And the apartment above it.” She was going to say something when an old ass blue Beetle pulled up behind you.

“Now how the fuck did they all fit in that tiny ass car?” You both laughed as you stepped out of the car with big smiles on your faces.

“Not sure you understand the concept of a getaway car.” Steve walked up to Sharon and they began talking as she popped the trunk, revealing their gear. Your attention was on the men in the car behind them. Barnes was stuck in the back away from cameras and Sam was lounging in the passenger seat. Your eyes met Barnes’ again, they were back to the remorseful pair you saw the first time.

“You know he kind of tried to kill us.” You waved your hand in gesture to the man in the car.

“Sorry, I’ll put it on the list too.” He glanced back down at Sharon, who had migrated closer to him. “They’re going to come looking for you.”

She nodded, “I know.” Then the most awkward kiss in all of kissing history took place. Your brows shot up then furrowed quickly, a small wince overtaking your face. They pulled apart and traded more words. Sharon began walking back to the passenger side of the car.

Steve turned around and you looked back at the two men in the car. Both of them were wearing proud, smug grins. Steve threw his head back as if he was berating them.

“About damn time, Cap! She’s been pining over you for God knows how long now.” The windows were down in the Beetle so the other two heard you shouting at their friend.

“Y/N!” Sharon was a bit embarrassed.

“What? It’s the truth, Shar!” The two of you began bickering like an old married couple as you started the car again. Steve got all he needed from the trunk and shut it quickly, slapping it twice. You began driving off with Sharon giving you directions to an airport on the opposite side of the country.

***********************

That was the last time you saw Steve. Last time you saw anyone for a while. You had been dusted in the Blip. Sharon had followed you to your apartment in Madripoor. The two of you were able to figure the city out pretty quickly. Learning the ins and outs of the island, where to go, who to sell to. One afternoon, you and Sharon had been surveying a Van Gogh piece for your gallery when you flew away. In the middle of a fucking deal, what perfect timing.

Five years later, you were reunited with an even more successful Sharon. “I kept your room the way you left it.” She said as she led you through your shared home. “I figured that you’d be back and you’d be pissed off if I fucked with anything.”

You smiled at the woman gratefully and hugged her. Neither of you let go for a while. When you did, she started filling you in on everything. She had continued to split all her profits and had been depositing the money into your account. “Even if you didn’t come back, I could’ve used it if I needed to bug out. Win-win.” She explained with a smile.

The two of you had about six months of getting back into the groove of things. It was quickly cut off by a ping of your phones one day. A look of confusion and anger crossed her face, “Are you fucking kidding me?” She locked eyes with you and told you to get your gear.

“Where are we going?” She threw her phone at you and you looked at the screen. As soon as you read the notification at the top of it you understood. Repeating your question from before, you tied the knots on your Converse. You followed Sharon to the Low Town side of the island.

“Now what the fuck are they doing here, do you think?” The two of you camped outside of the Brass Monkey nightclub, ready for whatever came your way. Deciding that you were too visible to everyone else, you moved to the building across from the club. Something is bound to go wrong and the first place they're going to get ran to is this dead end alley.

Sure enough, not even ten minutes later, Sam, Barnes, and Zemo got cornered in the alleyway. Sharon had decided to stay on the ground floor next to the door. You shot two of the assassins following the group of three and Sharon took out the final one.

You made your way back down to Sharon, who was still holding her gun up. “You cost me everything.” She focused her gun on Zemo.

“Sharon, wait. Someone recreated the super soldier serum and Zemo had a lead.” Sam remarked calmly, trying to diffuse the situation.

“Explains why you guys are here and Selby’s dead.” Your brows shot up at that, must of been new information that she got while you were upstairs.

“Why are you here, Sharon?” Sam questioned.

“She was one of the ones who stole Steve’s shield, remember?” You stepped forward, raising your gun to gesture to the men in front of you. “And the wings, so your ass,” you waved at Sam, “could save his ass,” at Barnes, “from his ass.” You lowered your gun and stepped in front of Zemo, staring the man down. Your fist balled and you launched it at Zemo, landing a solid hit to his cheekbone.

Barnes grabbed your hand, twisting your body to slot against his with your arm bent behind your back. He leaned close to your ear, breath making shivers trickle down your spine. “I only let you do that because I’ve wanted to for a while now, so don’t get any more ideas.” Your breath hitched because of the proximity of the man behind you.

“Alright, give me my Y/N back.” Sharon said, lowering her gun to holster it. Bucky held onto you for a few more seconds than necessary and then pushed you towards Sharon as he released you. You scoffed, then shoved your gun into the waistband of your jeans. Sam and Sharon had already started their own conversation by the time you calmed down enough to face Barnes.

Sharon bobbed her head to you, an unspoken language between the two of you. After bringing them into your home, Sam began admiring the artwork in the first floor gallery. “Looks like breaking the law is treating you two well.”

“Before even graduating into the Agency, I had a place over here. Never had any intention on using it, but here we are.” You started, “Then, after having to flee Berlin, for you,” You shot a look at Bucky, “we figured if we had to hustle, might as well enjoy the good life. Do you know how much we can get for a real Monet?”

“Deactivate your hustle mode. You sell fake Monet’s.” Sharon shot him a look, about to defend us when Zemo cut in.

“No. She means real. This gallery is specialized in stolen artwork. Monet. Van Gogh. All the classics.” Sam made a face of disbelief.

“It’s true. You know, half the artwork in museums like the Louvre is fake. Real stuff sits in places like this.” Bucky gestured to the gallery. Sam pulled his phone out of his suit pocket.

“Okay, guys, I see what you’re doing. You’re more worldly than good old Sam.” He was typing furiously as he spoke. Bucky passed him, soundlessly following you and Sharon to the upstairs apartment.

“Yeah. What’s Google say?” Once the five of you got upstairs, Sharon began walking them into her office, telling them that they needed to change because we were hosting clients. It didn’t take long for the men to switch outfits. It was refreshing to see Barnes in something other than combat gear or a torn Henley. Sharon followed you in the office, making a remark at Sam while he apologised.

“Look, you know the whole hero thing is a joke, right? The way you gave up that shield, deep down, you must know it’s all hypocrisy.” She said as you plopped yourself on one of the plush chairs across from the couch, holding a clear glass full of whiskey.

“He knows. And not so deep down.” Zemo added quietly, since when is Zemo informed? Sharon glazed over his comment, opting for asking about the new Cap while filling a glass for herself.

“Don’t get me started.” Barnes spoke for the first time since being downstairs. You narrowed your eyes at the man.

“Please. You buy into all that stars and stripes bullshit.” You swung your glass to Zemo, “Before you were his pet psychopath, you were Mr. America! Cap’s best friend.” His gaze darted over to you, nose wrinkling at your comment.

“Do you know who I am?” He tried to be intimidating but it was just funny to you. You were taking a drink to moisten your throat to fire back a witty comeback, when Sharon spoke for you.

“Oh trust me, she knows. She did a report on you freshman year of high school.” You started choking on your drink as Sharon smirked from the couch next to Barnes. His brows raised and a smug smile graced his face.

“She did now?” Clearly he was a different man from the last time you saw him. Meeting his eyes for the fourth time ever, you were surprised with what you saw. There was almost a hunger lingering behind his eyes.

“Most definitely. I don’t even know how many times she went to the Smithsonian to see the exhibit about you.” You glared at Sharon, who continued to talk, unbothered by you. She raised her own glass to her lips, speaking into her cup, muffling her words. “Honestly, think she developed a little crush.” Barnes’ eyes never left your face, his mind racing.

“Wait, so the entire time you were helping me and Steve, you had a crush on Tin Man?” Sam interjected, wanting to be included in the conversation. You rolled your eyes and gave a subtle nod to Sam. The action wasn’t missed by Bucky.

“Which is why I think it must’ve been really hard for you to ask him of all people for help. They comin’ down real hard on you out there?” You asked Barnes with a smirk and a head tilt towards Zemo. “I know he fucked you up real good, triggering the Soldier, Barnes.”

Sam laughed beside him. “Dude, that’s basically what you told Walker.” Barnes threw a glare at Sam, who had clapped a hand on his metal shoulder. The conversation dissipated after your comment, guess you killed the vibe.

Sam turned to a relaxed Sharon, “We need your help.” Her body tensed, neither one of you was ready to throw yourself back into enemy territory. “I can get your name cleared.” He dangled a huge bargaining chip in front of her face. You knew Sharon was eager to get back to the States. She misses her dad. It was unfair of Sam to use that as a way to gain her favor.

“Haggling with someone’s life like that isn’t okay, Sam.” You said quietly, focusing your gaze on the glass in your hand.

“It’s not like that, Y/N.”

“Yes, it is, Sam.” You said firmly. “You can’t just say something like that. I know you’re an Avenger. That’s great shit, but you need to realize that if you can’t deliver on your word, we go to jail or worse. You know that.”

“I don’t trust charity, Sam.” Sharon said from beside Barnes.

“All right, a deal then. You help us out, and I get your names cleared.” Your nostrils flared and you shook your head. Sharon agreed, blinded by the possibility of seeing her family again. You don’t doubt that she thought through all the outcomes, it just wasn’t the route you would’ve taken.

“We sell to some pretty connected people. Lay low, blend in, and enjoy the party.” She got up, exiting the office.

“Try to stay outta trouble, boys.” You said placing your glass on Sharon’s desk as you left. “We’ll see what we can find.”

*********************************

You were standing next to Sharon when the three men joined the party. Leaning over to Sharon, you told her you were going to get a drink from the bar. You pushed your way through the crowd, planting yourself on a stool in front of the countertop. Nodding your head at the bartender, they passed you a bottle of club soda.

“Not drinking tonight?” A raspy voice questioned over your shoulder. You turned to face the owner as you shrugged your shoulders.

“Already had my fill. And technically, I’m supposed to be working, Barnes.” Your eyes met with his again. You couldn’t tell if it was the light in the room or if it was just him, but they were a deeper shade of blue than before. He leaned his weight on his elbow that was resting on the bar top next to you. He was so close you could feel his body heat rolling off him in waves.

His eyes roamed your face, stopping on your lips as he spoke. “You know you can call me Bucky, right?” You made a face, bringing your bottle to your mouth. He watched intently as your lips wrapped around the opening.

“We’ve never had a single conversation before today. And the first time you actually met me, you twisted my arm behind my back because I punched the dickwad standing next to you.” You took another sip and his eyes drifted down to your throat. He watched as it bobbed when you swallowed.

“So, yeah. I’m going to call you Barnes.” You leaned closer, “I’ve never been given permission to call you anything else.” You could tell you struck something. Something that he didn’t even possibly know about. His face heated and he had to clear his throat before speaking.

“Um, okay. Well you can call me Bucky or if you want, James.” Your brow quirked and you pulled back to take him in fully.

“How many people have you let call you that since you got your free will back?” Your tone was serious, but your face held a smile.

“None, doll.” His eyes ran over your face again. “I just want to hear how it’ll sound coming from your mouth.” One of his metal fingers came up to rest on your bottom lip as your smile grew.

“James.” You whispered, just for him. What he was giving you was a privilege, one you were going to revel in. One corner of his mouth tugged upwards.

“Again.” He growled as his finger remained on your lip.

“James.”

“Again.”

“James.” The party around the two of you faded away. In your reality, it was just you and the man in front of you. A peaceful place, where nothing could change what was happening right at that moment.

Of course, reality is a bitch. And you never got what you wanted. Your jaw clenched as soon as your phone pinged. James dropped his hand from your face as he read the text with you.

Found Nagel. Meet us outside and if you find Bucky, tell him too.

You scrunched your nose and bit your lip. James’ hand was quick to pull your lip from your front teeth, before resting there for a second as he studied your face. He stepped back quickly, nodding his head for you to follow him.

**************************************

You don’t know how the hell Sharon managed to find him, but she did. You were in a shipping yard for storage cars. “Madripoor could give New York a run for its money.” Sam said as the five of you weaved your way through the containers.

“With a bounty on your head, the longer you’re in Madripoor, the less likely you’re ever leaving.” She glanced down at her phone in her hand. Nodding toward a red container, “Alright, he’s in there. Container 4621.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out five earpieces.

“We’ll keep watch while you guys talk to Nagel. But hurry. We’re on borrowed time.” You said as you watched everyone situate their pieces. Sharon turned around and began walking down an aisle not far from the container Nagel was in. You stopped James before he could go anywhere.

“Hey, be careful.” His eyes met yours and they were back to the normal steel blue. “Don’t forget who you are, James.” Something flashed behind his eyes, but his face showed no change.

“You too, Y/N. Don’t make me come out here and save your ass.” His eyes flicked down quickly and a smile spread quickly. “I mean, not that I would mind.” You rolled your eyes and shoved his shoulder, turning and walking down the aisle Sharon did.

“So,” She was leaned against a rusted container with a smug smile. “You and Bucky, huh?” You groaned and stood next to her.

“I don’t know, Shar. Neither one of us should be in a relationship. Especially since we’re both Enemies of the State, well one of us is, the other one was.” You turned your head to look at her. “What do you think about all of this?” She opened her mouth to speak when you both heard something ricochet off a metal wall.

She raised a finger to her mouth and crouched down before pressing that same finger to her earpiece. “Guys, we have company.” She took off down one end of the aisle and you down the opposite, ready to attack from both sides. There were three men walking towards Nagel’s container, you shot a look down to Sharon and she nodded.

She came from the back with a baton, whacking the last guy once in the knees and once in the head, disarming him. When the front man turned to help his comrade, you did the same move to him with your own baton. You both continued trading blows with the men. You had effectively taken out the first man, using his thigh to latch yourself to the third man’s shoulders. Situating yourself to use your body weight to flip him over, definitely knocking him out.

“Every bounty hunter in the city is here. We gotta go now, boys!” You yelled to your earpiece as you watched Sharon fight off another opponent.

It wasn’t until the gunfire started that Sharon said something else into the piece. “Guys, we’re seriously outta time here.” You both split off, out of each other’s view, battling your own demons. You were currently dealing with two of those said demons, when a third approached from behind. Locking you in a chokehold as the other two continued punching your ribs.

One of the hunters was suddenly ripped away from you. Punches were landing and groans were echoing through the alleyways. You threw all your body weight forward, throwing your assailant over your shoulder. Two gunshots rang out and then a third one, which landed a bullet hole between your aggressors eyes. Your head whipped around to face James, whose arm dropped back to his side.

He walked towards you, putting a hand on your back leading you to where Sharon and Sam were standing. Zemo pulled up in a blue convertible car, “Supercharged.” was all he said. Sam pointed his finger at the man in the driver’s seat.

“You’re going back to jail.”

“Do you want to find Karli or not?” James sighed heavily, his shoulder sinking with the action.

“He’s right. We need him. And there’s two of us, and at least twenty of them.” James got in the front seat, leaving the door open for Sam.

“Fine. But if you try that shit again--”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Zemo raised his hands in surrender. Sam turned to Sharon.

“Well, that was one hell of a reunion.” You leaned over the open door to talk to James. He looked at you with a sad face.

“Why don’t you come back to the States with us?” He tilted his head. “We could clearly use your help, doll.” You smiled at that and licked your lips before responding.

“You know we can’t. Not yet anyway.” He placed his finger back on your bottom lip, maintaining eye contact. “This isn’t the last you’ll see of me, James. That I can promise you.” He smiled and dropped his hand back to his lap.

Sam climbed into the seat behind James. “You’re not going to move your seat up, are you?” James smirked before replying.

“No.” You watched as they drove off, desperately wanting to see James again already.

You turned back to Sharon and the two of you began walking back towards High Town. “I think you should go for it.”

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fan fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky fan fic #bucky fanfic #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x you #james buchanan barnes x y/n #james barnes x reader #james barnes x you #james barnes x y/n #Sebastian Stan

615 notes · View notes

doopy-n-loopy · 3 years ago

Note

How would yandere mercs react to us trying to escape late at night?

Well not well that's for sure!

Yan!Mercenaries (TF2) × Reader hcs/ imagines

// Yandere themes, violence, fear play, yandere shit

Defense

Demo

You got out of Demo's bed, you had given him more alcohol than usual to keep him asleep. You looked over the heavily snoring figure beside you. The scot had his mouth wide open and a bottle of beer cluched in his palm. You leaned in and blew on his eye to make sure he was asleep, and there was no physical response from him. You then quickly slipped on your clothes and pulled out the small bag you've been hiding behind the nightstand, it was filled with money and other essentials like pepper spray, sunglasses, and a cloak.

You walked out of the room, taking one last look at the scot before tiptoing out of the house, avoiding scattered empty alcohol containers on the ground.

Just as you were about to leave, you heard a voice from behind you

"y/n? What are ye doing?"

He was drunk of course, but when wasn't he? It was like he was sober in his own way. Sober enough to recognize that guilty look on your face. His expression twisted into an angry snarl and he grabbed you by the wrist, dragging you down the stairs into the basement

"you'll stay here till you know how to listen"

He said trying to conceal his anger, but failing to do so

He could also just have a breakdown depending on the type of night it was and guilt you into staying

He will be a lot more strict on you

Heavy

You were looking to escape in the night but heavy lives in an eternal blizzard basically so... That's not a great idea

But lets say you've been preparing for awhile and got everything set up, a snow mobile, warm clothes, and a torch

But the moment you get to the shed, you find that your snow mobile is broken

Heavy then appears out of a corner of darkness with an upset expression

It's silent for a moment, until he speaks

"After all Heavy has done for you? Why?"

You felt guilt building up into your throat as you tried to search for an excuse. Unable to find one. He isn't a very restricting yandere, in fact, he's much tamer than most, he's given you basically all he has and to do this is like a slap in the face.

"Heavy will forgive you, if you just come back" he said while smiling

You were then gently pushed back out into the cold in the direction of his house, where you'd be staying once more

If he was in a bad mood, he'd be a little more rough

He also will place more restrictions on you but it's not like you'd notice considering it's not much

Engineer

You were about to leave in your car at night, when you tried turning it on, it wouldn't start. Engie then walks in front of your car and waves at you for you to come out, which after hesitating, you comply.

He walks over to you and hugs you, which confuses you. He tells you it's alright and that you don't have to go

"I'm sorry but, I want to leave" you stutter out

He panics internally and grips your shoulder, looking you in your eye

"do you know what could happen to you out there? Rapists! Murderers! The world ain't sugar n' honey, darlin"

"but-" you respond, suddenly cut off by him

"but you're safe here with me. I'll always protect you"

He hugs you once again, sucked into that warm embrace, you calm down and walk back with him

You were restricted from certain things from then on

Offense

Scout

You got into a fight with him earlier and in the middle of the night, you decided it was time to leave.

You packed a bag of clothes, some water, money, and other essentials

As you got your keys, you were met with a sleepy eyed scout who had bedhead

"Y/N....? The hell are ya doin?"

It takes a second for scout to process what's going on. You're grabbing your keys, you're fully dressed, and you had a suitcase with you

"Jeremy. I'm leaving*

You said sternly. You could see in his eyes that his heart shattered into a million pieces

"Wai- what no! No no no no! Please y/n you gotta stay please!"

He begged, grabbing onto your coat as you began to walk out. Tears formed on his face but you ignored it

"I can't put up with this anymore"

You said, voice cracking from the pain in your heart. Scout was sobbing now, he kneeled in front of you to stop you

"I'm so sorry I'm so sorry! I'll change I swear I'll become better! You want to go to eat out more? I got the money! I'll treat you nicely!"

You didn't believe a word he said, but with the way he was talking, it had to be true.

"Please I love you so much and it would kill me to lose you... Literally... You're my world to me, baby"

You bit your quivering lip as you looked down at him like he was a sad puppy. You sniffled and dropped your bags, huffing in defeat

".. I'm sorry. I'm just tired"

Scout was overjoyed to hear this. That night he clung to you

Scout didn't really become more strict, but he did become more loving to avoid that again.

Pyro

This one is scary, scarier than support classes even

You were almost out the door when they spotted you. They gave you an inquisitive look. You both shared a minute of uncomfortable silence before you bolted out the door. Pyro was unprepared for this, giving you some time to create distance between you two.

But Pyro was quick to get ready and they were out the door in no time with their flamethrower, ready to burn down acres of forests in order to catch you

You could hear pyro approaching, knowing that once you reach your car at the end of the base, you'll be safe and free.

While you were running, it seemed like their footsteps had been fading ever since they've gotten louder. Until you couldn't hear it anymore. You didn't pay any mind to this since your objective was just getting ti your car

When you arrived at the boarders of their territory when you stopped in your tracks

Pyro was leaning over their axe by the car, looking smug as ever. You looked towards your car and gasped.

Pyro had shredded the tires and broke open every window so you couldn't escape. You stood there as pyro approached you and swept you up in their arms, snuggling their mask into your neck the entire way home while you couldn't help but softly sob

Soldier

Soldier would lose his shit

He's already super strict, forces you to get up at 5 am every morning and run laps like you're in the military, makes you eat either MRE packets or home cooked food and you better hope it's an MRE pack because he cannot cook

So when he sees you at your car late at night, he screams at the top of his lungs enough to scare you into shock

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING, MAGGOT? GET BACK HERE THIS INSTANT!"

I could see this going one of two ways, either complying or he has to chase you down (which he will)

If he has to chase you down, he won't be happy about it, and become even more strict than before (which I don't think is possible but it's soldier)

Support

Sniper

You... What?

How did you even get the idea that you could escape?

You live in his fucking van, you won't have a car other than his van

But lets say you saw the chance for escape, and tried to take it. You either got shut down the moment you got out of bed or you were lucky enough to get far away from the van

"get your bloody ass back to bed" is something he'd say if he shut you down the moment you stood up

But this man is a sniper, he can scope you out easily, and he won't hesitate to use a tranq on you

After that, you're back in the chains

Spy

Scary

Did you really think you could?

He knew you were gonna escape before you even escaped

He'd make very subtle remarks about it and remind you of what he could do

"Do you remember about the undercover mission in Spain back when I was working for the government that I told you about? When I was able to find the traitor using three clues. Even after all his records were erased"

Subtle shit like that to remind you who's in control

But lets say you didn't take the hint, and you decided to try and escape anyways

He'd catch you in the living room trying to escape, and send you back to bed

Or, you'd get lucky and be able to run away, meaning he'd be on a job

Trust me, he will find you within 48 hours, 24 if you aren't moving that much

He's very manipulative so he'd try to make you feel bad about it.

Much more strict afterwards

Medic

I have a feeling he'd already knowz but not to the extent that spy does

He notices your behavior, and how you're starting to become a bit more.. energetic?

Anyways, like spy, he'll warn you subtly

"You seem to always find yourself injured in any way. And like they say, a medic can track an injured person like a gps system, ja?"

If you decide to escape, he'll have some fun with you definitely. He'll late you run far enough to think that you're finally free, before he catches you and brings you back. He's sadistic.

He'll laugh at your face and degrade and humiliate you, making you regret ever trying

After that, he's much more strict, and demanding from you

Bonus cause I wanted to: Pauling

Pauling like spy, can track people very easily

I wouldn't even be surprised if she convinced medic to help put a tracker in you

Well, she'd be at work checking your location every hour. And the moment she finds out that you're not in the house but at a motel, she's pissed.

She has to quickly finish up work before taking her time to go catch you, and trust me, if Pauling takes time off work for something it's important

Once she finds you, she tells you to come out, trying to keep it civil. When you don't, she ends up busting through the door and taking you herself.

On the way home, she complains about how you worried her and made her miss some work like a parent going to pick up their sick kid from school

She eventually cools off after she gets you home, but she is definitely more strict

Gify was acting up so I couldn't download any more gifs 😭

Anyways feel free to request again!

#yandere headcanons #yandere x reader #yandere tf2 #yandere tf2 × reader #doopyloopyyandere #doopyloopy's asks #doopyloopy's headcannons

236 notes · View notes

cinnaminsvga · 4 years ago

Text

Hug-o-gram | Yoongi

→ summary:

“This is probably the dumbest idea you’ve ever had,” Yoongi hisses, but it’s kind of hard for Seokjin to take him seriously when he’s wearing a cardboard sign around his neck that says ‘Huggie Wuggie Machine!’ in bubble font.

“Like, even worse than when we DIY’d your car into a convertible by sawing the top off?” Seokjin asks, genuinely curious.

“Worse,” Yoongi admits, trying his best to stay out of your line of sight. His cheeks redden, matching the gaudy pink kitten ears he was forced into wearing.

{or alternatively: Seokjin is a terrible wingman. He also runs a profitable business by sending hugs to people’s crushes for a fee. Mix them together and you have a recipe for Min Yoongi’s worst nightmare.}

→ genre: college!au, hugging booth!au, fluff, humor → warnings: yoongi is so smitten that he’s a walking disaster, so much shy!yoongi to the point where you’ll want to scream, seokjin just tryna get his homie some y/n love coochie bro ;o; → words: 13.3K → a/n: another commission by the lovely @jincherie because she’s epic like that!! she literally just told me to write whatever the hell i wanted and well... yoobie got me Good... anyway here’s more yoongi fluff bc apparently i’m a fluff writer now and sometimes i just want my boy to be happy... appa yip yip

Kim Seokjin makes a lot of good decisions. He also makes plenty of bad ones, but he likes to think the score is lying heavily towards the positives. Min Yoongi will be the first one to quickly disagree, but Seokjin doesn’t let it get to him. He doesn’t make it his business to listen to opinions that don’t immediately align with his, anyway; he likes to call it “selective hearing.” Yoongi calls it stupidity. Either way, the point still stands: Seokjin knows a good idea when he sees one. Case in point:

“This automatic popcorn machine is absolutely divine,” Seokjin moans, his mouth agape as he waits for the Mister Popcorn Robot to bestow him with another morsel of goodness.

“Yeah,” is Yoongi’s verbose reply. He also has his mouth agape, his prone body lying side by side with his roommate of four years in their small living room. Their roomba (another one of Seokjin’s good ideas) cleans all around them, its steady whirring serving as their only source of background music. “Lowkey though, I think our position isn’t quite… as optimized as it could be.”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin asks, as he drapes his leg over Yoongi’s. His movement jostles the surrounding popcorn halo around them, as most of the food had missed their mouths by a couple of centimeters. At this point, the roomba has probably eaten more of the popcorn than the two of them combined.

“Nothing,” Yoongi shrugs, or whatever might be the lying down equivalent of a shrug. Some of the popcorn on his chest falls down, only to be quickly devoured by roomba-chi. Yoongi stares at the ceiling, tracing shapes out of the cracks that Seokjin had accidentally made when he tried using a pogo stick indoors. He points up, catching Seokjin’s attention. “Hey, hyung. Doesn’t that look a bit like Y/N?”

Seokjin squints. “You mean the mysterious brown stain near the lights? I think the toilet from the elderly couple upstairs might have leaked that.”

“No, you dipshit. The squiggly curve over there. It reminds me of her smile.” Yoongi says. There’s a stupid dopey grin on his face and Seokjin wants nothing more than to wipe it off.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Seokjin groans, turning over to envelop Yoongi in a sweaty half-armed hug. The buttery residue on his arms and stomach leaves something to be desired, but Yoongi doesn’t scoot away. He only continues to sigh dreamily, staring mindlessly at the image of you that only his lovelorn brain can imagine.

Seokjin slaps Yoongi in the face. “Dude, get a fucking grip,” he grouses, giving Yoongi a serious look. The younger doesn’t break out of his trance, further irritating him. “Will you stop pining in front of my popcorn? It’s seriously making roomba-chi lose her appetite!”

To his credit, roomba-chi did seem to be slowing down, though that could also be because it had overloaded with popcorn and was seconds away from exploding. Wouldn’t be the first time, but Seokjin always managed to find a way to save roomba-chi from imminent death. She was like a daughter to him.

“Hyung, you know I can’t. I just… God, I really like her, you know?”

“That’s the third time you said that within the last hour. Believe me, I know.” Seokjin groans, shoving Yoongi away. He sits up, reaching over to the popcorn machine and switching it off. He grabs a fistful of fallen popcorn from the ground and shoves it inside Yoongi’s mouth. “There. That should shut you up.”

“Aw weawwy wike hew, hwung.”

“And yet, you still haven’t done anything after four years,” Seokjin tuts, finally standing up. He stretches his limbs, his joints creaking youthfully. He grabs his phone from the coffee table, nearly dropping it from the butteriness of his fingers. The clock reads 4:32 PM, which means–

“Yoongi, it’s time for me to head to work. You want to come with me today?” Seokjin asks, though he knows what answer he’s going to get. You see, Seokjin’s new booming business is another one of his fantastic ideas, but it is a little... inventive. Sure, Yoongi had scoffed when he had originally suggested the idea, but Seokjin knew that it was going to be a money-maker. Sure, it had taken a few years for the business to really take off, but once it finally did…

Enter Kim Seokjin’s Hug-o-gram Service! Students from his university are able to send anonymous payments directly to him, with little notes attached for their crushes. Each love letter delivery comes with a hug from Seokjin himself, delivered straight to the person without them ever knowing who the hug came from. It was ingenious! It was lucrative! But most of all…

It allowed Seokjin to cause drama and have an excuse for it! Nothing could have been more perfect for a man like him.

“No thanks,” Yoongi snorts, rolling over to face him. He watches from the floor as Seokjin changes into a butter-less shirt, which also happens to have his own face printed on the front and back. His trusty cardboard sign that reads “I’m Gonna Glomp Ya!” also joins his attire for the afternoon, a long piece of string tied to its edges so that he can wear it around his neck. Throwing on a pair of white sneakers with the tags still attached, Seokjin is ready to tackle today’s list of would-be hug-ees.

“How do I look?” Seokjin asks, combing his hair with his fingers. It leaves an oily sheen, which he somehow makes it work.

“Ugly,” Yoongi says, like a liar.

“It’s okay, I understand. I can speak tsundere, so you don’t need to explain,” Seokjin snickers, nearly getting hit with a TV remote by Yoongi. He opens his phone again, swiping to his e-mail to see his list of hug deliveries for the day.

Seokjin gets around 10 requests a day, with around half of them coming from regular clients. He’s especially fond of this boy who has been sending hugs to his TA named Namjoon for almost a month now. He has no idea why this kid has so much disposable income, though seeing the blush on Namjoon’s face everyday makes Seokjin think that he would spend every last penny for him too. Namjoon had begged Seokjin for his secret admirer’s identity, but snitchin’ isn’t a part of his service, unfortunately.

As much as Seokjin wants to know who is crushing on who, his little business wouldn’t work as well as it did if anonymity wasn’t included in his package deal. It allows people to thirst in public without facing the repercussions, like getting a knee to the groin or a slap to the face. Not that Seokjin has ever been at the receiving end of that; everyone loves him! Like, have you seen him? He must have saved a civilization in the past with how devastatingly beautiful his forehead is.

“Why am I suddenly filled with the relentless urge to deck you right now?” Yoongi says, getting up to change into clean clothes as well. His black t-shirt unfortunately does not have Seokjin’s face on it, but that can quickly be amended if the elder of the two decides to follow his every intrusive whim.

Seokjin laughs, completely unaware of the murderous capabilities of his friend. Due to his smaller body size, his percentage of evil is unusually concentrated. “Maybe it’s because you know that I’m into pain pla–” but Seokjin’s retort suddenly grinds to a halt. He chokes mid-sentence, coughing wildly as he pounds his chest with a balled-up fist. When Yoongi looks up at him, he finds his hyung staring slack-jawed at his phone, seemingly flabbergasted by what he finds on his screen.

“What’s the matter? Accidentally sent a dick pic to your prof again?” Yoongi snorts.

“That was one time! And no, it’s…” Seokjin trails off, uncharacteristically hesitant. He shifts his gaze from his phone to Yoongi, a drop of sweat quickly forming on the back of his neck. Yoongi raises a brow, silently urging him to continue.

Instead of replying, Seokjin hands him his phone. Yoongi finds a copy of one of Seokjin’s newest hug requests, only having just received it five minutes ago. As he scrolls down, he finds that this secret admirer is a new client, but that isn’t what made Seokjin stop in his tracks. Instead, it’s the recipient of the hug that catches his attention–

“Y/N has a secret admirer?” Yoongi says, voice cracking at the end. He clears his throat, trying his best to school his face into something less… jealous. He swivels away from Seokjin, forcing himself to breathe slowly through his nose. He convinces himself that he is the very epitome of calmness.

“You okay there, Yoongi? You look like you’re about to vomit,” Seokjin says, immediately breaking his inner peace. Yoongi groans loudly, shucking the phone over his shoulder, uncaring of where it lands. Seokjin, with his superhuman and God-given reflexes… doesn’t catch it. But he did dive to the floor like a seasoned Olympian, and his ass cushioned his phone so he supposes that’s a win.

Back to the matter at hand––

“I am fine,” Yoongi says, as he continues to not be fine.

From the floor, Seokjin shoots him a disbelieving look. He lies down more comfortably, propping his head on his elbows. Screw his hug-o-gram appointments for now; nothing brings him more joy than seeing Yoongi absolutely losing it. “Really? So you wouldn’t mind if I marched up to Y/N right now and give her the warmest, coziest, most tender hug of her fucking life?”

“Y… Yes,” Yoongi squeaks, neck glowing a furious red. He has his fists clenched (adorably) by his sides, head bowed as he faces the wall of their apartment. Seokjin’s brain makes the unhelpful comparison of Yoongi with that cat meme who says “no talk me angy” in Impact font.

Seokjin grins, his wickedness from within coiling and yearning to burst from his seams. This is it! Maybe if he pushes a little more, then maybe Yoongi will stop pining like a pathetic loser! Also, it didn’t hurt that he got to push Yoongi’s buttons while he’s at it, but hey! Not all heroes go to heaven or whatever.

He grabs his phone from his ass, scrolling back to the e-mail. “So… You wouldn’t mind if I walk up to Y/N right now and tell her ‘Hey! I’ve had an embarrassingly long crush on you and when I heard about this hugging service… I couldn’t miss the chance to shoot my shot! If you’re single and ready to #mingle, then please meet me at the Corner Cafe at 2 PM tomorrow.’” Seokjin sing-songs, snickering loudly when he sees the absolute pain etched onto Yoongi’s face.

There is a pause, and Seokjin waits as Yoongi uses his tiny kitty brain to think of what to do. He can only imagine what’s going inside his head, but he has a guess. Yoongi could either: 1) finally admit his feelings for you and come clean before Seokjin has to deliver your hug, or 2) do something stupid and counterproductive.

It comes as no surprise when Yoongi goes with option number––

“Hyung, let me come with you to work today,” Yoongi decides, walking over Seokjin’s prone body to their shoe rack. He slides into a pair of sneakers, his harried movements unusual for his customary lethargicness. He grabs a coat from its hanger, stomping his feet to get Seokjin to move faster. “C’mon! We have hugs to deliver.”

“Woah woah woah! Slow down there, Simpimus Prime.” Seokjin gets back up to his feet, skipping over to him. An absolutely feral grin is stretched upon his face. “Am I hearing what you’re saying? Are you offering… to deliver hugs with yours truly? Are you finally going to take up my offer to be an employee at Kim Seokjin’s Hug-o-gram Service?”

“Of course not,” Yoongi scoffs, but his shifting eyes betray him. He fidgets in place, refusing to return Seokjin’s eager gaze. “I just… wanted to go out for once. Yeah.”

“Yoongi.”

“What?”

“You haven’t left this apartment other than to go to class in over a month. You never go out. You’re an indoor cat!”

“I’m not a fucking cat,” Yoongi hisses, like a cat. “And of course I go out! There was that one time I went outside to pick up our food delivery last week.”

Judging from Seokjin’s unimpressed stare, Yoongi’s excuse doesn’t cut it. Yoongi flaps his arms around, defeated. “Okay, fine! I rarely go out! Screw me and the bounteous crapload of assignments I have due! It’s not my fault I don’t have the time to socialize and have fun. What do you want from me?”

What Seokjin wants is to push a confession out of Yoongi, not because he needs the confirmation, but mostly because he just wants to annoy Yoongi and say “I told you so!” He’s also pretty cute when he’s all blushy and tsundere whenever he talks about you. Should he film him and sell the footage on eboys.bb? He’s certain that goth boy over here would make a pretty penny.

“You like krabby patties, don’t you Squidward?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Yoongi sniffs, nose upturned. He opens the door, not looking behind him to see Seokjin’s triumphant expression. “C’mon. Y/N’s last class of the day ends in a few minutes and we might catch her before she leaves the Science Building.”

Seokjin snorts. He is quick to slip his own coat on and he follows soon after. He locks their door shut, hopping over to Yoongi and matching his shorter-legged pace. “Yeah. Because you totally just know her schedule at the top of your head. You know, like a normal person.”

Yoongi ignores him. He trudges on, each step filled with determination as they make their way to Seokjin’s beat-up truck. Seokjin skips alongside him, observing the younger boy and placing bets inside his mind. The drive to campus isn’t that long as it only takes around 10 minutes to get there, but Seokjin guesses that Yoongi’s defenses will begin to chip away only 3 minutes into the drive.

He’ll start to realize the gravity of the situation, the cogs in his smooth and slushy excuse of a brain slowly comprehend what he’s about to witness. He’ll first think about how 1) he’s going to see you and that never helps his poor dainty grandpa heart and 2) he’s going to see you hugging Seokjin as he reads to you the short love confession from your anonymous Romeo. Seokjin bets that after 8 minutes, Yoongi will start to break out into a sweat, leaving gross perspiration marks on his good car seat leather.

After exactly 7 minutes and 34 seconds (Seokjin was keeping track of the time on his dashboard), Yoongi’s face turns an unflattering shade of green. “Dude. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Yoongi had originally offered to drive the two of them to campus, but Seokjin had the good foresight to refuse. Had Yoongi been the one on the wheel, he would’ve brought them back home in an instant due to nerves. So instead, Seokjin speeds up, ignoring Yoongi’s soft whimpers of defeat.

“Too bad, but there is no turning back now. I have six deliveries today and I am not putting my livelihood on the line just because your balls have magically shrunk in size,” Seokjin snickers. He glances at Yoongi from the corner of his eye and feels the slightest touch of pity for the pathetic fool beside him. “But if it really makes you want to shit yourself from anxiety, we could save Y/N for last. Though, on second thought… That could also prolong your misery, which I will always be up for.”

“God, shut up,” Yoongi groans, slamming his head on the dashboard. Seokjin continues undeterred as he pulls into the campus parking lot, waiting for his friend to make up his damn mind for once in his life. He supposes that he is being a little harsh on Yoongi, but there are only so many sad love songs he can listen to without going completely insane.

Aren’t you tired of being nice? The demon on his shoulder cajoles, shoving the corpse of his angel counterpart somewhere down a ditch. Don’t you just want to go apeshit?

And who is Seokjin to deny his impulsive needs anyway?

“No, let’s… just get this over with,” Yoongi decides, head still smushed against his dashboard. He doesn’t make any move to get out of the car, not even when Seokjin shuts off the engine and makes a show of “leaving” Yoongi behind.

“Okay, lover boy. You have ten seconds to get your butt into high gear before I’m leaving you behind. And you should know that I’m not above playing dirty and giving Y/N the sweetest fucking hug of her life that will make her forget anyone else exists in this world, so you better start moving before I–”

Like lightning, Yoongi scrambles out of the car faster than if it had caught on fire (and Seokjin’s car has exploded before and Yoongi certainly did not seem as bothered to escape than he does right now.) He nearly trips over himself in his haste, getting caught by the car door and nearly receiving a concrete facial to boot. He straightens up with as much dignity as he can muster (which he doesn’t have very much of, if at all.) Seokjin is kind enough not to mention anything, but the shit-eating grin on his face is enough to make Yoongi bristle.

They exit the parking lot, looking to the world like the sun and moon had turned human for the day. Min Yoongi, with his all-black attire and gaunt appearance, is heavily juxtaposed with the man who appears to have been vomited on by a rainbow. They walk side-by-side together, accustomed to the stares that often come their way when they go out in public.

“I just can’t believe we’re doing this,” Yoongi moans for the umpteenth time, his movements stilted like a robot. His footsteps look heavily disjointed like his knees were beginning to rust. His arms swing like a pendulum, adding to the unnaturalness of his motions. Basically, he looks like a fucking idiot.

“Who are you calling an idiot?” Yoongi snaps. Seokjin startles a bit, realizing belatedly that he’d said that out loud. Not that he cares. Yoongi continues, “I’m not the one wearing a fucking cardboard sign that looks like a toddler made it with macaroni and glitter!”

“Hey, Taehyung told me it looked good,” Seokjin sniffs, fingering the macaroni pieces dejectedly. “I don’t need to hear an opinion from a Music major.”

“Shut up, Business major. No one likes you fucking snakes,” Yoongi retorts, crossing his arms. “Your definition of fun is going on LinkedIn and using Excel sheets.”

Distracted by their own quarrel, neither of them notice the sound of the large clock in the middle of campus that chimes every hour, signaling that it was already 5 PM. A few minutes later, hoards of students begin to leave university for the day, the walkways beginning to fill with people as they head home. Amidst the chattering and bustling of everyone trying to get out of the crowd, it is hard to notice that you are also one of the hundreds of people finishing your last class of the day.

But Yoongi notices, as he always does. Call it Y/N intuition, or whatever. “There,” Yoongi points you out over dozens of heads. Seokjin can hardly spot you, but he trusts Yoongi’s weird Y/N-dar to find you without fail. People have begun to notice the two of them, most of whom were whispering excitedly when they notice that Seokjin is in his work attire.

“Oh my god, someone’s getting a hug-o-gram! I wonder who…”

“Have you ever ordered one? I got one for my current girlfriend last month and that’s how we got together.”

“I’ve always wanted to send one, but the prices are insane! Fuck them business students and their capitalist ways.”

“Screw sending a hug to someone else! I wanna order a hug for me. Kim Seokjin is a hot piece of ass.”

(Yoongi swears the last comment had sounded eerily like Seokjin himself, but the older boy’s mouth hadn’t moved in the last minute.)

“Alright, Yoongi. Here’s the plan,” Seokjin leans closer to Yoongi, stage whispering into his ear. Everyone within a six-foot radius is eagerly eavesdropping, not even bothering to pretend that they aren’t. It’s common knowledge that Seokjin basks in their attention, anyway. Yoongi rolls his eyes, urging him to get it over with.

“Y/N is over there, right? Well, I have to send a hug to this guy named Mark Lee too, who just so happens to be over there,” Seokjin points behind them, in the opposite direction of where Y/N was heading, “so here’s my proposition. You go over to Y/N and deliver the hug for me, while I go catch up to Mark so that we can kill one bird with two stones!”

“Excuse me?” Yoongi wheezes, pushing Seokjin away from him. His eyes bug out. “Are you insane? I am not doing that. And the phrase is ‘killing two birds with one stone,’ you fucking idiot.”

“Same shit, Shakespeare! Who cares about numbers!” Seokjin exclaims, exasperated. “Listen, would you rather you hug Mark and I hug Y/N?”

“I would much rather prefer that I stick my whole fist up your anus,” Yoongi seethes.

“Interesting proposition, but maybe for a later time,” Seokjin says, not missing a beat. “Listen, dude. The longer we prolong this little bitchfest you have going on, the farther away Y/N is gonna get. You know I will stop at nothing to deliver her hug anyway, so would you rather you miss your chance right now when I am so magnanimously offering you a shot at getting closer to your crush?”

Even though Yoongi feels like his insides were slowly turning into mashed potatoes, he knows that he had already made a decision long before they left the house. Seokjin is right; this is a good opportunity for him, whether he is willing to admit it out loud. Perhaps it is just because it is Seokjin of all people who is egging him on that preprogrammed him into thinking that this was a bad idea. In all seriousness, it was just a hug, nothing fancy. It isn’t like Yoongi was going to have to kiss you––

(His heart contracts and Yoongi wonders if he’s having a stroke. The thought of your soft lips connecting with his is enough to cause the wind to knock out of his chest. God, Yoongi is so screwed.)

“Why must I always feel as though I am a snail and God is personally salting me,” Yoongi groans, stepping away from Seokjin and heading your way. Behind him, Seokjin hollers in what he assumes is friendly support, but it only further antagonizes Yoongi. The absolute buffoon waves enthusiastically from behind him, a beaming grin almost ready to split his face in two. Yoongi flips him off without looking back.

God fucking dammit. The closer that Yoongi is to approaching you, the stronger the urge to just evaporate like ice cream on hot concrete becomes. He can feel himself perspiring from every corner of his body and he just hopes that his black attire will do well to mask the slimy creature that he is underneath his clothing.

This is all Seokjin’s fault, Yoongi reminds himself. If he hadn’t started this stupid hugging service in the first place, then no one would have ordered a hug for you in the first place. Then Yoongi wouldn’t have to be in this stupid predicament either!

But you could’ve ordered a hug for her if you wanted to, says the annoying part of his brain – the same part that’s always been a little bit too hopeful for Yoongi’s liking. The whispers continue, And she wouldn’t even know it would be you! But more importantly…

“Seokjin wouldn’t know either,” Yoongi huffs irritably because he knows it’s true. The biggest thing stopping him from ever making a move on you, other than his debilitating fear of rejection and heartbreak, is the fact that he’d rather explode into spores than for Seokjin to find out that he’d used his “genius” business idea to get the girl of his dreams.

He’s afraid that one day, Seokjin would magically develop telepathic powers (a fear that Yoongi feels that the majority of the human population should also share) and find out that Yoongi doesn’t actually think his hug-o-gram service is dumb. It’s actually really cute, and Yoongi hates to admit that the success rate of his service is nearly perfect in terms of getting couples together.

But Yoongi is a strong (read: stubborn) man; he’d rather drop dead than allow Seokjin the satisfaction of seeing his business work out for his seemingly hopeless case. Which brings him to the present–

You’re standing by the entrance of the Sciences building. You are dressed nicely as always; Yoongi doesn’t think he’s ever seen you in anything remotely slobby, not even a pair of sweats like any regular uni student. You always look a little bit business proper: the epitome of someone who should be on the student council.

You’re speaking to someone, a younger male student by the looks of it. The hairs on Yoongi’s neck stand at attention and, God forbid, did he just fucking growl? Did he make that sound? By the looks of the students carefully navigating their way around him, Yoongi surmises that he did make that sound. Geez, is he some sort of animal? Is he going to turn into those feral stan accounts on Twitter that salivate over their K-pop boys like it’s their job? He hopes not.

But what if that’s the kid who sent the hug–

Yoongi shuts up his brain before he can let it finish. No, he can’t let himself go down that path. It’ll only cause him to self-combust right then and there, and he isn’t exactly keen on letting you see his entrails anytime soon. That would be the least cool thing to do, he decides. And so, with his brain turned off, he walks over to you, arms swinging robotically by his sides as he forces himself closer.

“Oh thank you so much, Y/N! You’ve been a real help to our club, you know?” The boy (Yoongi can’t believe they’re letting toddlers into university these days!) says, his eyes glittering with an ambition that still hasn’t been killed by the all-consuming dread that comes with university.

You laugh lightly, the sound causing butterflies to flutter excitedly in Yoongi’s chest. “No worries, Soobin. I’m glad I could be of help. If the editorial board needs any more help, don’t be shy to shoot me a message, alright?”

Soobin nods enthusiastically, his head bobbing up and down so quickly that Yoongi was afraid his neck would snap. “No worries, Y/N! Have a good rest of your week!” He waves a cheery goodbye, springing away with his numerous anime keychains on his backpack jingling softly in his wake.

“What a cute kid,” you sigh. You look incredibly fond, and Yoongi hates the bitter coil swimming in the pit of his stomach. That feeling soon fizzles out when you finally turn to face Yoongi. Your eyebrows shoot up, but your expression quickly morphs into one of pleasant surprise. Yoongi’s heart stops for just a moment, feet turning cold. “Yoongi! Oh my goodness, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve seen you! How’s it going?”

Let’s play a game, shall we? How many of Yoongi’s nervous ticks can you spot within the next five minutes? Think of this as the easiest game of Where’s Waldo ever!

“Hnng,” Yoongi stammers, his hand immediately going to scratch the back of his neck. His cheeks pinken, pupils shaking in every different direction as they try to focus on anything but you. It always feels like he’s standing way too close to the sun when he’s around you, hardly able to keep his gaze focused on you. He chooses to stare resolutely at your chin, but even your fucking chin was impossibly cute.

Seriously? Yoongi is a walking shitshow! His inner voice comes back, but this time it sounds uncannily like his roommate. Come on, buddy. Just say hi… You know, like a normal person. “H… Hey, Y/N.”

Success count: 1 point for the Yogurt Machine!

Even though Yoongi felt like he was living his worst nightmare, you still looked every bit like his favorite daydream. You are all smiles, seemingly unperturbed by Yoongi’s slow, embarrassing demise. “It’s so good to see you! Midterms haven’t been too hard on you, I hope?”

“I’ve been better,” he says. Better now that you’re here, he leaves unsaid. God, can you imagine if he said that out loud?

Your mouth drops open, soft cherry blossoms blooming across your cheeks. “Um, what did you say?” you squeak, embarrassed. But certainly not as embarrassed as the boy in front of you.

Yoongi stops breathing. He did not say that aloud, had he? Judging by the awkward silence stretching between the two of you, the signs are pointing to: yes. Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygo–– “Er, what I mean to say is,” Yoongi stutters through his sentence, his entire body flushing fire engine red like it’s nobody’s business. He must look like Satan’s spanked ass right now. “I… I’m here to deliver a hug!”

Confusion quickly replaces the shock on your face. You tilt your head, brows scrunching up cutely. “A hug?” you ask.

“R-right,” Yoongi says, waving his arms around because he has nothing else better to do. He gestures vaguely in the opposite direction, where Seokjin had left to find his other clients. “I’m, uhh… Helping my roommate. Have you heard of Seokjin’s hug-o-gram service?”

“Oh, yeah!” You hop excitedly in place, looking to all the world like the cutest thing in the universe. Yoongi thinks you should be classified as a public hazard, what with how you’re somehow able to give him diabetes just from standing next to him. “I totally heard about that! I’ve always wanted to send a hug, but I’ve always been a little shy.”

That piques Yoongi’s interest immediately. You wanted to send a hug? But to who? He unconsciously clenches his jaw, and he can feel a vein pop up near his neck. He forces himself to smile, but he knows it probably looks more like a grimace. “Oh really? That’s… I didn’t know you had a crush on somebody.”

Yoongi is too busy wallowing in his own self-pity puddle that he misses the way you gaze shyly up at him through your eyelashes, your hands clasped behind your back. “Y-yea… I don’t really go around telling it to just anybody,” you shrug as nonchalantly as you can. You clear your throat. “So, are you here to deliver a hug or something?”

Nothing gets past you, huh? Yoongi swallows thickly as he twiddles his thumbs. He still can’t bear to look at you head-on, afraid that his emotions would be too obvious if he did. (Who is he kidding… He knows he’s fucking obvious, and yet you never seem to get the picture!) “Yea, I am. I’m here to deliver one to you, actually.”

He doesn’t get to see your reaction, but he does notice the way your entire body stiffens. His mind immediately starts to run a minute, trying to guess why you’d suddenly gone stock still.

Did you know who your secret admirer was already? Or perhaps, were you just thoroughly shocked to receive one at all? That can’t be it… You’re the campus sweetheart! Surely it’s much weirder that it has taken eons for you to get your first hug… Or perhaps, are you so disgusted by the thought of him delivering the hug? Oh my god, what if you didn’t want him to hug you? Shit, this entire thing is a terrible idea! How did Seokjin ever convince him to do this stupid shit and get his heartbroken in the process? He swears he’s going to shove ten firecrackers up his ass the next time he sees him––

“Um, Yoongi?” You’re staring worriedly at him, your hand semi-raised as if you were about to wave in front of him. Did you say something? He must look like a fucking prick to you! He shakes his head, trying desperately to get his mind back into his body. Why must he be cursed with inner monologue disease? What is he, some sort of shoujo manga male protagonist?

“Sorry about that. I’ve been a little spacey these days,” he laughs, but even he can hear the panic laced in his voice. He sounds just on the edge of being hysterical. “Ahaha… What were you saying?”

“I was just… shocked?” You giggle softly, making Yoongi cry internally. You smirk, mischief glittering in your eyes. “I just never imagined you’d be the type to… I don’t know…”

“Willingly hug people for the sake of capitalism? I feel you,” Yoongi snorts, forgetting for a moment who he’s talking to. “Believe me, I’d rather drop dead than allow Seokjin to use me for his stupid business venture.”

“Then why are you delivering a hug to me now?” you ask, still smiling.

“Hnng,” Yoongi’s tongue feels like it’s grown two sizes all of a sudden. He wheezes, choking on his own spit as he’s caught off guard by your question. “W-well, I––”

“Just being a good friend, I’m guessing?” You’re full-on giggling now, barely trying to hide your mirth behind your hands. Yoongi understands now; you’re teasing him. He hates how amused you are by his awkwardness, but he loves the way your entire expression lights up, like you’re enjoying yourself by being with him.

“Let’s go with that,” Yoongi mumbles, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. He has his head bowed, hoping that his unruly fringe can finally come in handy and hide the disastrous blush encompassing his face. “Right… I’ll just, umm…”

“Am I getting my hug today, or am I gonna have to take a rain check?” You laugh, slapping his shoulder in an attempt to help him shake off the awkward tension. It has the opposite intended effect, as Yoongi’s breath hitches imperceptibly at your proximity. You had taken a step closer, and Yoongi could smell the sweet perfume you always seemed to be wearing. Please don’t pop a boner right now. That would be super fucking creepy.

“You’re…” Yoongi hesitates, arms uselessly immobile by his sides. He doesn’t know if he can even get them to move at this point, as he has lost all motor skills the moment you had focused all your attention on him. It’s a miracle that his heart remembers to beat every so often. “I’m just… I’m just gonna go for it, okay?”

You nod, hands tucked neatly behind your back. “No need to be scared, Yoongi. I don’t bite,” you joke.

God, if you only knew about the dreams I’ve had of you. Yoongi hopes to all the deities from up above that he had not said that aloud, but you don’t seem to be disgusted, so he can only assume that his traitorous brain had disconnected with his mouth for the time being.

He shuffles closer to you, the warmth of your body closing in as he makes the grueling effort to lift his arms up to gently wrap themselves around you, but before he can even fully hug you––

You’re quick to reciprocate. With a small laugh, you wrap your own arms around his torso, nuzzling into his chest with more force than Yoongi was expecting. He lets out a soft wheeze, mouth dropping open when he is assaulted by the smell of your fruity shampoo. His hands hover awkwardly above you, still unsure of where it’s okay to touch you without weirding you out.

You tilt your face up, eyes crinkling cutely by the sheer force of your grin. Both of your faces are only centimeters away from each other, and Yoongi could probably count your eyelashes if he so desired. His breathing stills as he becomes positively mesmerized by the beautiful sight in front of him. He doesn’t even hear the sound of phone camera shutters around him, as he is much too deeply focused on nothing but you, you, you.

“Hey, don’t half-ass your hug! Gimme a good ol’ bear hug!” you whine, nudging his elbows gently to get them to move. Snapped out of his reverie, Yoongi mechanically does as you say, his head completely empty of thoughts. He wraps his arms tightly around your shoulders, his wrist knocking slightly against the back of your head until you’re back to snuggling deep into his chest.

“Your laundry detergent smells nice,” you say, slightly muffled by his shirt. Yoongi lets out a breathy laugh, mostly out of disbelief more than anything. He can’t even begin to process anything right now; he feels like he’s reverted back into a single-celled organism.

“Thanks?” Yoongi squeaks, but you don’t seem to mind his awkward attempts at being a Normal Person™️. You crane your neck upwards so that you’re looking him directly in the eye. There’s a twinkle of mischief there, like you’re enjoying Yoongi’s flushed face a little too much. He honestly feels like he’s seconds away from exploding into tiny bite-sized pieces, and he fears that if you snuggle deeper into his chest, he might just do exactly that.

“So… Are we just supposed to hug for another ten minutes, or am I allowed to let go?”

Yoongi doesn’t even realize how long it’s been. You could’ve been hugging him for ten hours and he wouldn’t have known. Yoongi jerks away from you, nearly vaulting himself across campus by how quickly he lets you go. Thankfully, you don’t appear offended––you were more amused than anything. Yoongi has no idea how red he is right now; he feels like he could be blowing steam out of his ears, astounding anatomists everywhere by his peculiar talent.

“I just have to–” Yoongi pats his back pockets for his phone, clumsily pulling it out and looking for his text messages, “–read this message from your, um, secret admirer and then we’ll be good to go.”

“Great.” You nod at him enthusiastically. “Whenever you’re ready, Yoonie.”

Yoongi’s breath hitches right then, caught off guard by the nickname. Only you ever called him that, and it never fails to make Yoongi’s insides feel like molten lava every time you say it. “I… Yeah, here goes,” Yoongi mutters, trying his best to remember how to speak.

He recites the message with as much enthusiasm as he can manage, which is to say, not very much. He could probably read the phonebook with more zeal, but it’s hard to give it his all when the words feel like acid in his throat. He’s unconsciously clenching his jaw as he speaks, looking like a constipated gorilla. “...so, if you’re single and ready to #mingle, then––” Yoongi stops mid-sentence, staring resolutely at his phone screen with a grimace.

You blink confusedly. “Then?”

“Then nothing,” Yoongi finishes, pocketing his phone without an inch of remorse. “I don’t know what was up with that message, but somehow the letter got cut short. Sorry about that.”

“Huh, strange.” You shrug your shoulders, not bothering to question him.

Yoongi fist bumps himself mentally, though other people might disagree and say that he doesn’t deserve any type of congratulations, to which Yoongi says a big “fuck you!” to those imaginary haters. In the wise words of Kim Seokjin himself, “not everyone is worthy to receive your fucks, so it’s time to stop giving them.” (Kim, 2020)

“Well, that was fun! Thanks for delivering the hug to me, Yoonie,” you pinch Yoongi’s cheek, giggling when they turn even redder. “I’ll see you around, I guess? Don’t let those midterms kill ya!” You wave cheerily at him, walking past him and heading towards the bus stops. Yoongi stands frozen in place, the events of the last few minutes finally catching up to him and frying his brain beyond repair.

Oh my god, he fucking hugged you! Like, a good and genuine hug! You felt so warm and so soft and you smelled really good and it was more than he could ever imagine and just––

Yoongi’s brain is trying (and failing) to desperately parse the delayed barrage of information as it comes, but it’s hard for the little hamster running circles in his head when it has never had to run a day in its life. Yoongi’s body feels like it’s overheating even though the weather is nearing the start of winter, but that’s all thanks to you and the devastating effect you have on him.

In short, Yoongi machine has broken, and any sort of maintenance is going to be hard to come by at the moment.

Yoongi could have been standing in front of the Science building for an entire year and he wouldn’t have budged until a tornado in the form of Kim Seokjin arrived to knock him out of his brain dead state. Whistling lowly, the elder stops in front of the rigid mass of meat, an eyebrow quirked in exasperation. “Dude, nice rigor mortis cosplay. Like, yes girl, give us nothing!” he exclaims, slapping Yoongi back to consciousness.

Yoongi blinks rapidly, dazed like he’s woken up from a dream. “What? What’s happening?” he replies dumbly.

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Yoongi. Did you finish delivering Y/N’s hug or what? I finished all my deliveries in the same time you had with Y/N, so I better hope to God you aren’t planning on applying to be an employee of mine, because you certainly have a long way to go before––”

“I hugged her,” Yoongi interrupts, eyes going glassy once more. His mouth is agape, and Seokjin can see a pool of saliva forming, ready to runneth over. He could see the rusted gears turning inside his dongsaeng’s head. “Oh my god, hyung. I fucking hugged her.”

“Yeah, and I hugged Taehyung Kim and felt his gigantic dick press into my stomach. You aren’t special,” Seokjin snorts, clasping Yoongi by the bicep. He drags him away, leading them to their parked car. “C’mon, Dampé. I’m tired and I wanna eat popcorn again.”

As they walk back to the parking lot, the campus roads are a lot less populated now that most students have gone home. Yoongi only then realizes how late it truly is and he vaguely wonders how long he had been stuck standing there before Seokjin had come to drag him back home. The sun has begun its daily descent, filling the courtyard with a warm glow and causing their shadows to grow longer as they trudge quietly to their car.

The campus is quiet enough that both of them hear the quiet buzz of Seokjin’s phone, despite him putting it on silent mode before he had gone on his hugging deliveries. He stops mid-step, causing Yoongi to bump his nose into his wide back. He yelps, shoving Seokjin forward in irritation.

“Why’d you fucking stop, you asshole?” Yoongi whines, his normal annoying personality resurfacing now that he’s begun to recover from your hug. He peers over Seokjin’s behemoth shoulders, squinting at his phone screen. “What? Another hug delivery?”

“Yeah. I’ll do it tomorrow since I think she’s gone home for the day,” Seokjin says, his tone sounding slightly too delighted for comfort. “In fact, I know she’s gone home already.”

Yoongi stills, changing his focus onto the elder’s expression. He looks… too eager to receive a simple hug-o-gram request. A shiver shoots through Yoongi’s spine when he realizes how nefariously bastardous Seokjin’s smile has grown, the tips of his smirk curling upwards like a villain from a classic Disney animation.

“What?” Yoongi glares acidly at Seokjin, but the elder is unaffected. In fact, he seems to grow more pleased the more aggravated Yoongi becomes. “Spit it out! What’s got your prostate tickled?”

“Oh, nothing,” Seokjin singsongs, shoving his phone down the front of his pants, exactly where he knows Yoongi would never touch. “Just got an interesting new regular customer, is all.”

“A new regular?” Yoongi’s pitch heightens, the hairs on the back of his neck bristling in alarm (like a cat.) “Is it… Another request for… You know who?”

“I wasn’t aware Voldemort went to our university,” Seokjin teases, thoroughly enjoying Yoongi’s distress. “Though, if you’re talking about Y/N, then the answer is not not not no.”

“Two double negatives.” Anyone could hear the audible soft rattling of his two brain cells exerting themselves as Yoongi deciphers his answer. “That means…”

Yoongi stares pointedly at Seokjin’s crotch, where the outline of his phone is glaringly obvious. “Show me,” Yoongi growls, not making a move to actually touch Seokjin’s nether regions.

Seokjin shrugs his shoulders. “No one’s stopping you from taking my phone though?”

“Hyung!”

“Buy me bubble tea first, then we’ll talk.”

“Fine,” Yoongi acquiesces, folding his arms in annoyance. “Just tell me. Is it really the same guy who requested the hug for Y/N today as well?”

Seokjin fiddles around for his phone, digging deeper when it nearly drops down the leg of his pants. When he pulls it out and swipes to his e-mails, he confirms Yoongi’s fear. “Yep. And it seems like he saw you deliver the hug today. Says that he’d prefer that I deliver the hug next time,” Seokjin smirks, enjoying the deep-set frown on Yoongi’s face.

When Seokjin takes a closer look at the order, however, he notices something a little off. “Hold on a sec,” he scrolls to the receipt, scowling when he sees the incorrect amount. “Well, you might be in luck, Yoongi-chi. Looks like loverboy sent the wrong payment. He’s a few dollars short.”

“What?” Yoongi says, for what feels like the tenth time in this entire fic. He grabs Seokjin’s phone, no longer repulsed by where it had been only a few minutes prior. Like Seokjin said, the customer had given the wrong amount, much to both their confusion.

“That’s weird, considering he just ordered a hug today,” Seokjin murmurs, shaking his head. “Oh well. Happens to the best of us. Guess I’ll just have to refund the poor sap.”

“Wait,” Yoongi presses the phone to his chest, preventing Seokjin from taking it. His hyung raises a brow.

“What is it?”

“What if I just… pay you the remaining amount? Then I can also deliver the hug to her and, uhh...” Yoongi mumbles the remaining part, but Seokjin has trained his ears to catch every whisper and mutter for moments just like this. He wouldn’t be where he is today if he didn’t perfect his eavesdropping skills to a spy’s degree. That’s right––Seokjin is a sloppy and nosey bitch and he’s not afraid to admit it!

“Oh? Do my ears deceive me?” Seokjin guffaws, pinching Yoongi’s cheeks for good measure. He hisses in response, but Seokjin isn’t afraid of some little kitten. Seokjin is a bigger bitch with a meaner bite. “Is my little Yoongi Woongi seriously offering to deliver another hug to Miss Y/N? How magnanimous of you.”

Yoongi stares at him, stunned for a moment. A few seconds pass before he shakes his head, faux disdain coloring his expression. “That’s right,” Yoongi huffs, detaching himself from Seokjin’s meaty claws. He keeps his gaze averted, like the big stupid tsundere that he is. “I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart! I care about your profits, and I want to make your workload a little lighter! Isn’t that what you want?”

“Sure, let’s go with that,” Seokjin snickers, poking Yoongi in the tit. He swivels away, skipping merrily away to their parked car. “I’m expecting that cash in my Paypal by the time I get to the car, or else the deal is off. Make it snappy, loverboy!”

Yoongi had never transferred cash to someone so quickly in his life.

(Yes, not even when the food court on campus was doing a BOGO promo for churros. That’s the extent of how whipped his ass is, period.)

x x x x x

“Like, even worse than when we DIY’d your car into a convertible by sawing the top off?” Seokjin asks, genuinely curious.

“Worse,” Yoongi admits, trying his best to stay out of your line of sight. His cheeks redden, matching the gaudy pink kitten ears he was forced into wearing.

“Listen, I’m seriously not forcing you to do this,” Seokjin starts, even though he’s giving his utmost effort to further embarrass Yoongi by handing out flyers about Hug-o-gram’s newest employee. “Please, take one!” he cajoles, offering a flyer to a gaggle of giggling freshmen. “Make sure to reserve a hug within the week! Yoongi-chi over here is on his way to becoming employee of the month if he gets ten requests by Friday!” They all point and whisper at Yoongi, and he swears he hears one of them wolf whistle in admiration.

“That’s what makes this entire thing terrible. I’m doing this on my own volition, and I absolutely abhor myself for it,” Yoongi moans, grabbing Seokjin’s stack of flyers and smacking himself in the head with them. It probably would’ve hurt more when Seokjin still had a full-stack, but people had swarmed them the moment they entered the heart of the campus, everyone curious to see Yoongi in his interesting attire.

Seokjin might have been famous for creating the Hug-o-gram Service, but Yoongi was famous for hating the business idea, so it’s easy to understand why everyone was interested. (For good reason, he thinks darkly to himself.)

“Damn, Yoongi-chi. Looks like you’re trending on the campus Reddit page,” Seokjin laughs, wheezing even harder when Yoongi points him with a murderous glare. “What? Like you said, this was all your idea.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t ask to wear… whatever this is!” Yoongi whines, tugging on the string around his neck. The cardboard sign had been ready and prepared the moment they arrived home the other day, arousing Yoongi’s suspicions on Seokjin’s actual involvement in his current predicament. Those suspicions are put in the backburner for now, however, as Yoongi actually feels like he might die of embarrassment instead of the packets of MSG coursing through his veins from the ten ramen packs he ate this morning. Maybe both will kill him, if he’s lucky.

“Well, I would love to lend you my uniform, but I haven’t gotten a t-shirt printed with your face on it yet, so you’ll have to deal with the kitten ears and cardboard sign for now,” Seokjin says, patting him on the back. “Or, would you rather I have you wear a shirt with my face on it? I’m open to suggestions.”

“I��d rather swallow a Tide pod, thanks,” Yoongi says through gritted teeth. “C’mon, let’s move. We’ve been standing in the middle of campus like street clowns for long enough. We need to find Y/N because her class is about to end.”

“Street clowns, huh? I guess you are only missing the make-up to complete the look, especially since you seem adamant to keep honking your way through that sickening crush of yours.” Seokjin nearly catches a punch to the head, but his superior reaction time saves him from Yoongi’s sorely lacking physicality. He snatches Yoongi by the hand, dragging them towards your lecture hall. “C’mon, clown! Let’s honk this bread!”

As the two of them get closer to where you are, Yoongi’s heartbeat begins to accelerate. He wonders idly if he should see a doctor after all this, hoping that he hadn’t actually contracted heart disease due to all this stress. Lord forbid that he meet his end before he even gets to ask you out or something!

Even though he’s already hugged you once (and it was, by far, the most euphoric experience of his sad, miserable life), he still finds himself getting clammy hands at the thought of seeing you again. Nevermind the fact that he looked like a walking circus with his get-up… No, Yoongi refuses to think about it anymore, lest his last remaining brain wrinkle irreversibly smoothens.

The campus clock rings loudly, signaling the end of another block of classes. Students rush out of the buildings, with you being one of the first ones out for a change. When Yoongi spots your head of hair among the crowd, he doesn’t immediately notice what you’re wearing at first. In fact, it’s Seokjin who stops in his tracks for a moment, surprised by how you look.

“Woah, Y/N! Looking good,” Seokjin greets, rushing past Yoongi to envelop you in a hug. (A platonic hug, Yoongi reminds himself. Because unlike Yoongi, Seokjin is a normal human being who can give hugs to anyone he wants because he’s… fucking Seokjin! Lucky bastard that he is.)

“Woah!” You laugh, surprised by the sudden hug. You pat him on the back giddily, allowing him to swing you around a little. “What’s this all about? Am I getting a hug-o-gram again?”

“Yes, you are. But not from me,” Seokjin detaches himself from you, scooting away to point at Yoongi. When Seokjin moves away, Yoongi finally understands why his hyung had said you looked good. No, that was an understatement––you looked [redacted].

(For the sake of the author’s fragile ash-coated heart, she has chosen to redact Yoongi’s exact words to protect herself from slamming her head against a keyboard from how cheesy this fic is becoming. Let’s just say the word starts with a B and ends with an L. Make of that as you will.)

You must have come out of an interview or presentation of sorts because you were dressed more nicely than you usually do, which is a pretty big deal considering how put together you always looked. Your hair is styled nicely, obviously given much more care and effort than your regular appearance. You’re wearing a cute little black dress, long enough to be professional but short enough to give Yoongi breathing problems.

If Yoongi’s brain had a playlist, it would be nothing but the sound of him going HNNNNNNNNNG on repeat.

“Oh geez.” Yoongi curses lowly, smiling through the pain. This is fine, he thinks, even though it is clearly not fine. Yoongi has always been a terrible liar.

“Yoongi?” You sound incredulous, though that’s honestly a win in Yoongi’s book considering everything. You didn’t look disgusted, so that’s great. “You look…” You stop yourself, covering your mouth to hide your grin but your amusement is palpable. At least he made you laugh, he supposes.

“Like a fucking idiot? You said it,” Yoongi snorts, arms crossed defiantly. He’s trying to look intimidating, but with his cheeks puffed up and these abominable kitten ears on his head, he looks more like a grumpy cat throwing a tantrum. He juts a thumb at Seokjin, “Thank this himbo for the outfit. I definitely would have chosen something more… inconspicuous.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” You quip, still trying to mask your giggles. On the other hand, Seokjin was wheezing like a hyena, his phone pulled out and presumably filming Yoongi to add to his cringe compilation.

“Exactly what I said!” Seokjin says through his laughter, tears of mirth streaming down his face. He walks back to Yoongi, pushing him forward until he’s face to face with you. “Go on, then! We haven’t got all day!”

“I’m assuming you’re officially part of Seokjin’s hug-o-gram business now?” you ask, opening your arms wide to accept his hug. Like the beta male that he is, Yoongi has to be the one to follow in your footsteps, meekly coming closer to wrap you in an embrace.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Yoongi mutters, tucking his chin onto your shoulder. He feels you vibrate with laughter, bringing a small smile on his own face. He likes making you laugh, always has.

With the cardboard sign serving as a barrier between the two of you, he isn’t as fearful of you feeling the erratic beat of his heart, though it wouldn’t be hard to guess if you looked at him. He closes his eyes, allowing himself to enjoy your hug rather than just panic through the entire ordeal like yesterday.

Soon enough, you’re detaching yourself from him, still standing close. Your arm is just a hair’s breadth away, and if not for Seokjin enthusiastically videotaping this entire experience, Yoongi might have closed in for another hug if he could manage.

“It’s always nice to get a hug from someone you like, huh?” You say, cheeks tinted a rosy color. The true meaning of your words flies over Yoongi’s head, as his feeble mind chooses to focus on your comment a little differently.

“I––Of course I like you! We’re friends, aren’t we?” Yoongi laughs nervously, unaware that he’s slowly digging himself into a ditch. To the side, Seokjin audibly slaps a hand to his face, body shivering with secondhand embarrassment from being blasted by the full force of how idiotic his friend actually is.

Yoongi sees you deflate a little, further confusing him. “Yeah, you’re right I guess…” You sigh, taking a step backward dejectedly. Yoongi flounders a little, unsure how he managed to fuck up in just a few seconds when you had just hugged him like your life depended on it.

Choosing now to interfere before the going gets rough, Seokjin steps in between and slings an arm around both of you. Yoongi groans under the weight of his arm, glaring when he notices that Seokjin had done it on purpose, but only to him. You don’t look too bothered by his rude gesture, albeit you were more befuddled than before.

“Hey, Y/N! I don’t know if you’ve ever ordered a hug-o-gram before, but I’m doing a special this week! Now that Yoongi-chi has so kindly joined the team,” Seokjin gives him a pointed look, to which the black-haired music major sticks his tongue out petulantly, “we’re doing a little promotion for first-time customers! Would you be interested in ordering one?”

Your eyes widen, looking like a deer caught in headlights. “M-me? Ordering a hug-o-gram? Well, I…” you hesitate, sending a small glance at Yoongi before looking away in embarrassment. “I would like to, but I don’t know if it’ll be well received, you see…”

Seokjin grumbles, silently cursing the stupid shithead who caused his own demise in the first place. The worst part is that he had no idea that he totally just friendzoned you! YOU! Someone who was literally leagues ahead of him. He sincerely has no idea what you see in this bumbling idiot, but everyone with a brain knows that you have been crushing on him for as long as he’s been crushing on you, so perhaps you’re a little bit of an idiot yourself for liking him back.

Being friends with the two of you makes him feel like he’s constantly wearing a sloppy wet diaper, and he hates it. He wants to wipe his ass as soon as possible!

Seokjin shoves Yoongi away roughly, ignoring his indignant squawks as he pulls you aside. He takes you by the hand, taking you a few steps away from Yoongi, far enough that he can whisper into your ear without the other boy hearing.

Yoongi fumes from the sidelines, trying to keep his emotions in check even though he’s bursting at the seams with jealousy. Not for the first time, Yoongi irritably realizes that he does act like a cat, especially in moments like this. He might make fun of Seokjin for being an attention whore, but Yoongi is the same, if only at a smaller scale. He just wants you to look at him, as selfish as that sounds.

Can someone give him a break? He’s been holding in his crush for four years now… Imagine having to take a massive shit after drinking two gallons of milk while being lactose intolerant, except every time you line up for the washroom, the line gets increasingly long no matter how long you wait. That is the extent of his suffering, he tells himself. So please, excuse his dramatics for this one instance.

(Seokjin’s Note: This fucking jackass is SO stupid. If he only knew how easy it is to ask you out, he would know that his emotional constipation could be solved if he just fucking ASKED where the next washroom is. He could have relieved himself ages ago, but NO! And he calls me the idiot! Me! The utter betrayal! I’m never agreeing to become the second lead to a rom-com ever again!)

When Seokjin finishes whispering in your ears, you appear amused by what he had said. Yoongi sweats when you turn to face him, grinning slyly at him. “Is that so…” you wonder aloud. Yoongi feels like the world has shifted on its axis somewhat, though he still doesn’t know exactly how. He has a hunch that he’s going to find out soon enough.

“Would I ever lie to you?” Seokjin laughs that annoying laugh of his, slapping his thigh in the process. He straightens up almost immediately, his expression turning deadpan in an instant. “Send me the details by tonight, and I’ll make sure to deliver it, okay?”

“Promise?” You ask, holding a pinky up towards him. Yoongi might have let out a high pitched sob when he sees the gesture, wanting nothing more than to cup your hands in his. God, if he already nearly died from hugging you, who is to say Yoongi won’t immediately disintegrate if you were ever to hold his hand?

“Promise,” Seokjin replies, linking his pinky with yours. He doesn’t forget to point a shit-eating grin at Yoongi, for good measure.

You pull away, looking happier than you did moments prior. You were absolutely glowing, filling Yoongi with a warmth that only you ever knew how to provide. He wants to make you smile like that all the time, wants nothing more than for you to live beside him, filling his walls with the sound of your tinkling laughter. You wave cheerily at the both of them, stepping away to head home. “I guess I’ll see you, then? I’ll make sure to e-mail you my request, Seokjin!” you say, winking teasingly. “Bye to you too, Yoongi! Thanks for the hug!”

Yoongi watches as you walk further and further away as the usual melancholy that follows whenever you leave soon takes its place in his soul. It might be his imagination, but Yoongi thinks the cat ears on his head might have started to droop to match his mood.

The only way he knows how to replace the sadness, however, is by redirecting those emotions on an unsuspecting victim. Lucky for him, a willing volunteer is already within punching distance.

“Ow! Stop punching me, you gremlin!” Seokjin whines, blocking Yoongi’s series of punches like a pro. He might as well put ‘professional punching bag’ on his resume at this point. “I’m trying to help you, you useless beta male!”

“How is this helping! You made me wear cat ears and whispered blasphemies into Y/N’s ears! Now she’s going to order a hug-o-gram for her crush and it’ll be the end of my chances with her! How could you!”

“I was not whispering blasphemies, you twittering tit! I was giving her advice,” Seokjin sniffs, annoyed. “Don’t say I never help you, by the way. I’ve been trying to help you for years now.”

Yoongi hits him with a steely glare. “Really? So replacing all my clothes in my closet with clown attire is your version of help? I had to wear those stupid clown shoes for a week before you told me where you hid my clothes, jackass!”

“I was only trying to help you physically express yourself! You’re already a clown on paper, might as well help you achieve your final form!” Seokjin huffs, infuriatingly haughty. “Listen, believe me. I only told Y/N something that everyone already knows anyway, so just shut your trap and let Daddy handle the rest. You’re not going to lose her, I promise.”

“Please never refer to yourself as Daddy ever again,” Yoongi seethes, stalking off towards their car. “Don’t ever talk to me again.”

“No talk, Yoobie angy…” Seokjin snickers to himself, following Yoongi with a spring in his step. This bastard is going to grovel at his feet by tomorrow evening, he’s sure of it. If he doesn’t, then Seokjin will bite his own dick in half––that’s how sure he is of his plan! (Not that biting his dick in half will do anything to his length; he’d still be left with eight inches, let’s be real.) All in good time.

x x x x x

Seokjin gets an e-mail the next morning, much earlier than any sane person would choose to be awake at. He groans lowly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he tries to read the contents of the letter. When he’s satisfied by what he has read, he forwards the e-mail to Yoongi before allowing sleep to take him once more.

Sleep evades him, however, when the sound of Yoongi’s big feet pounds noisily outside his bedroom. He hits his knee loudly against the coffee table, causing their beloved popcorn machine to tumble to the floor, but that is of little consequence to Yoongi right now. No, he needs to get into Seokjin’s room right now and scream––

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Yoongi hollers, slamming Seokjin’s door open. The hinges creak, desperately hanging on despite the impact. Yoongi proceeds to slam a fist upon Seokjin’s ass, who barely flinches due to the fatness of his ass cushioning most of the damage. He blinks blearily at Yoongi, but the smirk on his face is clear as day.

“Came to claim your hug so early in the morning? Well, I usually don’t entertain clients until after I’ve taken a shower, but for you… I’ll make an exception,” he yawns, peeling back his blanket and patting the empty spot on his bed. “Come on in, Yoobie Boobie… Let’s hug like it’s the last day on earth.”

Seokjin fails to realize that once he removed his blanket, he had inadvertently left himself vulnerable. Yoongi slams the heel of his foot against Seokjin’s groin, causing him to shriek bloody murder at 7 AM. He wonders, amidst his pain, whether this might be the last straw and that their landlord will finally kick them out after years of their stupid shenanigans.

“WHAT DID THAT E-MAIL MEAN? IF IT’S WHAT I THINK IT IS…” Yoongi threatens, but it’s as empty as Seokjin’s butthole. They both know the implications of that e-mail, even a toddler can put two and two together and make sense out of it. Anonymous e-mail or not, Seokjin wouldn’t just forward any hug-o-gram request to Yoongi, unless…

What did the e-mail say? It goes something like:

Dear Mr. Kim,

Thank you for offering your special promotion for new time customers of your Hug-o-gram Service! I’ve always been a quiet fan of your business idea, but I’ve always been a little shy to submit a request of my own. Thank you so much for giving me the little push that I needed to send my first (and hopefully last) hug.

I’d like to send a hug to Mr. Min Yoongi from the Music Department. I understand that he has recently been appointed an employee at your business, but seeing as how it’d be difficult for him to hug himself (while not entirely impossible), I’d like to request that you be the one to send the hug to him.

I don’t really have a message for him, per se… I’m still a little shy, even though you already told me that there is no reason to be. I want to believe what you said was true, so I’m pushing my fear aside and putting my fate into your hands. So, to Mr. Min Yoongi… “When I told you it was nice to hug someone you like, I don’t think you understood what I meant. A hug, after all, is a two-way street. They’re often served the best when it is reciprocated, if you catch my drift. :)”

Peace! :3

Regards,

[Redacted] [Redacted]

“Have your brain synapses finished connecting? Because if even this flies over your head, I’m sorry to say buddy but… You might have smooth brain syndrome,” Seokjin pipes up. He observes Yoongi’s brow crumpling, the first signal of his impending mental breakdown. If Seokjin remembers correctly, the next signal should be when––

Yoongi drops down to his knees, his phone clattering to the floor as he stares absently at the ceiling. Seokjin cringes, worried for the state of his friend’s frail kneecaps. The poor sap has bad heart health already; surely, it isn’t too early to get him a life alert button?

Seokjin scooches over his bed, dangling half his body over the edge to appraise his friend. “So. What do you plan to do now?”

For a moment, Yoongi remains silent. Eventually, he shuffles closer to him, perching his hands around Seokjin. The business student raises a brow, confused, until Yoongi pushes Seokjin back onto the middle of the bed so that he can cram himself beside Seokjin on his small double bed. He huffs amusedly, allowing the smaller boy to snuggle into his chest, though he still refuses to wrap his arms around him. Close enough, Seokjin snorts.

“I need your help, hyung.” Yoongi’s voice is small, shy. It’s so uncharacteristic of him that Seokjin immediately softens. They might act like toddlers together the majority of the time, but Seokjin truly does care about Yoongi more than anything. During early mornings like this, when the sun’s soft rays are filtering through his sheer curtains and filling the room with a gentle warmth, it’s nice to cuddle up with one another and enjoy the silence. In fact, Seokjin would never admit it to Yoongi, but he got the idea for his Hug-o-gram service from Yoongi himself, back when the younger boy would be more prone to sneaking into his bed during his bouts of loneliness and homesickness.

Above all else, Yoongi is just a boy with a lot of love to give, so who is Seokjin to say no to his pleas for help?

“You know I always got your back, Yoongi-chi. Whenever you’re ready, we can do whatever you want. Ask and you’ll receive,” he replies, caressing his soft black tresses. Yoongi hums, smiling softly into his chest.

“Thanks, dude. For being… you know.”

Seokjin’s heart pangs a little, but he ignores it. Instead, he continues combing through his hair, humming gently. “I know.”

x x x x x

It’s been a few days since you sent the e-mail to Seokjin and you haven’t heard back from him. You aren’t sure if he sends confirmation e-mails to his clients as you’d never asked for a hug-o-gram before, nor did you know anyone who has. You are forced to continue on with your days like normal, trying to ignore the unsettling anxiety from creeping up your throat and spewing all over the sidewalk.

If Seokjin hadn’t been lying to you, then there shouldn’t be anything to worry about. You’ve been harboring this crush on Yoongi for years now, and you never thought in your life that it would ever be reciprocated. He always seemed a little bit detached, a little too cool for you. Never mind the fact that he always seemed so jittery around you, like it was hard to talk to you or something!

Your answer comes on the last day of the week, after an especially rough day at class. Your back is bent, having finished a grueling four hour lab period where you did nothing but stand and stare at your reaction vessel spinning without any signal of change. You are just a little bit hangry from all the stress piling up on your plate, especially since you hadn’t eaten a decent meal since breakfast at 8 AM.

In short, life isn’t going as smoothly as you’d hoped for your senior year, but you can’t let the blues get to you too soon. After all, there are leftover chicken wings in your fridge with your name on it, and nothing beats your meat more than greasy poultry to end a terrible week.

You’re only inches away from sliding your keycard to open your shared dorm room when the door opens without prompting. You flinch backward, yelping loudly when your roommate Park Jimin grins slyly from the doorway––never a good sign, if you knew anything.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Jimin says, leaning casually against the door like he hadn’t just scared the living shit out of you. He takes one glance at your disheveled hair and lightly sweaty clothes before grimacing in disgust. “Girl, I can’t let you meet the love your life while you’re looking like that. Come on, we have a few minutes before he arrives. Let’s get you freshened up.”

“I’m sorry?” You squeak, allowing your roommate to manhandle you into your own home. He pushes you into your room, depositing you roughly onto your unmade bed. You try to make eye contact with him, but he’s too busy raiding your closet to pay you much attention. “Excuse me? What did you say just now?”

“No time, princess! Your Prince Charming is on the way, and I’ve been ordered by Seokjin to prepare you for this life-changing moment, so get your ass into gear and change into this!” He shoves a clean pair of jeans and a nicer-looking blouse at you before proceeding to grab your hairbrush and comb your tresses with the gentleness of a mother tigress. You shriek when the brush gets tangled in an especially stubborn knot, but Jimin is relentless. He nearly tears your hair by the roots, ignoring your pained whines.

“Will you fucking stop! I have literally no idea why you’re acting like a psycho all of a sudden–” You shout when Jimin begins to undress you, having to kick him in the chest to get him away from completely eradicating your remaining traces of dignity. “Okay, fine! I’ll dress myself! Just get out of my room and fucking stay away!”

Jimin looks at you dubiously for a split second, before eventually acquiescing. “You have two minutes to get changed. You wouldn’t want to keep him waiting, do you?” he says, smirking knowingly. He better dread the day that you finally wipe that annoying twinkle in his eye; it’s been a long time coming.

Left alone to your own devices, you do as Jimin says even though you’re still wildly confused by everything. To think you had been so excited to feast on your chicken wings, and instead, you went through a decade’s worth of torture within the last few minutes. Patting your hands on the butt of your jeans, you meekly take a step out of your bedroom, where Jimin is already tapping his foot impatiently by the door.

He motions for you to hurry up. “Let’s go! Seokjin says they’re rounding up the corner. Hold on,” he steps closer to you, raising your arm up to take a shameless sniff of your pits. “Sorry, had to make a pit stop. You can never be too sure,” he shrugs, disregarding your squawks of indignation.

“I smell fine! Now what are we–” Your sentence is cut short as Jimin all but carries you to the elevator, your shrieks of terror causing one or two of your neighbors to peek their heads out of their doors. When they see it’s just the two of you, they simply shrug their shoulders, returning to their lives like it was normal to see Jimin carry you in a fireman’s hold.

He doesn’t put you down until you reach the lobby of your dorm complex, barely out of breath despite having held you the entire way down. Stupid buff baby, you groan internally to yourself, straightening down your clothes in a desperate attempt to look decent. “Okay, we’re here. Who am I supposed to be meeting?”

In lieu of an answer, Jimin points wordlessly outside your building. A black car is parked on the other side of the road, and you can barely see a familiar head of hair poking out from the driver’s seat. “Seokjin? What the…” you trail off, before your eyes finally land on their target.

Yoongi stands outside the glass doorway, not dressed in his usual all-black attire. He’s wearing an outrageously cute pink shirt today, matching the color of his natural flush. He always looks effortlessly good, with his hair a little windswept in that boyishly cute way. Your mouth goes a little dry when you realize he’s wearing his famous leather jacket, the one that always got the girls and boys swooning when he walked past in them. You hated how whipped for him you were, not wanting to be like the weird kids in his secret fan club, but who can blame you? He’s just so…

You rip open the door, nearly tripping and falling over the short steps leading to the entrance. You grind to a halt in front of him and you’re acutely aware of how rabid you must look. Your chest is pounding, like your heart is begging you to step closer, just like when you had hugged him all those days ago. God, you were going to kill Park Jimin for this.

“Yoongi? What are you…” You take one look at him before your gaze drops to his hands folded carefully behind his back. It doesn’t hide the fact that there is an obvious bouquet of flowers behind him, though. Your face lights on fire when you notice they were your favorite flowers too.

“I’m here to deliver a hug?” Yoongi says it like he’s unsure of himself, but there’s a little coyness laced in his tone. His cheeks are painted a soft pink, and not for the first time, they remind you of freshly baked bread pulled out from the oven. Soft enough to kiss, you wonder idly to yourself.

“I mean… I did order a hug a few days ago, but I do recall not ordering one for myself?” you laugh a little hysterically, your breath cutting short when Yoongi grins softly in response. “I… Who is this hug from?”

Yoongi takes a glance back towards Seokjin. “Hey, boss. Am I allowed to reveal who the secret admirers are, or will that get me fired?”

Seokjin, despite being a few meters away, laughs loud enough for the whole street to hear. “Well, Yoongi-chi. Something tells me your resignation letter was coming in the mail eventually. Who cares about the rules at this point?”

“He’s right,” you quip, pulling Yoongi’s attention back. You’re smiling wide now, your hopes and dreams skyrocketing in your chest and blooming a garden in your heart. “Who cares, right?”

“Right,” Yoongi agrees, taking the last two steps he needs to get closer to you. He drops the bouquet somewhere behind you before finally, finally, embracing you once more. He kisses you gently on the forehead, the contact short and sweet.

You feel like you’re dying, but it’s all good because Yoongi looks just as embarrassed as you. But none of it matters, not when both your happiness is palpable in the air.

“Y/N…”

“Yes?”

“This hug-o-gram is from me to you. Will you go out with me?”

You’ve always been a firm believer that actions speak louder than words. So when you lean in to plant your first kiss of many many more, he knows your answer well enough.

3K notes · View notes

scripturiends · 4 years ago

Text

gave me no compasses, gave me no signs

Read on ao3

Summary: It was the one time her hunch had been wrong.

In which Han Joonhwi is acting suspicious, and Kang Sol A intends to find out why.

Rating: T

Word count: 3,848

Notes: Title taken from Taylor Swift’s ‘invisible string’: “Time, curious time, gave me no compasses, gave me no signs; were there clues I didn’t see?”

As promised, here is the Solhwi fic that I had hoped to be up before Episode 7 airs. I went straight to work after receiving positive feedback from an interest check post. As I mentioned there, the story isn’t necessarily dwelling on the current timeline, but is, for the most part, still canon-compliant. I totally made up all the legal jargon, so please bear with me. And, like the show, I decided to do ‘cutscenes’ instead of one unilinear fic.

I had a lot of fun with this little project for the past two days, so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it :) I’d also love to hear your thoughts, please do send me a message or feel free to comment, it would mean the absolute world to me. Thank you and let’s all look forward to Episodes 7 and 8 this week!

The fic is under the cut. As a sidenote, this fic is un-beta’ed. All mistakes are mine.

Kang Sol A swears she only drifted off for a second.

She had been burning the midnight oil for the past few days, well into the weekend, so much that the tension was radiating into her atmosphere, so much that the heat was starting to get to her head. Her Civil Code paper may not write itself, but neither could she if it took every ounce of her energy just to even sit up. So she plopped down on her bed, head heavy on her pillow, still fighting the urge to doze off.

She blinked, slowly, and as her eyes fluttered at an alarming rate, they eventually closed — just for a moment, I’ll count to ten and then wake up again �� and stilled.

Birds were chirping outside her window when her eyes shot open, and that’s how she knew she messed up big-time. She woke with a start, frantically shaking off the books and papers off her person and frisking for her phone, silently praying that she wasn’t too late for her meeting with her project partner Seo Jiho, who she knows absolutely despises latecomers.

Sol A felt something vibrate from behind her, and an incomprehensible sound escaped her lips as she checked her phone. There were mountains of notifications that prevented her from checking the current time: self-set alarms, e-mails from her professors, reminders about today’s meeting with Jiho, and missed calls from a certain Han Joonhwi.

Clearing all of them at once, she finally reads: 9:07 AM. She was supposed to meet Jiho at 9:15. Sol A breathes a sigh of relief, but her momentary celebration is cut short when her phone starts to ring.

Han Joonhwi was calling again.

She didn’t even get a chance to speak yet when the voice on the other end asked, “Breakfast?”

Sol A put him on speaker phone as she packed up her things. “Can’t,” she replied mindlessly. “I have to meet with Seo Jiho and I’m already late. Eat by yourself.”

A few seconds of silence went unnoticed as Kang Sol A zipped up her knapsack and wore it over her shoulder. She finally picked up her phone and switched back to the handset. “Don’t skip breakfast, you hear me?”

Still nothing. “Joonhwi-ah.”

“Walk fast,” was all he said. And then he hung up.

That caught Sol A off guard, but she heeded the advice anyway.

She made it to the study room at exactly 9:13, only stopping by the entrance to catch her breath and tie her hair back into a ponytail. It was silent, so she half-hoped that no one would be there, but half-expected nothing less from Jiho. So she walks in, footsteps heavy, only skidding to a halt when she sees Jiho staring someone down, someone whose back looked all-too-familiar.

“You like her, don’t you?” she overhears from Jiho. “Kang So-”

Jiho suddenly fell silent at the sight of Sol A, and the man opposite him suddenly turned his head towards her. She was right about who it was — it was none other than the person she spoke with on the phone just a few minutes ago.

If Joonhwi was surprised, he didn’t show it.

But Kang Sol A did. She blinked once, and with a hint of dubiousness, she asked, “Who likes who?”

The men shared a look, and she was met with silence again, which was beginning to irk her. But she bit her tongue, took a seat across Seo Jiho, and grinned cheekily at him. “Sorry I’m late.”

“You aren’t...” Jiho replied, trailing off.

“I am by your standards. I know you,” she said matter-of-factly. “For Seo Jiho, ‘on time’ actually means ‘thirty minutes early’. Which means I’m late.”

Sighing wistfully, Sol A added, “I learned that the hard way.”

She locks eyes with Joonhwi momentarily, but he averts his gaze, expression unreadable. Sol A ignores this and tries her luck once more, eyes flitting from Jiho to Joonhwi and back. “Who were you guys talking about?”

This time, almost with no hesitation, Joonhwi finally spoke up. “No one,” he answered. “My roommate was just practicing his cross-examination skills on me.”

He stood up, giving Seo Jiho a final staredown. “They’re very poor at the moment. Help him out, will you?”

Then, without looking Kang Sol A in the eye, he gave her a soft squeeze on the shoulder, and promptly left.

Sol A’s eyes followed Joonhwi’s back, and stayed there even after he left. His touch lingered on her shoulder like a ghost, but instead of comfort, all she felt was fear. Suspicion. Restlessness. That maybe he was hiding something, and whether it involved her or not, she was keen on finding out just exactly what it was.

II.

“I’m telling you, Yeseul-ah,” Sol A insists. “Something’s up with him.”

They link arms, walking past the school entrance and into the lobby. Jeon Yeseul turns to her, hair falling perfectly into place as she lets out an angelic laugh. God, Sol A thinks. Even her laugh is perfect. But past the admiration for her Aphrodite-like features, Sol A feels like she’s being mocked.

She pouts. “You don’t believe me.”

“I do!” Yeseul defends. “You think he likes Kang Sol B.”

Sol A slides her left hand off Yeseul’s arm and holds her friend’s right one lightly. “So why are you laughing at me, then?”

“Unnie.” Yeseul wraps an arm around Sol A’s shoulder. “Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe Joonhwi-oppa likes you?”

Sol A almost choked on her spit. Of course she’s thought about it — after all, she’s a hundred percent certain that it was the name Kang Sol that slipped from Seo Jiho’s mouth a few days ago. But none of the evidence so far points to it being herself. And anyway, it’s not as if he’s shown any interest in Sol A as a woman. In fact, all he does is tease her. And she’s okay with that. And Sol B already likes Joonhwi. And they seem to be a far better fit than Sol A and Joonhwi. And it’s not like she harbors any romantic feelings for him, either.

She pushes the thought away before it could become bigger.

Sol A denies, deflects, and defends. “That can’t be right.”

“Why not?” her friend challenges.

“Why would he be avoiding me if that were true?” Sol A counters.

“People do that when they feel awkward around their crush,” Yeseul rebuts.

This is starting to feel like a game of chess rather than a conversation between best friends. “I think he’s just scared I’ll tell my roommate or something.” Before Yeseul could say anything else, by some stroke of luck, Sol A spots Joonhwi from her peripheral vision, walking past Lady Justice.

Yeseul smiles kindly at Sol A. She doesn’t doubt its genuineness, but she feels like it’s laced with mischief. “Should we test your theory, then?”

What does that mean?

“Joonhwi-oppa!” Yeseul shouts, waving at him from across the room.

She’s not going to ask him, is she?

Yeseul runs to Joonhwi, a light skip in her step. “I have something to ask you.”

Wait.

“Wait,” escaped from Sol A’s lips, barely a whisper before it started registering on her what Yeseul was about to do. And when it does, she finally sprints. “Jeon Yeseul, wait!”

“Oppa.” Yeseul bats her eyelashes at Joonhwi. Sol A was in tow behind her, feeling small but unsure why.

“Oh, Yeseul-ah,” Joonhwi greets. His eyes lit up at the sight of his friend and classmate.

While it pained Sol A to just sit back and watch, knowing that Joonhwi had been purposefully avoiding her, she let the scene unfold, trusting that Yeseul knew what she was doing.

“You haven’t been going to the study group sessions lately,” Yeseul starts.

Sol A hoped it would get a rise out of him, seeing as he was the one who started the group to begin with, but was barely showing up these days. Instead, all he said was, “The pair project in Civil Code has been holding me up.”

Yeah, right, she thinks. A second-round judicial exam passer and a former police academy student having a hard time in Civil Code? Why do I find that hard to believe?

Sol A scoffs, and Yeseul pinches her side. “Sol-unnie and I are meeting the others for lunch. You should come join us.”

“Ah,” Joonhwi drawled out slowly, as if coming up with an excuse to say no. Sol A expects it to be his next move. “I wish I could, but-”

Knew it.

“Kang Sol B will be there,” Sol A blurts out, fully aware that it’s a total lie. Still, she had to try.

Something in Joonhwi’s mood changed, and his face hardened. Still not making eye contact with Sol A, he excuses himself from Yeseul. “I’ll take a rain check today, okay?”

And without another word, he left again, leaving Sol A with the same emptiness that she had felt in the study room the other day.

Yeseul finally turns to Sol A, crossing her arms. “You’re right. He’s being weird.”

III.

A few more days without Joonhwi’s company, and Sol A was starting to feel its ill effects on her. She hadn’t realized just how much she took him for granted until he was no longer around to challenge her ideas, to annoy her over the littlest of things, to calm her down when she’s freaking out, to be her drinking buddy, to be someone she could tell any and every stupid story to, with the utmost confidence that he’ll keep it to himself or that he wouldn’t belittle her for it.

They’d been through too much together now, and even their fateful first meeting all those years ago didn’t faze him from her. In fact, her little scheme, no matter how deceitful at the time, brought him closer not just to her, but to Byeol, her mom, and to an extent, even Dan.

So what changed? What on earth did Seo Jiho say to him, and what on earth did she walk into, that made him close himself off from her? Proximity may not breed familiarity, but right now she wishes nothing more than to be in his orbit again.

Arguably the worst consequence of the lack of Joonhwi in Sol A’s life right now is having no one to eat with.

During one of her all-nighters at the dorm, she found herself with an intense craving for some ramyeon. She removed her earphones, partly to pull herself back to reality, but mostly to ask her roommate to have a meal with her. As if Sol B would say yes, but it was worth a shot.

“I’m going downstairs for a bite. You wanna come?”

No response, as expected from Kang Sol B. Sol A inwardly rolled her eyes, spinning in her chair to tease her roommate, only to find the desk empty.

She scratched her head while walking, wondering where Sol B could be at this time of night. And without a heads up, too… She was getting worried.

But it seems like her concern was all for naught, because Sol B was right where Sol A was headed.

And she was there with Han Joonhwi.

She was laughing. It was the first time that she saw Sol B laugh, maybe ever, and to see that Joonhwi could be someone who could do that for her, made Sol A feel proud. Like knowing Han Joonhwi was a privilege, not only because of the way he could make people comfortable around him, but also because Sol A had once been on the receiving end of it herself.

She should be relieved. In fact, she should be happy. Because it means that her guess was right, which means she doesn’t have to keep digging anymore. She could just tell Joonhwi that his secret’s safe with her, and they could finally go back to the way they were before... Right?

And yet something about witnessing the pair interact as a mere bystander didn’t sit right with Sol A. There’s a pang in her chest that she can’t quite comprehend — maybe she just misses him, or maybe it’s something else completely. Because if Han Joonhwi has feelings for Kang Sol B, and they’re together right now, then that leaves only one explanation: he must be avoiding her, and for a completely different reason.

It was the first time her hunch had been wrong.

Needless to say, Sol A lost her appetite and trudged back upstairs lifelessly, a bitter taste in her mouth and an ache in her stomach that she couldn’t quite place where it even came from.

IV.

Come Friday, Sol A was too exhausted to even think about Han Joonhwi. Between the endless deadlines and papers to write, her job in the copy room, and the Seo Byungju case, her energy had been too depleted and her social battery too worn out to even care that her relationships could be falling apart.

The only thing she has going for her now is the Legal Clinic, the one place where she could bury her nose deep in case digests and law readings and she would absolutely never get tired of it, because it’s the one place where she feels like she’s making a real difference, especially when people’s lives are at stake. It was the remaining part of her life where Sol A felt like she was in control, so these days, all her emotionally-charged passion was focused on this one thing.

But of course that had to fall apart too, when Professor Yang asked for her to stay after class.

He cut right to the chase. “I’ll be meeting with my defense lawyer today so I need you to consult with the client in my stead.”

Count on Yangcrates to always give Sol A a heart attack in under two seconds.

“M-me?” she stuttered.

The professor’s face twitched, ever-so-slightly, which Sol A took as a sign to backtrack and confidently proclaim that she’s up to the task. She knows there’s nothing Yang Jonghoon hates more than a quitter.

“Ah, yes, of course,” she accedes, with a little more verve.

He nods once in her direction. “And take Han Joonhwi with you,” he commanded.

She’s doomed. Not that she wasn’t doomed before, but now that Professor Yang had to drag her personal life into this, she was really in shambles.

Sol A clears her throat. “With all due respect, Sir,” she laughs nervously, “don’t you trust me?”

Professor Yang takes a moment to think about it. Sol A wonders if today’s the day she finally gets a definitive answer. But Yangcrates is as sly as ever. “This is your chance to get back at him for the Bad FaMa case. Make him your assistant this time.”

He walks away, leaving Sol A dumbfounded once again, but not before he adds, “Under my orders, of course.”

Sol A’s knees buckled at the thought. Normally, she would find this predicament to be absolutely funny, a chance to bicker with Joonhwi and learn something from him at the same time. But he’s angry at her, and she doesn’t even know why, and even merely approaching him has turned into a problem.

Everything in Sol A’s life right now is a problem. She wonders if it's getting Joonhwi back that would fix everything.

Upon leaving the classroom, she spots him getting a drink from the vending machine. She has to slap herself twice, just to mentally prepare herself, to muster up the courage to approach him again.

“Come on, Sol,” she whispers to herself. “This isn’t hard.”

Shaking off the nerves, she takes a step forward, but in a momentary state of weakness, takes another step back. “So what if he’s mad? That’s his problem. I’ve never given him a reason to be angry. He should suck it up. Not me. Come on. Just do it.”

A step forward.

“Just do it.”

A step back.

“Goddamn it.”

One final step back to boost herself forward, and she’s running towards him, pretending to be as casual as possible. “Han Joonhwi!” she calls out to him.

His eyes widen at the sight of her, knowing he has nowhere to escape.

“Did you get my text? Professor Yang needs our help at the Legal Clinic.” She smiled at him. “Let’s go.”

Joonhwi scratched the back of his head, and Sol A just knows it’s about to be another lame excuse. “I can’t. I’m meeting Sol B for our Civil Code term paper.”

He can’t even look at her, and Sol A wonders just how bad she had hurt Joonhwi for him to feel like this towards her. But that only lasted for a second, when she realized just exactly what he said. Then, her pity turned into irritation, as she accused, “Liar.”

Sol A crossed her arms, and glared at Joonhwi. “Did you forget that I’m her roommate? She went home today.”

Sol A sat across Joonhwi inside the Legal Clinic, her eyes narrowed to slits. A profound silence enveloped the room, interrupted only by a sharp inhale from her.

“You like Kang Sol B, don’t you?”

The only response she got was Han Joonhwi’s signature smirk, playful and taunting, one that said, ‘You don’t know me, and you never will’.

She hated that.

She slammed a hand on the table, and pointed at him accusingly. “Don’t look at me like that. I would have kept your secret if you just asked. Is that why you were avoiding me? Because you think I’d tell her or something?”

The same smile painted on his face, Joonhwi exhaled defeatedly. “Kang Sol A, I thought I taught you to never make any claims with unfounded bases.”

An eyebrow perched up on Sol A’s end. “It’s not unfounded,” she argues.

“Where’s your evidence, then?” he dared her.

Sol A had been waiting for this. She listed everything he had ever done — or refused to do, which was spend time with her, speak to her, or even look at her, which was absolutely the bare minimum — since the incident with Seo Jiho up to this very moment.

He waves his hand dismissingly. “That’s all speculative.”

If his goal was to rile her up, then it’s definitely working. “Then what about what I heard Seo Jiho tell you that one time? And most importantly, you straight up lied to my face.”

“Circumstantial,” he quips. “That would never hold up in court, especially not when the only witness is yourself. How are you going to be both the defense lawyer and the sole witness?”

Han Joonhwi should be at the edge of the precipice here, and yet he has managed to flip the situation over and turn it into an interrogation for Kang Sol A.

Nothing can hide her frustration anymore. “I would never be the lawyer in my own case. Look, it’s still evidence. You asked, and I gave it. Seriously, Han Joonhwi, what’s with you?”

Instead of a direct answer, he points out, “You rely on your emotions too much.”

Almost immediately, she shoots back, “And you rely on the law too much. This isn’t a courtroom. This is a human conversation.”

He purses his lips, unable to say anything, and Kang Sol A continues. “You’re too stubborn.”

“And you’re too nosy.”

“You’ve benefited from it more than once.” Sol A’s patience is getting thinner by the second. “Can’t you just tell me what I did so that I can either apologize for it or call you out for being wrong?”

“You and Sol B are hardly friends. What reason would I have to be afraid?” Amusement gleamed in Joonhwi’s eyes; Sol A was astounded by how he could stay so nonchalant about this. “Think.”

She glared at him, but still ceded. Damn his tenacity. “Fine, I’ll play along.”

She rolled her eyes, and in a blasé manner, started to think out loud. “I overheard Jiho ask you if you liked Kang Sol, and then you started avoiding me. Yeseul asked you to join us for lunch, and when I said Sol B would be there, even though she really wasn’t, you declined. So I thought it was her that you liked. But it doesn’t make sense, because I saw you two hanging out at the cafeteria that one night-”

His arrogant expression changed to one of shock. “You did?”

“-and then you straight up lied to me about your plans. Unless you two are already dating-”

“We’re not,” he interrupts once more. Sol A eyes him with suspicion. “We’re not,” he repeats indignantly.

“-it could only mean that you do like Kang Sol…”

Joonhwi starts slowly nodding, face a little flushed, but somehow urging her on to continue.

“...just not B. You like-”

“Kang Sol A.” Professor Yang enters the room, calling out her name.

She’s sure her professor asked her to do something, but she was unmoved. At this point, she doesn’t think anything could pull her out of her reverie for the rest of the day.

A veil that covered her eyes was lifted, and she had never been so pitiful of the blindfold that Lady Justice wore. The scales Kang Sol A carried, as heavy as the burdens she was facing, balanced with Han Joonhwi holding them up with her. She wanted nothing more than to take his hand right at that moment, to feel the heaviness in its entirety, and thank him for staying anyway.

They don't talk for the rest of the day, but Kang Sol A is unbothered.

Her questioning attitude may have always gotten her in trouble in school, but this was the one time she was glad to be wrong.

Epilogue

Han Joonhwi fell asleep on his desk again.

He normally finishes up all his revisions early, but because of his agitation, the cold table seemed to be more inviting than the bed, where he simply ends up tossing and turning.

Despite the stiff neck it was bound to cause, he’s been doing it for days, only being woken up by his constant 8:30 alarms. This time, however, it was his gracious roommate Seo Jiho who finally interrupted him from his slumber.

Jiho slammed a sealed instant ramyeon pack on Joonhwi’s desk. He groggily looked up at his friend, whose hair was still disheveled, and asked, “What’s this?”

“It’s from Kang Sol A.” Before walking away, he deadpanned, “Do your own bidding next time. I’m not your messenger.”

Joonhwi took the cup ramyeon, spotting the bright yellow sticky note on it, not unlike the ones he’d put on Sol A’s notebook, or occasionally, her forehead. He smiled to himself as he read the message, walking out to heat up some water for breakfast, but not before carefully displaying the note on his bulletin board for the whole world to see.

Han Joonhwi,

For a second-round judicial exam passer, you can be so dense.

I like you back, you idiot.

Now stop sulking and have breakfast with me.

Idiot.

Send me your thoughts/fic requests here!

248 notes · View notes

peninkwrites · 2 years ago

Text

Wake Up. Ch 11 of ?

Tommy is trapped worse than a bee in a rainstorm. Wilbur feels sick.

(CW: abuse, threats, claustrophobia, sickness. c!Dream. The usual.)

crossposted to ao3

Ch 1

Ch 10

Ch 12

“Don’t look so sad, Tommy. This is supposed to be your welcome home party!” Dream says cheerfully. “I would’ve made a cake, but I’ve been a bit busy lately.”

Tommy doesn’t say anything. Maybe the smart thing to do would be to never speak again. Instead he glances around the room, taking in the scenery. The long table set up, the empty seats circling it. It’s familiar. Maybe it’s the tinge of saltwater to the air that makes him recognize it– it’s the same table from exile. From his set up on the beach. For all he knows it’s the exact same table. Tommy doesn’t want to know what sort of miserable copy of that day Dream might have in mind.

“Can we talk, Tommy? Old friend to old friend?” Dream pulls him from his thoughts. He sounds almost hurt, somewhere between pouting and scolding him like a school teacher, his head resting on one hand, propped up on his elbow. “We’ve got some things to figure out, don’t we?” Another pause for Tommy to reply. He doesn’t. “I’m a little confused, you see, Tommy. Because that little incident out in the mesa is confusing! Right? You can see how I’m confused, right?”

Dream is so viciously patronizing it almost reminds Tommy of Schlatt. He knows where that leads as well. Someone always gets burned.

“Because, you see, I made that base as a nice, steady backup plan. I had it marked out on maps because it was so far away from anything recognizable, but you stuck your nose where it didn’t belong, just like you always do, and you saw those maps, didn’t you?”

Tommy stares at him, feeling like there’s a lead weight in the bottom of his stomach.

“Didn’t you?!” Dream shouts, slamming his fist on the table. Tommy jumps, eyes shut tightly, trembling, waiting for the next blow, tension fizzling through his veins like static. “I expect an answer, Tommy. You can speak when you’re spoken to, did you forget that part? Actually, you have to speak when you’re spoken to. So, if you don’t mind,” Dream returns to that cool, dangerous calm in an instant.

“W-What?” Tommy has already forgotten what he’s meant to be answering.

“You saw the maps. To the other base, right?” Dream repeats slowly, carefully.

“Y-Yes, I– I did.”

“Okay, good. Thank you for being honest with me,” Dream says with mock civility. “Now, what I don’t get, is how your little friends followed us, right? Because you have had no way to contact them. Let’s say you did– Why wait until right then to cry for help? For months they weren’t even looking, even if you couldn’t tell them where you were, they would’ve maybe bothered looking, if you annoyed them enough, I guess. So, something must have changed, right? You know what, I’m just talking over you, aren’t I? I’ll give you a chance to explain. So go right ahead, tell me, how is it they showed up at the mesa, a place you tangibly knew the location of, when you should have had no way to contact them. Explain that to me,” Dream drums against the table, leaning back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest and waiting.

Tommy tries to overcome the fear that blurs his thoughts, a hasty, frantic debate going on behind his eyes as he decides what sort of damage the truth will cause for him now.

Does it matter? It’s not like that’s a way out for him anymore and even if it were, the only way Dream would cut that away from him would be to stop killing him, and Tommy has a feeling he has no intention of stopping. Trying to lie will almost guarantee suffering, Tommy doesn’t even know what sort of lie he could try to piece together, and the truth feels as harmless as it is worthless.

“I got the coordinates to Ghostbur,” Tommy settles on the truth, saying so with enough certainty that he hopes Dream won’t doubt him.

Dream leans forward now, intrigued. “How?”

“When you– When Wilbur is alive, Ghostbur is in Limbo. So, we wrote the coordinates on the walls of Wilbur’s Limbo and I… I lied,” Tommy pauses, swallowing thickly. He’s being honest now– will Dream punish him for lying before? Who is he kidding– If Dream intends to punish him for previous transgressions just before his rescue, Tommy is guilty of a lot worse than a little lying. “I said something I thought would get you to bring Wilbur back so Ghostbur could see the coordinates. So… so the next time you killed Wilbur, he could pass them along to someone living.”

Dream doesn’t say anything, thinking, and that alone is fucking terrifying. “Huh.”

“I s-swear that’s all of it, that’s the truth of it– I didn’t– We didn’t know we could do that before, and we never tried ‘cause not like we had a reason to until we had the coordinates, I promise I wasn’t–”

“I believe you, Tommy,” Dream silences him. “And you know what, I’ve had time to think about everything you did, and really, how can I blame you for trying to escape? Out there, people let you do whatever you want. They spoil you. And you’re a bratty child who would rather get to stay up past your bedtime and eat too much sugar than listen when people tell you what’s best for you.”

Tommy moves to protest, only a moment of wordless stuttering before he falls silent again. He’s wrong. You know he’s wrong you’re just not allowed to say it or he’ll do something horrible to you.

“And it’s my job to make sure you stay in line, and I failed, didn’t I?” Dream almost sounds apologetic. “You got out and you ruined your friends’ lives again. Made them upend everything to make sure you were happy, kept an eye on you all the fucking time to make sure you didn’t do anymore damage, right? I’ve been doing that this whole time, Tommy! You didn’t need to go bother them if that’s what you were looking for. Could’ve just told me you didn’t think you had enough structure in your life here. But don’t you worry, Tommy. I’m going to make up for failing last time! And eventually, things will be like they used to be. When you were doing well. You were engaging, you were obedient, you were damn near helpful at one point, weren’t you? It’s like I’ve been saying, Tommy. You deserve to have a choice in all of this, but first I need to make sure you’re prepared to make the right one.”

“A choice?” Tommy finally speaks, confused enough to overcome his fears. “But–” He stops. He doesn’t know what retort would be safe or even worth anything.

“Yes, Tommy?” Dream encourages him to speak.

Tommy considers his words carefully. “You said– You said everything was my choice. But you– You said you were gonna– It doesn’t make sense. Because you’re still gonna hurt me if I don’t do what you say. But you said it was my choice.” He stops, feeling flighty panic, unsure if he’s said something wrong. His arguments feel both dangerous and within the confines of what Dream allows him to say. He doesn’t know what Dream will do with it.

“Yeah. I did,” Dream concedes amicably. “I mean, the choice was you do what I say or I hurt Wilbur. And now Wilbur isn’t here, so it’s you do what I say or I hurt you. Just like it’s always been,” he laughs. “Oh, and I’ll hurt Wilbur next time I see him too.”

Tommy feels more frantic now. He doesn’t know what he hopes to accomplish, surely not Dream listening and letting him choose to go home, but something. Maybe just Dream admitting that Tommy most definitely doesn’t have a choice in any of this. “Y-You even said I could stop! When you were taking me you said I could leave.”

“Yeah,” Dream doesn’t mind Tommy’s rising, defensive tone, instead he seems happy to humor him. “And if you did I’d hurt Wilbur. But he’s gone now. So now if you try to leave I’ll hurt you.”

Tommy doesn’t know if he’s more frustrated or anguished. “That’s not– That’s not a choice.”

“You seemed to agree when it was Wilbur on the line. What, now because it’s you it’s different? Isn’t that a little selfish?” Dream admonishes him lightly.

“That’s not what it was at all– That’s not true!”

“Sure. Whatever you say, Tommy. You know what, if this is easier for your tiny brain to understand–“ Dream leans forward, intent and happy to explain. “Wilbur is your free will. How about that? While he’s gone, you don’t have any, and when he’s back, like I said, all of your choices fall back on him.”

Tommy doesn’t know what’s worse, Dream’s general threat, or him saying when Wilbur is back instead of if.

Getting Wilbur back to the mainlands isn’t too difficult. He gets dizzy easily and out of breath in minutes, but this is easily solved by Technoblade carrying him like he weighs nothing. Wilbur is far less pleased, being thrown over Techno’s shoulder in a firefighter’s carry is not helping his definitely concussed head.

“Oh my god, can you– Can you walk a bit steadier? I think I might be sick,” Wilbur closes his eyes tightly.

“Don’t you dare throw up on me, Wilbur,” Techno says warningly.

“Then walk more carefully,” Wilbur snaps halfheartedly. The flat bedrock taking up his line of sight seems to dip and spin. “Oh fuck I think I might pass out– You’re not– You’re not supposed to pass out when you’re concussed, right?”

“What makes you say you’re concussed?” Sapnap asks.

“Been hit over the head until I fell unconscious like, two or three times in the last few days– Oh fuck put me down put me down put me down–” Wilbur frantically slaps Techno’s back.

Technoblade obliges, just in time for Wilbur to puke onto the Nether roof. Technoblade pats Wilbur’s back awkwardly.

“F-Fuck…” Wilbur spits, shuddering. “Haven’t been sick in like ten years, did you know that?” He stands up straight, immediately grabbing onto Techno’s arm to keep standing. “Bit worse than I remember, honestly.”

“We’re almost back. The main portal isn’t much farther,” Ranboo nods ahead.

“Okay,” Wilbur pauses, frowning. “What happens then?” For some unknowable and cruel reason, Wilbur, Ranboo, and Techno all look to Tubbo.

Tubbo grits his teeth, jaw set and tense. All of them, waiting for him. He hates them. In that moment he fucking hates them for having the fucking audacity to look at him like that, to look at him in a way that makes Tubbo think they’re right to–

“We’ll need two teams. One to go back and try to work our way back in that forest, circle the ocean, look for another portal. The other one to check for any path from the prison portal, right?” Sapnap has been distracted, typing out on his comm. “Punz isn’t up for a mission right now, so, I might ask Bad if he’d go. I know Quackity wants to help but…” Sapnap looks apologetic. “He’s not the best fighter, y’know? So we’re gonna have to base it on that first. Technoblade, after we get Wilbur back, would you be okay searching the Nether, and I can go back there?” He nods the way they had come.

“Uhhh,” Technoblade seems almost surprised. “Yeeaah. I can do that.”

“Thanks,” Sapnap gives him a nod. “Uh, Wilbur, you still need carried? We shouldn’t wait around, right?”

Wilbur looks wearily to Technoblade who looks no more enthused by the idea.

“Don’t puke again, okay?” Techno sighs, picking Wilbur up easily.

Wilbur would have loved to keep complaining about the whole undignified affair, but he’s preoccupied keeping his mouth shut.

“We’ll get… someone to look at your head when we get back. I… dunno if Ponk is… back in commission,” Ranboo gives Tubbo a worried look.

“Philza can look at him,” Tubbo says.

Wilbur is instantly distracted from his pain by the thought.

He’s going to see his dad again.

Phil didn’t know what he expected when the party returned. He’d hoped they’d come back with Tommy in tow, but what he gets instead is something impossible as it is kind as it is cruel.

“Wil?!” Phil runs to his son’s side, throwing his arms around him. “Oh my god– You’re– Holy shit–” He laughs, bordering on tears.

Wilbur winces on impact, but hugs his father back just as tightly. “Hi, dad,” Wil says softly. He's doing his best not to break down and cry. Fuck does he just want to sob into his father's arms, to mourn the pain of the past ten years, the cruelty of the past months, and the loss of his little brother.

“Oh my god– How are you– You’re here, you’re fucking real and alive!” Phil laughs, squeezing him tightly. His father is relieved. Wilbur cannot resent him for it, but he also knows there is no way he can tell Phil what terrible hurt is consuming him right now. His dad just got him back. Of course he cannot think of pain right now, not with Wilbur fresh out of a grave. So Wilbur does what he always did when he thought Phil would be hurt by what was happening to his son, he lies.

“Ow, ow, careful, man, I’m injured,” Wilbur finally pulls away, forcing his tone into something lighter.

“You are?” Phil steps back, poring over him, searching for something to fix.

“Just a little banged up,” Wilbur shrugs. He winces, “actually, no, it’s my fucking head. It’s killing me.”

“Come on, I’ve been running a damn infirmary today, we got Connor and Punz right now,” Phil walks back towards his house. He doesn’t let go of Wilbur’s hand.

“Hey, man!” Connor seems almost unsurprised at the sight of him. “You’re not dead anymore, good on ya! Where’s Tommy, then?”

The joyful reunion is punctured sharply.

Punz, who had looked far more startled at the sight of Wilbur, refocuses. “You couldn’t get him back?”

No one says a word. That’s answer enough.

“I’m gonna go looking,” Sapnap breaks the silence. “You’re hurt, man, so don’t try and come,” he says as Punz moves to speak. “When you’re better you can come if you want.”

Punz concedes, letting Sapnap move ahead, instead distracted by Wilbur’s presence here, but Wilbur hardly notices his staring, far more occupied in the planning to be had.

“I’m coming with you,” Tubbo speaks up. “One of you, I don’t care who Nether or back to that fucking beach, I’m going.”

“I’ll go with you,” Ranboo says.

Sapnap nods. Even if he knows Tubbo definitely has a bigger target on his back should they find Dream, he knows stopping Tubbo from going would be harder than trying to stop a forest fire. “We’re gonna hunt him down. I know we can do this.”

“Tubbo,” Wilbur grabs Tubbo’s sleeve as he heads for the door. Tubbo stops, staring at him, waiting. Wilbur struggles with a single thing to say. “Y’know,” Wilbur buries the fear rising in the back of his throat like a scream. “Get him home safe.”

Tubbo nods, and then he’s gone.

Maybe Wilbur is delusional as he was in death, but he feels they have an unspoken agreement, even if Tubbo has given no indication of it. If we can’t get Tommy back, you need to kill me. So he won’t be alone.

“Come on. Might as well get things moving,” Dream drags him out of his chair. “Okay, most of this place you’re gonna get free range of, but there are some rooms you can’t know the location of,” Dream ties a blindfold around Tommy’s eyes, the same he had blinded Wilbur with mere hours ago.

“W-What do you mean?” Tommy immediately feels sharp panic, but he doesn't try to remove it. He knows he's not allowed and that's about as good as his hands being bound to stop him from trying. Tommy is still terrified. He doesn’t like not knowing what’s going on. He scrambles for something to hold onto, clinging to Dream’s arm.

“Just don’t look for a minute,” Dream guides him forward, Tommy brushing against the stone wall and flinching closer beside him. It's too familiar a habit, clinging to Dream like he's his only guide in the darkness. He hears the stone break and shift, then he’s pushed forward, the stone is replaced and Dream removes the blindfold.

It’s a small room lit by a single torch, a bubbling pool of water against the far wall. Dream holds out a pearl. “You know the drill.”

Tommy doesn’t know what he expected. He stares down at the pool of water with something between irritation, disgust, and horror. Of course. This was always how it was going to fucking go, right? He came back, and Dream would pick up right where they left off.

“Come on, Tommy. Why’re you putting it off? What, we’re just gonna stand here for an hour?”

Tommy throws the pearl, letting bitter anger settle in his gut instead of hopelessness, or really, with his utter hopelessness.

“Alright, blindfold goes back on. Just for a minute. You just can’t know where the stasis chamber is, okay?”

Tommy doesn’t both replying, he's so tired, so he just lets Dream steer him back into the corridor for a ways before taking off the blindfold. This stretch of corridor looks identical to all the rest. Narrow, dark, lit by sea lanterns embedded into the bottom of the walls at semi-regular intervals. Tommy hears something. It can’t be– That had been one of his greatest losses, Dream can’t actually be giving him that back–

Dream turns into a small alcove, two iron doors marking off a brightly lit room. It smells like outside.

The room is large, the ceilings still low, but the room stretches back, cut deep into the stone, chaotic and brightly lit by glowstone. Rows of plants take up its center, but at the back is what’s of real interest to Tommy. The chatter of chickens echoes against stone. There’s a small pen for them set up there. The whole setup feels almost industrial in nature, purely a food source, far from a loving garden or replica of the outside world, but still far more than Tommy might have expected from Dream.

“I was thinking– again, we’ve got the stasis chamber set up, I’ll let you be a bit more free range, you could take care of this stuff for me. How about that? Growing your own food, taking care of the chickens, thought it might help you keep your head on straight,” Dream puts a gentle hand on his shoulder, a mimicry of caring. It unnerves Tommy far more than whatever threats Dream has made so far.

Tommy nods. Dream doesn’t list this place as a reward or something he in any way has to earn. That scares him. It’s wrong. There has to be a catch. There always is.

“Okay, but you’re responsible for them, Tommy, okay? Just like with Wilbur. So I want you to take good care of them,” Dream is so fucking patronizing, there’s little threat in his tone, but Tommy gets the message with an ache in his chest. Dream gave him animals for a reason. It all comes back to the same thing– Tommy and his attachments.

“Okay?” Dream doesn’t care about what he has said sending Tommy reeling, he still expects a reply.

“Okay,” Tommy says hoarsely. He resolutely stares down at the patch of potatoes in front of him. It’s something that doesn’t feel pain.

“Good! Now, I’ll show you where you’re gonna be staying,” Dream pulls him back into the corridor. It is a single long stretch, the room with the farm further back than the room he had woken up in, and far ahead is a slightly brighter light. The walls are too fucking close, it’s too dark, their footsteps echo too sharply. Tommy stumbles after Dream, gait unsteady so he keeps brushing against the damp stone walls and flinching. It’s all too close. Dream turns off into a side corridor before then. “You and Wilbur are gonna be neighbors, of course. And maybe if you’re good, I’ll let you two live together or something,” Dream nods through a doorway.

The cell is almost identical to the one he had lived in prior. The difference being the furniture was kept on wooden platforms to keep it from the damp and the ceiling is lower. It all feels horribly smaller. Tommy was claustrophobic enough from the narrowness of the corridor, but every fucking room had low ceilings. It’s suffocating. Tommy’s heart beats a little faster. It’s getting just a bit harder to breathe.

“Now, this is where you stay if you’re good. But it’s the same as it was last time, if you fuck up, you don’t get to stay somewhere nice, got it?” Dream says warningly. Tommy gets the message. There’s a dark cell somewhere here too. Tommy nods.

“Alright, one more stop. This room is my favorite,” Dream’s excitement sets his teeth on edge.

Dream continues down the narrow, dark corridor toward the brighter light at the very end of the corridor. “You’re gonna love this, Tommy,” Dream steps out into the room with a skip in his step. “Isn’t this a fucking cool base?” Dream gestures grandly to the space.

Tommy enters just behind him, stopping, staring, mouth hanging open slightly as he’s made to feel so impossibly small. It’s a massive glass dome above them, through it is only a thick, inky blackness. Tommy cannot comprehend it for a moment, trying to fathom where he is. For a moment he can only panickedly think of the black void he’s heard horror stories of, of the emptiness beneath the world, but then something in the darkness glows.

Tommy steps forward, unable to bury at least a little awe. Glow squids make themselves known, drifting over the glass, a soft, pale blue light fighting away a shred of that darkness, their light matching the pale sea lanterns dotting the floor below Tommy’s feet. They’re under water. They’re deep under water, and as far as he can tell, from the occasional shadows the glow squids find as they swim, they’re in a cave. A massive, underwater cave with no indication of a surface.

“So, what’d you think?” Dream sounds far too pleased, the eagerness of a child showing off a drawing.

Tommy doesn’t want to offer praise, however intriguing he may find it, so he settles on a question. “Why?”

“What do you mean why?” Dream sounds irritated, like he was hoping for more.

Tommy doesn’t stop looking up, not merely captivated by the glow squids outside, but by the glass dome itself. Such a simple thing keeping a million gallons of pressure off of them. It’s the only room with a ceiling higher than two blocks, likely because of how much water covers the floor, that’s insurance enough. The water is deeper here. Not just shallow puddles, but the entire floor is covered in enough water that it half covers his feet. The size of the dome doesn’t matter. The room feels as suffocating as the rest, if not more. All of that water, all of that weight bearing down on them, surrounding and suffocating and it’s all just crushing him. He keeps talking. He doesn’t know why he thinks knowing will help, but he asks anyway. “Why here?”

“Well, no Endermen, for one, and for another thing…” Dream sounds smug again, walking forward to a ladder set into the wall leading up to an iron trap door leading into the water. At its base, there is an Enderchest. “Do you want to know how you leave this place? There isn’t a Nether portal anywhere in this base.”

“...How?” Tommy watches him cautiously.

“You swim,” Dream turns back, holding a water breathing potion. “This is the only time you’re going to see me holding one of these. There are no brewing stands or other potions in this entire base. Might get annoying for you at some point, no way to make health pots, although maybe if I’m feeling generous I’ll bring one. There is one water breathing potion kept only in my Enderchest at all times,” Dream turns around, returning the potion to his Enderchest. “And without that, you’ll drown before you can reach the surface. Do you understand, Tommy? The only way out is in my Enderchest. That’s that. You try to leave, you drown. You’re good at that, aren’t you?” Dream leans back against the Enderchest, proud and self satisfied.

Tommy realizes what the dome reminds him of.

It’s as though he’s standing in the base of one big, flooded apiary.

He thinks of a bee caught in a rain storm, drowning outside of the glass, too weighted to fly. That’s what an apiary is for. To keep the bees safe.

That doesn’t make it any less of a cage.

#tddd #my writing #wake up.

12 notes · View notes

creacherkeeper · 3 years ago

Note

for the prompts: ayda teaching adaine or riz how to organize her library 💜💜

Intense scrutiny was never a thing Ayda had been good with. She knew she was skilled in many areas, and wouldn’t hesitate to inform others of that if they asked, because purposefully underselling yourself to make others like you always seemed like a double-edged sword (this Ayda had learned the metaphor of double-edged sword very young, because there were, in Leviathan, many actual double-edged swords around at all times). So, she knew she was smart, and was fine with others knowing she was smart, as well as very dedicated and practical and ambitious. She was, also, as a related point, impervious to heat as a half-phoenix. None of these things, however, stopped her from sweating under her armpits.

“How long until we get to work with the actual books?” Adaine asked, glasses being polished by her cleaning rag as Riz held both their notepads. “If I don’t get to breathe in old book smell in the next hour I might die.”

“I’m sure Ayda has a training process and we’ll follow it and be patient because that’s the best way to learn,” Riz said. He grinned at her encouragingly, all sharp pointed teeth. He didn’t look like he’d slept.

“Yes,” Ayda replied. “I do. I do have a process. And we’ll be following it. It’s- well, usually, it’s being followed by retired pirates who’ve had a few too many limbs blown off, and not high school interns, so- it’s- we’ll have to modify it a little, but that’s fine, and this is going to go fine.”

“It’s totally gonna be fine,” Riz agreed, handing Adaine back her notepad. “We’re going to be great interns and you’re not going to regret this at all.”

“Right.” Ayda blinked. “That’s correct. I won’t.”

Riz had a habit of saying technically encouraging things in a way that most people would find highly disconcerting, but Ayda reminded herself that he truly did mean it well and tried not to read the comment badly. Some people were thrown off by him ping-ponging back and forth between completely literal and menacingly sarcastic, and while Ayda at first found herself to be one of them, after spending more time with him (and explicitly asking Adaine through message cantrips) she was getting better at reading his intent.

“I’m so excited I could eat a book,” Adaine said, bouncing on her toes. She quickly continued, “That was not literal. I respect books too much to eat them and it would also likely kill me. I’m just very eager to be working here for the whole summer. Couldn’t possibly think of a better way to spend it. What are we learning first?”

Ayda tried to force her wings to smooth from their bristled state. Eating books was explicitly banned in the Compass Points.

“We’re going to be learning about the library’s organization system,” she said, slipping into her more rigid and formal vocal affect without really meaning to. “It’s unique to the Compass Points and will require dutiful study to master.”

Riz beamed. Adaine’s face skewed in confusion.

“You don’t use the Dewdrop Decimal system?”

Don’t bristle, don’t bristle. The quills of her feathers itched against her skin.

“No. My system was developed decades and decades before Dewdrop and is superior in every way. Dewdrop Decimal was basically a scam artist and is no academic in my eyes. If his organizational system were ever to touch the Compass Points, I’d rather burn the whole thing to the ground and start over.”

Tension crackled between the two girls. Riz grinned again, this time more of a face-wrinkling grimace. He held out his hands.

“Well, how about while we’re here, we just focus on learning Ayda’s system, since that’s what this library uses, and you can continue organizing all the shelves at Mordred by Dewdrop, and not try to reorganize anything here because Ayda might literally kill you?”

There was a loud pop. They turned. Aelwyn stood with a large, dusty tome in her hands, chewing slowly. She popped her gum again, then spoke.

“Is she being a nerd again?”

Ayda stared. “There’s no bubblegum allowed in the library.”

A pause.

“Rawlins gave it to me.”

“Well, Rawlins is expected to know all the rules here, so if that’s true, he’ll be punished swiftly and harshly.”

A few blinks. “I … I traded Rawlins some gum so I could look at this book.”

Riz stood on his tiptoes, neck craning. “Is that the book he keeps with him at all times because if he doesn’t have it, he turns into a pile of bones?”

Aelwyn shifted defensively. “I don’t see why I’m under interrogation here, I just came to say hi.”

Hands rising to cover her face, Ayda tried to breathe.

“Aelwyn, give Rawlins his book back,” Adaine said, short. “And stop stealing my gum, you know I need it for when I study.”

“None of you are any fun at all, but fine.”

The gum popped again as Aelwyn walked away.

Little flickers of flame heated Ayda’s palms as she breathed—deep, calming breaths in and out. Usually, if a new recruit didn’t work out, she could just drop them out the window and let them swim back to some other part of Leviathan while she put a new sign up on the banned patrons wall. But these were her friends. That made it more stressful, somehow.

“I’m really excited to learn about this organizational system, Ayda,” Riz said pointedly. There was a small thump, then a sound like a whap.

“Yes, I am too,” Adaine said.

Ayda dropped her hands. She stared at the floorboards in the space between them.

“Yes. Okay.” She cleared her throat, trying to speak more confidently. “The Ayda Aguefort Library Informational System was developed to revolve around the domains—both divine and scholarly. Some topics are obvious to sort. A book about frogs would fall under the Animal Domain. A book about the legal system would fall under Law. But all books are sorted by their primary domain and then within that, a secondary. So, a book about Leviathan, for example, would fall under the primary domain Civilization and then secondary Watery Death. It’s most important to know a book’s primary domain, and is usually easy to find the secondary following that, as long as you have adequate knowledge of what you’re searching for.”

“Watery death?” Riz whispered.

“Where’s the friendship section?” Adaine said curiously.

Ayda shifted. She blinked a few times, still not looking at them. “Primary, Community. Secondary, Joy.”

She risked a glance up. There was a broad, warm smile on Adaine’s face, eyes squinted happily behind her glasses.

“I take it back. I like this system much better than Dewdrop.”

Ayda’s chest flushed with pride. “Thanks. I do too.”

Footsteps. They glanced up as Aelwyn approached again, one hand on her hip and the other swirling the heavy tome in the air. “Yeah, I don’t know how to put Rawlins back together.”

Tension lessening, Ayda let herself chuckle. “Okay, we’ll take care of that, and then we go back to learning about the library.”

Adaine bounced up to her and linked their arms. The contact was warm and comforting.

“Lead the way, captain.”

#fantasy high #dimension 20 #ayda aguefort #adaine abernant #riz gukgak #aelwyn abernant #fantasy high fic #love that ur prompt was literally just 'autism squad being nerds?' like i love that for us #ayda pov my beloved <3 <3 <3 #sorry im incapable of not putting aelwyn into everything :(((((( but you know me #had to balance out nerd squad #okay ENJOY <3

93 notes · View notes

alexiethymia · 3 years ago

Text

snippet (res ipsa loquitur)

“Look who’s here. Professor Yang’s favorites!”

Professor Yang raises an eyebrow at that, as if to say that he didn’t have favorites, but Professor Kim Eun Sook pays him no mind. Dear friend though he may be, and though she would trust him with any case, his hard-ass act didn’t fool her. He could say whatever he wanted, but his subtle actions belied his fondness for his once-students turned professionals. Just the fact that he regularly invited them back to Hankuk to discuss cases was just one example.

“I don’t know about Prosecutor Han here, Professor Yang’s protégé that he is, but I’m certainly no favorite when I had to be Erica Shin just to get him to eat with me.” Lawyer Kang has certainly grown up to become a balanced professional, but Professor Kim is happy to see that she’s kept that refreshing bluntness of hers.

“If being Professor Yang’s favorite means additional work like getting called back to school, then I’d rather be your favorite.” Prosecutor Han for his part hasn’t changed much either. Although he’s settled into himself now, becoming as calm in actuality as he sometimes presented himself back in school, that teasing gaze towards Kang Sol A was still present how many years later.

Professor Yang just stares deadpan at what he deems to be nonsense from his former students. “I never taught the both of you to be lax as students, much less as professionals.”

“We’re just joking, Professor,” Kang Sol A – Lawyer Kang now – can easily look her once-savior in the eye and smile, as Professor Yang just raises an eyebrow, “You know we’re always glad to help with whatever we can.”

“We must have inherited your curse as a workaholic, Professor,” Prosecutor Han jokes. Even when he was just Han Joon Hwi, and not yet Prosecutor Han, he never had that fear towards Yangcrates. Frankly, he admired him, though it had always been a complicated emotion with the way all their fates had been tied.

“Ehem. Who would have thought that when I asked you to come hand-in-hand to my office so many years ago as students, you’d be doing it again and again now that you’ve become professionals.” Professor Kim is only half-serious. Even then she’d had an instinct about these two – one with the sharp mind and logic and the other with the fiery heart and passion. They would balance each other out, though she wouldn’t have picked up on it if not for Joon Hwi’s propensity to be a knight-in-shining armor for his then frazzled seatmate.

Kang Sol A mock-scoffs before smiling prettily, while sharing a gaze with an amused Joon Hwi. It was good to see that they still got along marvelously so many years later.

Professor Yang stares long and hard at them as if they were a crime scene he was investigating, before going on ahead and asking Joon Hwi to follow. Eun Sook’ll poke at his thoughts later though she’d be lucky if he felt like sharing them.

“See, you really are his favorite,” Kang Sol A nudges Joon Hwi playfully, while he only chuckles. “No need to worry Lawyer Kang. You’re my favorite at least.” Both Eun Sook’s eyebrows raise at that. With time and his new position, it seemed as if Joon Hwi had gotten more direct, if at all possible. Ah but perhaps, Eun Sook thinks while observing how Kang Sol A just laughs in response, rather than time it was circumstances that forced him to change his approach.

A slight movement behind Professor Kim’s desk catches all of their attention, and a doting smile appears on Eun Sook’s face.

“Aigoo. Is this your daughter Professor Kim?” Kang Sol positively beams at the small curly haired girl hiding shyly behind the Professor’s desk. She was so adorable! It reminded Sol of Byeol when she was at that age. Looking sideways, she sees Joon Hwi sporting an equally wide and fond smile. It was no wonder. With how he was with her younger sister, first when they’d met and until now, Kang Sol surmised that he must be ridiculously fond of children as well. Distantly she thinks that he’d be a wonderful father someday, although uncharacteristically cynical, she also has to admit that she doesn’t exactly have any good bases for comparisons.

“Yes,” Professor Kim says, proud, like all mothers are, “Say hi to oppa and unnie here. They work with the law just like mommy.”

Funnily, it’s a race between them for the privilege of lifting Professor Kim’s daughter up in their arms, but Joon Hwi lets her win (much like he always does). Kang Sol A openly cooes, while Joon Hwi hovers closely to the both of them, also introducing himself to the young girl.

It’s such a heartwarming sight that Professor Kim almost wants to take a picture of it, even if it would be inadmissible as evidence later on.

They’re momentarily interrupted when someone enters the legal clinic.

“Ah Miss, it’s so wonderful to see you again.”

“Ahjumma!” Kang Sol exclaims happily upon seeing the lady who ran the Bad FaMa website enter the legal clinic. Seamlessly, she adjusts Professor Kim’s daughter on her hip, before transferring her to Joon Hwi who carries her on his arm. “How are you? What are you doing here? It’s not another defamation case is it,” Kang Sol asks worriedly. Of course, she’d defend her properly this time since she was now a full-fledged lawyer, not only giving half-baked assistance and having to rely on Joon Hwi because she wasn’t prepared yet.

“Ah no, no need to worry Miss – ah my mistake, it’s Lawyer Kang now isn’t it? You sure showed them didn’t you.” She smiles warmly, proudly, at Kang Sol, and Kang Sol gets happy flutters in her heart and stomach, “I volunteer here at the legal clinic sometimes. Professor Kim has been helping me out with lobbying for stricter child support laws, and the other lawyer who volunteers here - Lawyer Jeon - has been helping me with cases of single mothers. She’s been telling me all about you. I’m really glad to see you doing so well.” Though it’s been a while since Kang Sol has seen her – since when she was still a law student in fact – the older woman and that case will always hold a special place in her heart. She considers it as her first case, and though it did cause a slight rift between her and Joon Hwi, she had been the first person outside of smug Second Judicial Exam Passers and terrifying law professors who had genuinely thanked her for the legal service she provided. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that Kang Sol owes a lot to her for reigniting her reason for studying law in the first place.

“And Prosecutor Han, I’m delighted to see you’re doing great as well.” Joon Hwi inclines his head at her while responding in kind. Even with a child on his arm, he looks every bit the respectable Prosecutor, and Kang Sol could sometimes shake her head in amused resignation at how flawless her – (Friend? Best friend? Family?), - at how flawless Joon Hwi is. She shakes her head for a different reason this time around, to get rid of that brief interruption in her mind.

Ahjumma smiles, full of maternal care. “What a lovely daughter,” Joon Hwi and Kang Sol exchange wordless glances and smiles, fully agreeing with her assessment – Professor Kim’s daughter with her soft curls, and shy and polite demeanor really was just too cute for words, “the both of you two have,” – before freezing in their tracks.

Ajhumma seems not to notice the slight disturbance in the force, nor Professor Kim’s silent but far from inconspicuous chuckles, since she goes on, “Perhaps I’m just biased, but I’d always thought that the both of you suited each other well, even back then. And to see the both of you with a daughter of your own makes me really happy. We have enough parents who abandon their kids, but I know you would be such loving parents who would do everything and anything in your power to protect your daughter.” She grasps Kang Sol’s hands in her own and says sincerely, “Congratulations to the both of you.”

Prosecutor Han for all of his brilliance in court seems for the first time at a loss for words. It was a misunderstanding yes, but a reasonable one in Eun Sook’s mind. She would have probably thought the same, and yet for all that Eun Sook imagines they’ll just brush this off and regain their easy momentum, the pause lasts far too long this time around, and Professor Kim suddenly worries.

Kang Sol is frozen, and looks to be a million miles away. It’s to the point that the woman grasping her hands finds her smile slowly falling. There are no flustered denials, nor a hint of red anywhere. Kang Sol is blank, and this worries Professor Kim since the younger girl has always been full of life, of emotion, and to see this is disconcerting. Joon Hwi sees her from the corner of his eye, and Professor Kim is suddenly transported back to that Civil Code classroom so many years ago, for he once again saves her from having to answer, as always reliably following-up after her.

He slowly lowers her daughter down who immediately rushes to her. Upon seeing that, realization breaks across their guest’s face. “She’s not our daughter, but Professor Kim’s,” he explains smoothly, although it may be a bit redundant now. That seems to snap Kang Sol from the daze she’s in as she energetically reassures their guest that there was no need to worry regarding the misunderstanding.

Eun Sook picks up her daughter and sends a questioning gaze towards Joon Hwi who seems reluctant to meet it. He smiles that characteristic smile of his, the one that seemed to say that he had everything under control, that there was nothing that could trip him, before politely excusing himself from the room to follow after Professor Yang. “He must be tired of waiting.” He doesn’t rush, nor does he run. Both his voice and gait are measured and paced, and though he catches Kang Sol A’s eye in that form of wordless communication that Professor Kim observed was common to him, her, and even Professor Yang, Kang Sol A seems to break it first to rejoin her conversation with their guest and her.

Joon Hwi stares a little longer at her profile before exiting.

The warm atmosphere the legal clinic had when the two had entered earlier seems to have dissipated.

Professor Kim really cannot help but worry.

#solhwi #jtbc law school #netflix law school #joon hwi #kang sol #kang sol a #yangcrates #professor yang #professor kim #fic #fanfic #I will finish this fic #hopefully #eventually #post canon #fic writing #my writing

79 notes · View notes

darriness · 3 years ago

Text

Klaine Fic: Premonition

Author: darriness

Word Count: 1179

Summary: A vampire meets a boy.

Author's Note: Hello! So last year I wrote a fic entitled Care where Kurt was a vampire and Blaine was a werewolf. This year I decided to go back and fill in some of the blanks in that story (and it's October so I thought it was fitting!). I don't know how many parts this one will have (I'm part way through writing part 2) but I have been stalled in my writing for the last few months and this has been the first piece since July that I've felt like posting. I hope you enjoy it! You don't have to have read Care in order to read this but you may want to after it's done! :)

AO3 Link

Kurt quickly drops the pencil in his hand and smoothes his features into a neutral expression. He stares forward, trying to ignore the eyes he can feel on him, but eventually (probably quicker than he would have two months ago - his reactions have been on a hair trigger since that night) he can handle it no longer and glares across the room.

The eyes that had been on him widen slightly before they turn back to the front of the room.

Good. Kurt thinks with a nod. The less attention he draws toward himself the better and if people are afraid of him? That can only help.

Kurt’s attention swings back to the front of the room. He tries to focus back on the teacher currently lecturing about the Civil War, but...he can feel that nagging sensation creeping back in. The temporary distraction of the curious onlooker had been just that - temporary.

Kurt almost growls as he tries to use his tongue to ease the sensations in his mouth. It’s almost a...tickle. It feels like an itch he just can’t scratch. The pencil had been doing an okay job, but clearly it drew too much unwanted attention.

God, he’s had these things for two months, why are they just NOW starting to itch?

Kurt wouldn’t say the adjustment to being a vampire had been, or is, an easy one. Since getting bitten two months ago, just after his eighteenth birthday (GREAT birthday present, Uniserve), he’s had to deal with heightened senses, a thirst for blood, a desire to murder every living creature, a decrease in the need for most human bodily functions, and now...itchy gums.

Out of all the things he’s had to get used to in his new life (or rather un-life?), this one is pretty far down on the ‘fuck shit crap’ scale, but it’s also super annoying. His urge to murder things is rising the more his gums itch.

Mercifully, the bell rings to end the period. If becoming a vampire weren’t bad enough, he still has to contend with finishing his senior year of high school. Only he would end up with the only father in history to have a son turn into a vampire and still insist he complete his education…

Kurt tries to leave the classroom as slowly as possible, but the less time he spends in a group of people the better for everyone involved. He’s got his lunch period now and he figures he’ll spend it under some secluded trees in the courtyard - soak up some of that early May sun.

He had been quite pleased to discover that, unlike all the stories he’s ever heard, the sun does absolutely nothing to him. He figures he won’t tan much, but he never did before. He was also supremely glad to discover his skin doesn’t glitter in the sun (he hadn’t REALLY thought that would happen, but it had been in the back of his mind).

He’s almost to his favourite tree when his ears pick up movement behind him. He instantly tenses. He never encounters anyone at lunch. He’s new to the school, transferring to this county following his month-long ‘hospital stay’ (re: discovering and dealing with the fact that he was now a vampire) after he was attacked. He and his father thought it would be best to leave his old life behind and while Kurt had thought he’d feel some sort of sadness leaving his old friends behind, he found his new nature left very little room for such feelings.

He’s on alert as he hears the footsteps getting closer and even though he’s never once felt like prey since becoming a vampire, he senses the person coming toward him doesn’t feel very much like prey either. The person making their way toward him has no idea they are coming upon a predator…

“Hey!” A voice calls and Kurt whirls to face the sound.

Coming toward him with bounding, exuberant steps is the boy who was staring at him in class. Kurt hadn’t really been paying close attention to him in class (and can’t recall seeing him before today), but he notices the gelled brown hair, polo shirt, bow tie, and chinos now and when the boy settles in front of him with an easy smile, Kurt notices a pair of disarmingly attractive hazel eyes.

Kurt is immediately on his guard. It’s a strange sensation - one he hasn’t had to deal with in two months - but this feeling isn’t tied to fear or the need for protection so much. He’s instantly attracted to this boy, in a very real and visceral way. This has never happened to him before.

He doesn’t know what to do.

“You’re new, right?” The boy asks.

Kurt blinks at him like he’s just spoken a different language. His blood, which pumps sluggishly normally (as long as he keeps a healthy diet of blood, his body functions more or less like a human’s) is now racing through his veins and the itchy feeling in his gums intensifies.

He still doesn’t know what to do.

The boy’s easy smile falters, slightly, at Kurt’s lack of response and Kurt’s body aches that he’s caused this boy any form of discomfort.

He shakes his head to clear it before coughing, “Um, yeah. Yes, I am new.” He says, marvelling at the breathy quality of his voice.

The boy’s easy smile returns, “I’m Blaine!” He says, sticking his hand out.

Kurt thinks touching the boy, Blaine, in Kurt’s current state probably isn’t smart, but he’s already been rude enough and, unlike 99% of his life right now, he doesn’t WANT to be rude to Blaine.

He slides his hand into Blaine’s and tries to control the sharp intake of breath the move triggers. He doesn’t even BREATHE anymore (unless he wants to talk), so the fact that his body would have this reaction is insane.

“Kurt.” He remembers to say before it’s too late and things get awkward again.

Blaine drops his hand and nods with the same happy smile. Kurt tilts his head a little, curiously. Blaine kind of reminds Kurt of a puppy…

“I notice you tend to eat lunch by the trees by yourself.” Blaine says before putting his hands out in front of himself in a calming gesture, “Not that that is a bad thing!” He defends quickly and Kurt almost giggles, “But I was wondering if I could...join you today?” He says it with a little shrug and Kurt is immediately charmed.

His answer should probably be ‘no’ and if anyone else had asked (no one else would have asked) he would have said ‘no’, but he finds himself unable to do so with Blaine.

He nods and feels his cheeks blush slightly (he wasn’t even aware they still could) when Blaine’s eyes light up, “Sure.” He says, tilting his head toward the trees and turning to make his way over. He hears Blaine follow and he takes a deep breath he doesn’t need, preparing himself for whatever this is.

#klaine #klaine fanfic #klaine fanfiction #klainetober #(is that still a thing?)#my loves #my stuff #memory eight #fic: premonition #part 1

41 notes · View notes

little-mad · 3 years ago

Text

Downsides of Thievery Pt. 12

~ Previous Part ~ Next Part ~

Gavin felt completely emotionally drained. Between being insulted by Ashryn and threatened by Rael, all he really wanted to do was crawl into a hole and hide from the world for a little while. There was no part of him that was ready to face the alteon Emperor--to be judged and sentenced. Gavin wasn’t even sure he had the energy to plead his case at this point.

As much as he just wanted to run away, there was no escape for the human. He was trapped on top of a gigantic desk. The massive items nearby almost seemed to taunt him, reminding him of how small and insignificant he was in this dimension. “You’re pathetic,” the quill sitting in its inkwell a few feet away seemed to say. “You’re all alone,” Gavin imagined a massive roll of parchment sneer.

“Great, I’ve sunk so low I’m starting to imagine inanimate objects talking to me,” Gavin thought bitterly to himself.

Meanwhile, the alteon Emperor loomed over the human like some kind of divine monument. The man almost looked ethereal, as if he walked straight out of a storybook. His skin, which appeared nearly flawless, was of a cool brown color. He shared Rael’s long black hair, but rather than tying it back, the Emperor wore his down, with a few strands done into intricate braids. As seemed to be the case with all alteons, the Emperor’s eyes were of a striking, vibrant color. Those yellow irises were focused in on Gavin, holding him in their intense stare.

In terms of dress, the Emperor certainly looked the part. He wore a jeweled band around his head that appeared to be made of silver--which matched the metal that made up the leaf shaped earring that hung from one of his pointed ears.

With the Emperor sitting at his desk, it was impossible for Gavin to see a majority of the man’s apparel, but what he could see looked incredibly lavish. The tunic was of a deep blue color and was decorated with silver embellishments along the hemlines. No doubt the garment was made of silk or some other similar luxurious fabric.

“We have much to discuss,” the Emperor began as he looked down at Gavin. “But first, I believe introductions are in order.” There was no hostility in the man’s voice. Unlike with Ashryn, Gavin didn’t detect anything disdainful or accustatory in his tone. Instead, the Emperor seemed perfectly calm and polite; he even wanted to engage in civil greetings. “My name is Ailred. I am the son of Lyris, and the Emperor of Iaela,” he announced smoothly, the words clearly ones he had said many times.

Considering both Rael and the Emperor had introduced themselves without surnames, Gavin had to assume alteon’s didn’t utilize them in the same way many human cultures did. The Emperor had presented himself as the son of “Lyris” though, something Rael had not done. Were he in a better mental state, Gavin may have pondered why that might be, but given the circumstances he would just accept it and move on.

It took a long moment of Gavin just standing there frozen, shifting uncomfortably under the Emperor’s silent stare, before he figured out he was expected to say something. “He wants me to introduce myself,” he realized.

How the hell was he supposed to get himself to speak? This was maybe the very first time Gavin had zero desire to say anything. He didn’t trust himself anymore. The last time he’d opened his big mouth, he’d ended up with a giant hand slammed down beside him. Now imagine the consequences that could await him if he said the wrong thing to a damn Emperor.

At the same time, remaining silent was hardly an option either. Refusing to comply with the Emperor’s wishes could just as easily have frightening repercussions. Gavin really and truly was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

After a few seconds of internal panicking and frenzied thinking, Gavin spoke up. “My name is Gavin--uh Gavin Stone,” he managed to spit out. He tried to force himself to maintain eye contact with the Emperor, but every fiber of his being was begging him to look away from that intimidating gaze.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Gavin Stone,” the Emperor replied, giving Gavin a nod of greeting before turning his attention beyond him. “Rael, I trust you encountered no issues in retrieving Mr. Stone?” he inquired, reminding Gavin of the fact that his former captor remained in the room, just a few yards away.

“There was no trouble from the humans, your majesty; however I did run into some brigands in the woods who attempted to abduct the prisoner,” Gavin heard Rael explain from behind him. “The offenders did manage to escape, and for that I offer my sincerest apologies.” God, Rael almost sounded like a different person when he spoke to the Emperor. Not that Gavin had any real grasp on what kind of person Rael was. He’d learned that the hard way.

A frown developed on the Emperor’s face. “You did your duty in protecting the human,” he began. “What I’m more concerned with is the fact that these criminals were bold enough to attempt to interfere with Imperial business.”

“Greed can drive you to do some pretty stupid shit,” Gavin thought to himself bitterly.

After a moment of silent contemplation, the Emperor sighed. “I suppose we’ll need to increase the number of patrols in the surrounding woods,” he concluded. “I’ll also have you meet with Captain Saida later to coordinate a search for these would-be abductors.”

If Kaydin and his female associate were smart, they would already be getting as far away from the palace as possible. Gavin could tell the Emperor was serious about this, so if the two thugs didn’t get some major distance from the scene of the crime, there was probably a high likelihood they’d wind up getting caught.

“Now,” Gavin instantly felt the intensity of the Emperor’s gaze return to him, “you are here because you were caught stealing from an alteon diplomat while they were visiting the human realm, correct?”

Suddenly Gavin felt like he was back in elementary school, being forced to answer questions the principal already knew the answer to. The Emperor already knew what the human in front of him had done, and yet he wanted to see Gavin admit to it himself.

Biting back an exasperated sigh, Gavin gave a nod of confirmation.

“And you understand that because your crime was against an alteon, you were brought here to face judgement?” the Emperor inquired, continuing to watch Gavin with those hypnotizing yellow eyes.

Gavin nodded again. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get away with giving non-verbal responses forever, but he wanted to avoid it for as long as possible. Not only because he didn’t trust himself not to say the wrong thing, but also because he wasn’t sure how he was meant to refer to the Emperor. Rael had called him “your majesty” earlier, but the idea of saying something like that sounded so strange to Gavin.

“I realize as a human you are unfamiliar with alteon customs, so allow me to explain the situation,” the Emperor started. “Typically, when I am called to judge a criminal, it is done as an official trial in which nobles and all involved parties are present.”

Gavin supposed that wasn’t altogether different from the trials back home. Of course, rather than having a jury of his peers, Gavin would be judged by the Emperor and the Emperor alone.

“However,” the giant monarch continued, “because you are human, the circumstances are different. I believe a large-scale event would do more harm than good in the long run,” he explained, folding his hands atop the desk. Gavin tried not to focus on them for long, because he and giant hands really weren’t on good terms.

While he was glad to hear he wouldn’t be subjected to some grandiose trial in which he’d be trapped in a room full of a bunch of alteons staring at him, Gavin wasn’t entirely sure alternatives would bode any better. If the Emperor had no one around to criticize his decision, he could be as cruel as he wanted.

“In the meeting which preceded this one, I discussed with my advisors various potential sentences,” the Emperor went on. “I also requested input from Ashryn, as he has some experience interacting with humans,” he added, looking at Rael when he said it.

Gavin suppressed a scowl. He was sure any input from Ashryn had been exceedingly negative. For whatever reason, the guy had it out for him--or maybe he just had it out for all humans in general for some reason.

“Ashryn’s position on the matter was that you need to be made an example of,” the Emperor stated, quickly erasing any doubt that that asshole had a vendetta against humankind. “His suggestion was that you be made a spectacle of, perhaps by placing you in a cage and displaying you in the front hall for visiting nobles and the like to view.”

An instant feeling of nausea came over Gavin. He felt absolutely sick to his stomach. Ashryn was beyond just a dick, he had to be some sort of sadistic demon. The suggestion that a living, breathing, intelligent creature be caged and put on show like some kind of zoo animal was abhorrent. Gavin could hardly even believe what he was hearing.

“Your majesty, forgive me, but doesn’t that seem a bit excessive?” Gavin heard Rael ask incredulously. What was with that guy? Not ten minutes ago he was yelling at Gavin and standing up for his alteon soldier buddy. Now all of a sudden he supposedly cared about what happened to Gavin? It just didn’t make any sense.

The Emperor gave a small shrug. “I don’t know, some of my advisors seemed to like that idea. They believe that if Gavin Stone isn’t properly made an example of, then more and more humans will think they can get away with crossing alteons.”

What was Gavin supposed to do? Should he try to stand up for himself, to excuse what he’d done? Would it even matter? He had committed the crime, that much was fact. So would any excuses even make a difference? He tried to read the Emperor’s face, to look for some kind of sign that he would be understanding, but the man had an expression that was virtually unreadable. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

Of course, of course Ashryn would advocate for some cruel, antiquated punishment for Gavin. It was obvious the guy had some inexplicable resentment towards humans, certainly more than Rael had ever had. He’d been of the opinion that they were inferior, fairly irritating creatures, but never would have gone out of his way to ensure they suffer. Ashryn, on the other hand, seemed eager to see Gavin endure the worst.

And what was worse? The Emperor hadn’t immediately dismissed Ashryn’s suggestion. How could he even consider it? Surely he would never subject even the worst alteon criminal to the humiliation and indignity that would come from being locked in a cage and put on display. Yes Gavin was human, but he was still an intelligent, sentient being. He didn’t deserve to be treated like an attraction.

But what could Rael do? He was in no position to question the Emperor; doing so would be suicide for the reputation he’d worked so hard to achieve. He had to wonder whether the information that Gavin had in fact been hired to steal from the diplomat would impact the Emperor’s decision.

Gavin himself seemed pretty convinced that that bit of information wouldn’t change anything, so it was doubtful that he’d speak up about it. Rael wasn’t convinced. Surely if the Emperor knew Gavin had just been used by somebody else, he would be less harsh with the punishment he issued.

Rael couldn’t speak up about it. He had already taken a great risk with his previous comment. Continuing to speak out of turn in favor of a human criminal could end up reflecting horribly on him. The Emperor may begin to question his loyalty. Rael couldn’t put that all on the line for the sake of a human of all people...right?

The memory of Gavin’s fear-stricken face flashed through Rael’s mind. He cringed internally at the mental image. Gavin had clearly had some level of trust in him, the look of betrayal he’d worn made that much evident. When Rael had used his far greater size and strength to scare the human into submission, he’d shattered any trust that may have developed between them. He had taken the side of Ashryn, someone he hated, rather than risk his status by standing up for Gavin.

Yes, what Rael had done had been the right thing to ensure his reputation remained in good standing. But if it had been the right thing to do, then why did Rael feel so miserable about it?

“If you have something to say on the matter, you have my permission to speak up,” the Emperor told Rael, clearly sensing his hesitation.

“I can’t say anything, I’ve worked too hard to get where I am to risk it for some human!” one part of Rael’s mind insisted, but he was finding that voice was quickly becoming quieter and quieter.

While it was difficult for him to believe he could make such a profound difference, Rael couldn’t help but worry that what he said next could seal Gavin’s fate one way or the other. The Emperor was watching, waiting for a response. Rael had to make up his mind. “Yes, your majesty. I have information concerning Lady Elyth’s stolen ring.”

#g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #my writing #oc: gavin stone #oc: rael #jsyk im going to moving to a new apartment in the next couple days #so the next part may take a little bit longer than usual

48 notes · View notes

nightshade-minho · 4 years ago

Text

-Blue Book- (11)

Warnings: anger, stress, y/n briefly wants to murder felix, a lot of negative emotions, headaches, light suggestiveness, britney spears cameo (nah just kidding- or am i)

Wc: 4.1k (finally a blue book part that’s longer than 2k)

Stop. Stop thinking about her. Stop thinking about how she’s probably out with Minho right now, having fun and laughing over inside jokes.

Sometimes he wished he could just dig into his brain and remove all traces of you. He simply couldn't think of another way to truly get rid of you, eradicate every remnant that stayed in his brain, reminding him how he’d felt back then.

Years had passed, and he still wasn't over it. There was a tiny part of him that thought maybe seeing you again would calm him down, and remind him that it wasn't a big deal. You'd changed, and he had too. It was time to get over petty high school grievances.

And yet, when he saw you with Minho again...he realized it simply wasn't possible. You were going to plague him for the rest of your life, and he knew it.

"I know pancakes are a weird choice for dinner but- Are you listening to me? Earth to Chan-"

Chan snapped back to reality, blinking as he stared at Felix, who pushed a plate of pancakes towards him, a concerned look on his face.

"I was asking you where you're staying at right now."

"Oh." Chan nodded thankfully, taking the fork and digging in. He was terribly hungry, and he'd missed Felix's cooking. His pancakes were always so soft and fluffy...a lot like him, to be honest.

To be honest, he didn't quite know yet. He hadn't left his parents on good terms, and now he found himself penniless unless he made up with them. Not one to beg, he'd decided to look around for a job. So far, he wasn’t all that successful. There was a heavy weight on his heart preventing him from truly committing to his work. He found it impossible to focus.

Felix sighed, taking a seat opposite him. " Chan...do you not have a place to stay?"

He shook his head finally, his gaze on the plate as he ate. He'd already told Felix the situation with his parents, somewhat. If his perception of Felix was right, he would be overcome with sympathy.

He was right. Felix wrung his fingers, his thoughts racing. He hated seeing the distraught expression on Chan's face. The words were on the tip of his tongue- the only thing stopping him was the thought of how you'd react.

You'd be pissed, beyond doubt.

Felix swallowed. Then again, this was his apartment. You didn't really have the right to oppose him if he wanted to let someone else stay for a bit. Besides, maybe he'd be able to talk some sense into you?

How bad could it be?

"Chan..." He began, inhaling.

"Do you want to stay here? At least until you find a place."

Chan sighed. There it was. He wasn’t surprised to find out he’d predicted correctly. Felix had been his best friend, after all. He knew him like the back of his hand. "Are you sure you...and your roommate...would be fine with it?"

"I'm positive." He lied, scratching the back of his neck as Chan groaned.

He didn't really have another choice. Psyching himself up to agree, Chan sucked in a breath and pushed away his intruding emotions.

"Sure."

***

You knocked on the door, inhaling deeply as you ran through all the different ways you were going to murder Felix in your head. You couldn’t believe it. He really had the audacity to not only invite him over, but also neglect to inform you the same.

Tapping your foot, you rubbed your forehead as the door remained closed. Sighing, you dug into your bag for your keys, procuring them after a few seconds of searching through the crumpled chewing gum packets and loose coins. You really had to clear out your bag sometime.

You entered your apartment, yawning as you shed your coat, heading to the kitchen for a drink. Your throat was dry, your head pounding with stress. Ugh, what a bad day it had been. Marginally better due to the time you’d spent with Minho- but still bad. Chan’s sudden appearance really had put a damper on everything you’d done since then.

As you reached the kitchen, you stopped in your tracks.

Fuck. You turned around immediately when you saw who was sat at the table, an empty plate in front of him as he scrolled through his phone. He hadn’t seen you standing in the doorway. Yet.

Carefully, you started padding away as quietly as possible. Unfortunately, the gods really weren’t in the mood to smile upon you today.

“Y/n?”

His voice was tired, bare of any emotion whatsoever. You twisted your neck to look at him, opening your mouth and closing it. He was staring at you, his eyes devoid of feeling, his lips pressed in a thin line. You had no clue what to say. Looking at his face again brought back memories you’d much rather forget.

“It’s...nice to see you again.” He mumbled, tearing his gaze away from you.

‘Nice’ was really not the word.

“Yeah. How have you been?” You managed to ask, swallowing the lump in your throat. He drummed his fingers on the table top as his mind searched for an appropriate response. You watched him, your heart clenching as you remembered the way his hand felt in yours.

“Fine.” He finally decided to say. “I’ve been fine, more or less.” After all, he was used to lying.

“And you? Having fun with Minho?” There was a slight bite to his voice as he uttered the words, making you raise an eyebrow. Suddenly, the anger you harbored towards him was reignited. What was he implying? It shocked you that he could talk like that, without a trace of apology in his tone. As if it was you who’d betrayed him, and not the other way around.

“For your information, yes. We’re having a lot of fun.” You snapped, turning and leaving the kitchen to go straight to your room. Just read a book, listen to some music and calm yourself down. He’ll be gone soon.

Chan watched you walk away, his hands balling into fists. So you had absolutely no remorse, whatsoever.

He bit his lip, hating the weird amalgamation of emotions that were gripping him like a vice. He’d felt envy flood him as you said it, rubbing it in his face. Shaking his head, he turned back to his phone, biting his lip.

***

You knocked on Felix's door, biting your lip in anger as you waited for him to open it. Tapping your foot, you shook your head. Why was he still here, even? He should be gone by now.

"Looking for Felix?"

You started, turning around with a glare on your face.

Shit. He was way too close to you, his face inches away from yours. All you'd have to do is lean in just the tiniest bit, and your lips would be on his...

"He went out. Errands. Won't be back till tonight."

You groaned, taking a step back as you rolled your eyes. "Okay, whatever."

Chan watched you, an amused smile making its way onto his face. He'd flustered you a little, that much was evident. He wasn't quite sure yet if that was something to be proud of...but it was the little victories that counted, right? A part of him was glad that he still managed to have some sort of effect on you, even after all these years.

"You know if it's important, you can always tell me. Is there anything I can get you?"

You scoffed, shaking your head as you backed up further, your hand on the doorknob. "This is my home." you reminded him, his incredulous sentence rubbing you the wrong way.

Chan almost felt bad for you.

Shrugging, he turned to walk away. "Not anymore."

"Huh?" His words took a while to sink into your brain, and you raised your eyebrow in confusion. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Y/n...is that any way to talk to your new roommate?"

No. No way. Felix wouldn't...

"What?!"

"Not forever." He shrugged, his hand running through his hair. "Just until I find a permanent place to stay. Until then though, I'll be here."

This couldn't be happening. The anger was increasing slowly, rage directed to your roommate as well as the man in front of you.

Chan looked back at you, sighing as he noted the upset expression growing on your face. Did you really hate him that much?

"Look. I'll stay out of your hair." He muttered, his tone clipped. "I don't think it will be that difficult for us to co-exist if we manage to be civil to each other."

You pressed your lips together in a thin line. "Sure. I don't care." You had already planned on remaining in your room for the entirety of his stay, however impractical that would be. You weren’t ready to dig up all that trauma from your teenhood just yet.

Chan gritted his teeth, his eyes searching yours as he thought of what else to say. The atmosphere was tense- too many things left unsaid, half spoken promises lingering in the air between you. It was frustrating, yet Chan held himself back. He was an adult now. There was no space for immaturity or trivial grudges in his life currently- no, he had to stay strong. With his credentials, it would be fairly easy to land a job. He just had to speed the process up, and soon enough he’d be out of this apartment.

So he took a deep breath and gave you a smile, turning around to go back to the kitchen. He prided himself in his decision, a small first step to eliminating his inability to let go.

You watched as he left, chewing on your lip. Your heart hammered against your ribcage as you turned to go back into your room, grabbing your phone and dialing Felix’s number aggressively.

“Where the fuck are you?”

“Um, I left to grab some groceries-”

“Did you really offer to let him stay at our place?” You asked, your tone calm as you gripped the bed sheets.

“W-well...yeah..” You heard him gulp on the line. “It’s just for a few days, Y/n, till he gets a job-”

“And do you know how long that’s going to take?” You hissed, rubbing your temple as you heard his footsteps in the kitchen.

“I...look, Y/n. You have every right to be angry. I’m sorry, I should have checked with you first before making a decision.”

“No shit.”

A sigh. “Look, I won’t be home till evening. Please um...keep it mature. Again, I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, cutting the call and throwing your phone onto the mattress. It was going to be fine, as long as you stayed away. The apartment was small, so you couldn’t avoid running into him, though...whatever. It’d be fine, you’d be able to hold yourself out for a few days, if Felix was to be believed. You rubbed your forehead, groaning.

You were in dire need of a nap.

Sighing, you fell back onto the cushy pillows, curling up on the mattress. Your head was throbbing with the beginnings of a headache. You needed a glass of water, but you weren’t going to leave your room today, at least until Felix comes back.

You hated the way your heart was still pounding, your emotions a jumbled mess. It was natural, right? To be this affected? He was your first love, after all. And he’d betrayed you.

At first, you didn’t want to believe it. There was a part of you that hoped a tiny part of Chan had actually loved you, a part that hoped Minho was lying. But then you’d asked Felix about the ‘bet’, and the guilty look on his face told you everything you needed to know.

Of course it had been suspicious, the popular guy coming up to talk to you- a lonely new kid who barely anyone talked to, especially when half his friend group were cold to you. But the more time you spent with him, the more you had begun to feel like he truly did love you. Was it even possible to fake emotions as well as he had? Chan was a good actor.

After you left, Chan never acknowledged the message you’d sent him. Not at all. You’d poured your heart out, for nothing. It had been the final nail in the coffin, the final incident convincing you that he’d never truly loved you back.

You sighed and sat up to switch the lights off, flooding the room in darkness as you buried your face in the pillow. There was complete silence in the room for a few minutes, and you let out a peaceful hum, snuggling further into the blanket. Sleep was beginning to overtake you slowly, your eyes closing as you slipped further into dreamland. You slept for about an hour, untroubled.

That is, until there was a loud crash from beyond the door, forcing you to shoot up and rub your eyes, anger coursing through you. You threw the blankets off your figure, storming up to your door and flinging it open. Ugh, fuck this. Fuck staying in your room and not causing trouble. You needed an outlet for this pent up anger, or you were going to fucking lose it.

“What the fuck was that?” You called out loudly, only to be returned with complete silence. Standing in the middle of the empty living room, you furrowed your brows in confusion.

The bathroom door opened just as you were ready to turn around and head back into your room. Swiveling around, you glared at Chan as he stepped out, a rather innocent look on his face. Innocent...nothing like the fact that he was fresh out of the shower, naked except for a towel wrapped around his waist.

For a minute, you were rendered dumb. Your eyes watched as his dripping wet hair trailed droplets of water down his torso, down the ridges of his abs and disappearing into the towel. You didn’t even know he looked like that underneath those clothes...

“Hey. Sorry for the noise.” Chan mumbled, pushing his hair back as he closed the door behind him. “The shower caddy fell down randomly. Don’t worry, I fixed it.”

His blank expression slowly transformed into something more devious as he shut the door. He smirked as he observed your expression, his ego boosting as he realized he was the reason you were speechless.

“I- well-” You grunted and shook your head. “You fucked up my nap. Thanks a fucking lot.” You grumbled, crossing your arms as you kept your gaze fixed on his face. “Now if there’s nothing else, I’ll be leaving.” You coughed, voice slightly shaky as you desperately tried to conceal your burning cheeks,

“And...put some clothes on.” You grumbled before heading back. Before you could, though, you felt a hand wrapping around your wrist, pulling you back towards him.

Stopping yourself before you could stumble too close to him, you looked up at him angrily, yanking your wrist away. “What?” You hissed.

“You don’t look too well.” He said, lifting his hand to your forehead. Before he could press his hand to your skin though, you backed away out of his reach.

“I’m perfectly fine. It’s just a tiny headache.” You lied, your head throbbing with a migraine even as you said it.

“Hm.” Chan’s face softened a little as he sighed. “A headache? Do you need water? I have some pills that could help numb the pain.”

You shook your head vehemently. “I don’t want anything you offer me.” You tried to ignore the flash of hurt in his eyes as you said the words. No, Chan wasn’t the victim here, you were. What right did he have to display vulnerability?

“Fine.” Chan opened his mouth, looking like he had more to say. For a second, he contemplated blurting everything out then and there. He wanted you to know the pain he’d been living with through his years...he wanted you to know that despite your betrayal, you were all that was a constant in his mind. And yet, as he continued watching your icy glare, he knew you weren’t in a position to be amicable.

“Get some rest.” He muttered, anger seeping in again at your coldness, mixing with the concern that was still etched into his heart.

“That’s what I was fucking doing before you woke me up so rudely.”

Ugh. God, he really did have enough of your behavior.

“Stop being a brat, Y/n. Just because you’re sick doesn’t mean you get to be snippy with me. You have no right to be angry.”

The fuck? Oh, this entitled prick-

“I have every right to be! This is my house you just barged into, I make the rules here. So shut up and leave me alone.” You spat out, clenching your fists.

Chan felt an unknown urge creep through his being as you continued your remarks, scrunching his eyes shut and trying to calm himself down for a second. Okay, so this definitely wasn’t the sunshiney Y/n he’d once known.

“Felix asked me to stay, I didn’t barge in.. God, you really are a bitch. I’m a guest here, and yet you’re treating me like-”

That was the last straw. You inhaled deeply, feeling your headache grow worse as your anger amplified. You’d had enough. Biting your lip, you shoved past him and headed for the front door. You couldn’t be in the same space as this dickhead for a second longer.

“Where are you going?” His voice was confused, as he turned to look at you storming out in your pajamas.

“Fuck you. Away from here.” You explained, flashing him one last glare over your shoulder as you slammed the door behind you.

Chan stood in the middle of the room, letting out a deep sigh at your sudden departure.

What was he going to tell Felix? He’d promised himself that he’d keep it civil.

He seemed to be breaking a lot of promises lately...

***

You stood outside of the door, leaning against it and trying to calm down your breathing, chest heaving. Just the sight of him brought back memories you wished you could bury. How could you be expected to live in the same place as him without wanting to tear out your eyeballs?

Just when you’d thought you were finally moving on, he barreled his way back into your life. It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried to be mature.

You just wanted him to know you were no longer the meek little optimistic girl you once had been. Adult life has a cruel way of opening your eyes.

Rose colored lenses eventually lead to dismay and disappointment.

***

You didn’t realize you were going to Minho’s apartment until you reached his door, hand poised over the door to knock. Breathing in, you firmly rapped on the wood. A few minutes of silence passed, and you tilted your head in confusion. Minho usually answered the door right away, without too much delay.

You waited a bit before deciding to ring the doorbell, heaving a sigh of relief when the door finally opened, revealing a smiling Minho.

“Hey, thought it was you. I was in the shower.” Clearly. His hair was slightly wet and he’d clearly pulled on the first shirt he could find- unless he actually liked wearing 2009 Britney Spears t-shirts around the house.

Why was the universe chucking so many soaking wet boys at you today? At least Minho was clothed.

You chuckled as you pointed out the motif on the shirt. “’Oops I Did It Again’? Really?”

He shook his head, crossing his arms. “Hey, that music video is a masterpiece. Did you know it was released on my birthday?”

You giggled. “Of course it was.”

He smiled, before standing up straighter. “Wait, why are you here?”

You pursed your lips playfully. “Do I need a reason to visit one of my best friends?”

“Of course you don’t. We just spent time together in the afternoon, though. Is there a reason you’re back so early?” He questioned, placing a finger on his chin and pretending like he was deep in thought. “Oh, got it. You can’t get enough of me.” He said smugly.

You rolled your eyes, walking in as he stood aside to let you in. Minho’s apartment was smaller than the one you shared with Felix, but a lot more nicely decorated. You flopped down onto the sofa, sighing. “That’s not it.” You shook your head. “It’s Chan.”

“Oh. Him.” Minho cleared his throat, crossing his arms as he came to sit down next to you. “What about him?” He asked carefully.

“He’s staying with us.”

“What?” Minho wasn’t sure he’d heard right for a moment, his eyebrows raising slightly.

“Yeah, Felix let him stay. Until he gets a job, apparently.” You groaned, slipping off your shoes and curling your knees up to your chest. “I can’t stand being around him. Not after what he did to me. You understand, right?”

Minho stayed silent for a few minutes, swallowing the lump in his throat as he leaned back. “Right…”

You watched Minho, frowning at his expression. “Anyway, as I said, I couldn’t stay there. Um, can I crash here for a few days? He said he’ll get a job soon and move out, so it’ll be quick.”

Minho’s eyes widened. “Oh? Yeah! You can! You can stay.” He blurted, trying not to seem too eager. His ears turned a light shade of red as he watched you nod in relief, snuggling further into the cushions. “I’ll take the couch.” You mumbled, eyes fluttering as you rubbed your forehead for the millionth time.

“No, you take my bed. I’m alright on the couch.”

You opened an eye, shaking your head. “Minho, this is your home. Unlike Chan, I’m a good house guest.”

“Yeah but... I don’t want you out here on the couch alone. This isn’t exactly a nice neighborhood.”

You sat up, sighing. “I’d feel bad stealing your bed while you sleep on this lumpy couch.”

“Aha! So you admit it’s uncomfortable! That’s it, you’re sleeping in my bed. Besides, it’s big enough for the two of us!”

Minho wished he could take it back almost as soon as he said it. “Um, I mean…”

You raised your eyebrows, shrugging. “Uh, no, it’s okay. I don’t mind.” You sat up, a little shakily as your head swam. “God, my head hurts.”

Minho shot up to his feet, sighing. “Come on, I’ll take you to bed.” He grabbed your hand gently, taking you to his bedroom and making you sit down on the edge. You hummed in content, eyes still closed as you burrowed under the covers, snuggling into Minho’s pillows that faintly smelled of his cologne. It was comforting, and soon you found sleep overtaking you.

Minho sighed as he watched you fall asleep, sitting on the edge of his bed. He was nowhere near sleepy and had originally been planning on making some dinner before you came, but now he didn’t want to leave you alone.

Groaning, he lay down on his mattress, pulling the sheets over his body and making sure to leave a respectful amount of distance between you.

He watched you for a while, your eyelashes fluttering slightly as you slept, chest rising and falling with your breaths.

He didn’t know what he was feeling, exactly. There were strong emotions gripping his heart, most of them towards you, and yet he couldn’t act on any of them. Hell, he couldn’t even comprehend half of them.

Minho turned to face the ceiling, eyes following the tiny crack in the plaster. He couldn’t deny it any longer.

Guilt. The heavy weight sat on his heart was guilt. Thick, all consuming guilt, that threatened to swallow him whole unless he came clean.

He knew he didn’t deserve you...not just because of how he’d acted, but also because of what he was keeping from you. He didn’t deserve for you to accept his apologies, not after the way he’d treated you. Not after he’d kept the complete truth about Chan from you.

Was he being an asshole? Chan was once his friend. A close friend, one he spent every day with. And yet he’d screwed him over.

For a minute, he wondered what would happen if he told you that he’d been the one to make the bet. He’d made Chan continue with it despite his reluctance. He’d noticed Chan actually falling in love with you, and yet had brushed it over.

Would you still be beside him now if you knew?

He doesn’t want to find out. No.

There was moonlight streaming through his window, illuminating the entire room too brightly. The light, combined with the remorse, ensured a sleepless night.

He glanced at you again. At least he’d have you by his side. For now...

#chan angst #chan smut #chan fluff #bang chan angst #bang chan smut #bang chan fluff #chris smut #chris angst #chris fluff #skz smut #skz angst #skz fluff #stray kids smut #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff #minho angst #felix fluff #felix angst

343 notes · View notes

bookshelf-in-progress · 3 years ago

Text

Beneath the Surface: A Retelling of “The Frog Prince”

If I’d had any choice, I never would have taken the underground train. I had accompanied Roger to a political summit in the city of Roshen, but spouses leave after the opening speeches, and since I couldn’t leave Roger without the hovercar, I had to use public transportation. The train--built by the natives decades before humanity absorbed Arateph into the Interplanetary Coalition--was a horrible excuse for technology. It rattled me to my destination, jolted me into an underground station, and left me so shaken that I could feel my bones clattering as I climbed up the stairs to the street.

The crowd surged around me as I emerged onto the sidewalk. There were far too many tephans. You know what Arateph’s natives look like—almost like humans, but it’s an unsettling almost. Their eyes just slightly too high on their heads, their ears just slightly too far back, and hands (ugh) split into only three fingers and a thumb. Like a person shaped by a sculptor with a hazy memory of how humans look. I can take them in small doses, but in groups? My skin was crawling. I powered through the crowd as quickly as possible and tried not to let any of them touch me.

I sped several blocks away from the train station before I realized I was nowhere near my hotel. The buildings in this neighborhood were old, made of crumbling stone bricks that had been stacked by physical labor rather than printed by machine. Half the windows were made of colored glass, and half of those were broken. Garbage rustled in the gutters, holes marred the concrete sidewalks, and all the signs were written in an unfamiliar alphabet. I was, somehow, lost in a tephan neighborhood. And not a nice one.

I turned in circles, trying to figure out which way I’d come. Tephans watched me from storefronts and doorsteps and alleyways, and I kept walking to prevent them from figuring out just how lost I was. I was Priscilla Overton, wife of a Coalition finance minister, pillar of this planet’s elite—and human. Some groups violently opposed human rule, and tephan attacks against humans were on the rise. Who knew what these savages would do if they knew how helpless I was?

I rushed through narrow, dark streets until I reached a wider thoroughfare--a residential area with slightly less grimy apartment buildings. Still not a nice neighborhood, but not a place where I suspected otherworldly rats would tear the flesh from my bones or criminals would murder me for my technology.

I pulled my datapad out of my purse to look for directions. Dead.

I unfolded my wristcomm and tried to call for help. No signal.

I put my fist to my mouth to stifle a frustrated scream. Why did these things happen to me?

I stormed further down the street, cursing Roger for ever bringing us to this planet. We’d been happy on Earth. Comfortable. Respected. With no chance of wandering into streets where aliens stared at you with their off-kilter eyes. The rewards we got for helping to civilize this backward planet weren’t nearly enough to make up for this torture.

I turned a corner and found myself in front of a long, low yellow-brick building with dozens of small windows. The window boxes had flowers in them—fist-sized bundles of tiny red and gold petals. Not something you’d find on Earth, but...nice. Nice enough to pull me down from my fury and make me think I could give my wristcomm another try.

I powered down the wristcomm and stood next to a pink metal lamp post (Arateph has strange color trends) while I waited for it to restart. A metal grate was below my feet. These primitives still used storm drains! I shouldn’t have been surprised, since the road clearly wasn’t made of Draincrete, but it was still jarring. Living on Arateph was a strange combination of living on another world and living in the backward past.

My wristcomm buzzed, still powering up. I was ready to explode with anxiety. There were tephans straggling by—not many of them, but too many and too poorly dressed for my taste. To calm myself, I played with my wedding ring—a gold band with a spray of amethysts and pearls. The ring had been in Roger’s family for centuries. Some days, it felt like my last tie to a familiar world.

I kept my life on Arateph as Earth-like as possible, but it could never be the same as living on Earth. Alien things always lingered at the edges. Trees that turned purple in autumn instead of familiar orange. Toothy red-and-purple-feathered birds that rooted through the trash and woke me with their awful screeching. And around every corner, people who looked like grotesque parodies of my own kind. An entire world conspiring to make me constantly aware of how far I was from home.

My sisters were going about their own lives on Earth, and the few times we could afford appointments at synced comms stations, we found little to talk about--we literally came from different worlds. If Roger and I ever had children--doubtful but possible at our age--our families would only know them as data-images.

This was why I hated being alone on this wretched planet. Gave me far too much time to think about these things.

My wristcomm chimed—finally awake. I unfolded the screen and attempted to bring up my list of contact codes. I found Roger’s; he’d be in the middle of a meeting, but I couldn’t help that. I pressed the code and waited.

A discordant note sounded. No signal. I threw down my hand in frustration. My ring flew down with it. The golden band slipped off my finger, tumbled toward the ground, bounced off the edges of the grate, and fell into the drain.

I gasped in horror and fell to my knees. It couldn’t be, not now.

The ring sparkled in the sunlight, caught on a lip where the structure of the drain met the tube of the deeper pipe. I put my purse on the ground and slid my arm through the grate, but my arm got stuck just above the elbow. The ring was still a foot beyond my reach.

I burst into tears. I couldn’t help it. After the day I’d had—lost among tephans, fighting faulty technology, no hope of help from people who looked like me—this was the last straw. This planet had taken me from my home, my family, my friends, everything familiar, and now it was taking my one reminder of it all. Anybody would have cried.

Long before I felt any relief, a harsh voice broke through my sobs. “Are you finished yet?”

I looked up, furious at whoever was rude enough to interrupt my misery.

A tephan girl sat in the stairwell of the long yellow-brick building next to the gutter. I yelped and reeled back, tears still flowing. Have you ever seen a tephan child? They’re ten times worse than the adults; all their slightly-wrong features stretched even further out of shape, their eyes big and bulging in their heads. This girl was gangly. Her skinny limbs dangled out of baggy green clothes, and a wild brown bush of curls frizzed around her face and over her eyes. By human standards, I’d have judged her to be about twelve years old (though I have no idea if these creatures age like humans). By any race’s standards, she looked positively feral.

I couldn’t believe the creature had spoken to me. “Did you say something?” I asked.

She held up a thick book, bound human-style but with blocky tephan letters on the cover. “Can you cry somewhere else? I’m trying to read.”

She spoke Anglese with only a lightly slurring tephan accent. Somehow, this child spoke the Coalition’s language better than most of the tephan diplomats at Roger’s interminable meetings.

In my shock, I blurted, “How do you know Anglese?”

The creature rolled her eyes. “I go to school. With humans and everything.”

Roger hadn’t been in favor of the integration policy, but it apparently had some benefits. Or would have, had I any interest in talking to the child. Before I could decide if I wanted to reply, I glimpsed the ring again and burst into another involuntary round of tears.

The girl closed her book with a sigh. “What are you crying about anyway?”

I couldn’t tell her that I was crying because of her terrible, technologically backward planet and all its inhabitants, but I had to talk to someone and it was so good to hear human words, even from an alien’s throat. I pointed to the drain. “My ring,” I gasped. “It fell...”

She picked up her book, scrambled down the stairs, and peered in the drain. She huffed and rolled her eyes. “You’re making that much noise over that?”

I drew back my shoulders and snapped, “It’s an irreplaceable heirloom! Centuries of human history! You can’t get those stones anywhere but Earth!”

“Then you should have been more careful with it.”

That made me want to scream, but before I could gather enough breath, the child gathered the book to her chest and turned away. “Can you at least try to keep it down?”

As the girl sat on the building’s stone stairs, the wind tore a scrap of paper out of her book and sent it fluttering. She reached up and snatched it out of the air. My gaze fell on the girl’s arms—long, lanky things that were thinner than human arms. With four-fingered hands that could easily slip between the bars of the grate.

“Wait!” I shouted. “Little tephan girl! What’s your name?”

The girl cast me a dark, distrustful expression, but she finally intoned, “Tanza.”

Not bad, as far as tephan names went. I could pronounce this one. “Tanza,” I said, “Do you think you could reach it?”

The girl shifted her hand behind her back, her face becoming a hard mask. “What do you mean?”

I pointed to her, rambling in my excitement. “Your arms are thinner than mine. Just as long. You could probably reach...”

Her brow furrowed. “You want me to dig in a sewer?”

“Not a sewer,” I said. “A storm drain.”

“Still dirty.” She looked at the storm drain with narrowed eyes.“If I get it for you, will you go away?”

I wanted nothing more. “Immediately.”

"What'll you pay me for it?"

I felt like I'd been hit by a train. "What? Who said I'd pay you?"

The child pointed one long finger at the storm drain. “If I get dirty digging in there, it’ll be my tenth laundry demerit and I don’t get supper. I’m not doing it for nothing!”

The building behind her held one of the few signs I’d seen with Anglese translations beneath the tephan words: Alogath Charity Home for Unwanted Children. I could see why this child was unwanted.

“I don’t carry cash,” I told her.

“Do you have a credit stick?”

I put a protective arm over my purse. “It’ll be deactivated the moment you touch it.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t need the whole stick. Just buy me something with it.”

A truck—a noisy, clanking tephan thing that actually rolled on the ground—roared past us. The glimmer on the ring shifted closer to the drain pipe. If I didn’t act fast…

“What do you want?” I asked her.

“A lot of things.” Her eyes went blank as she stared at imaginings only she could see. Finally, she declared, “A meal at the High Palace.”

She really said that! As if it were a reasonable request! I don’t know how this urchin even knew about human restaurants, much less the finest of fine dining establishments.

“That’s ridiculous!”

She shrugged one shoulder. “I lose a meal, you buy me a replacement. That’s fair.”

“Do you know how much a High Palace meal costs?”

“A lot less than it’ll cost you to replace that ring.”

I growled in frustration. The child had me backed into a corner and she knew it. I shuddered at the thought of taking this…thing into the sparkling society of a High Palace dining room.

I pointed a fierce finger at the child. “Only if you give me the ring immediately. Understand? There’s not a place on the planet a creature like you could sell it without suspicion.”

“I don’t want your ring. I’ll live up to my end of the bargain. And you’ll live up to yours, or that ring’s staying where it is.”

Of course I couldn’t really take her to the High Palace, but one more street-rattling truck could take the ring forever out of anyone’s reach. I’d have agreed if she’d asked for a hovercar.

“Fine!” I shouted. “I’ll buy you the meal. Just save my ring!”

The child placed her book on a clean patch of sidewalk and returned to the edge of the street. I snatched up my purse and stepped aside while the girl laid face down in the gutter. She slid her arm through the grate, all the way up to the shoulder. I held my breath for an eternal moment and didn’t release it until the girl emerged with a ring of gold and amethyst in her hands.

The ring sparkled merrily at me, grimy but whole. I snatched it from Tanza's hands and tucked it into an inner pocket of my gray blazer. I wouldn’t wear it again without resizing it—and not until I was in a neighborhood where I didn’t have to worry about it being stolen from my finger.

The child picked up her book and looked at me expectantly. Demandingly.

I couldn’t give her what she wanted. She was a complete stranger. I’d made the promise under duress. Not a court in the universe would hold me to it. What right did a tephan child have to make such ridiculous demands of a woman of my stature?

“Thank you,” I said. “You did a very good thing.” Then I sped down the street.

The creature was right at my heels. “The High Palace is the other way.”

I didn’t know if she was telling the truth. It didn’t matter. I walked faster.

She yanked at my arm. “You promised me a meal!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I couldn’t get you into the High Palace.”

“A human lady dressed like you? You could get me in if you wanted to.”

I yanked my arm away from her. “What a pity I don’t want to.”

She gave a feral yowl. I started sprinting—or as near as I could manage in the heels I was wearing. The girl kept pace with me. I was a foot taller than her; why couldn’t I outrun her? Could I lose her in her own streets when I was lost myself?

Just when I thought I’d never be able to escape, I rounded a corner and saw the green-and-silver uniform of a Coalition policeman. My heart soared as I raced toward him. Help, protection, guidance, all only a few steps away. Something wonderfully human in this alien world.

“Officer!” I shouted to his retreating back. “Please, I need help!”

The officer stopped and raised a hand. A four-fingered hand. When he turned around, his face had the skewed proportions of a tephan face.

I nearly screamed. I’d stumbled into a nightmare.

The officer said, with the crisp diction of a tephan overcompensating for an accent, “Have you a problem, morik—madam?”

I’d heard that a few tephans had been admitted into the police forces, but I’d never thought I’d meet one. This tephan was young. Wiry and blond. Almost insignificant-looking if it weren’t for the uniform and the stolen sense of authority. Would he help a human?

Tephan or not, he had an obligation to assist the public. “Officer,” I gasped. “I need directions to the nearest train station. I’m trying to get home and this child is harassing me.”

The girl stormed up to him and shrieked, “She’s a liar!”

She shouted a stream of gibberish, and it wasn’t until the officer responded with similar sounds that I realized they were speaking the tephan language. Flowing, musical vowels were interrupted by harsh consonants, like rocks in a river. The sounds sent chills down my spine that only grew fiercer as the officer’s expression grew darker.

When the girl finished, the officer looked at me, not like an innocent victim needing help, but like a criminal who needed hauling to one of their barbaric tephan jails. “You have wronged this girl.”

I lifted my chin. “She’s lying! I’ve done nothing to her!”

“She claims she rescued your ring in exchange for a meal at the High Palace, and you are attempting to break your word.”

“I owe her nothing!”

“Did you promise her a meal?”

I threw out my hands in frustration. “It’s not like we had a contract or anything!”

He raised an eyebrow. “Your promise means nothing without a legal document?”

“She had no right to hold me to a promise. I was desperate!”

He put a brotherly hand on the girl’s shoulder. “And she was kind enough to help you.”

I scoffed. “For a heavy price.”

The child shouted, “It’s one meal!”

The officer examined my face carefully. “You are Priscilla Overton, are you not? The wife of the finance minister?”

My jaw dropped. I’m prominent enough in human circles, but I’d never dared to consider that my face was known among tephans. It terrified me, but I knew it could be my ticket out of this. “I am, and when my husband finds out about how I’ve been treated—”

“Your husband is not a popular man. Not among tephans.”

I had never cared about Roger's reputation among the tephans. These primitives didn’t know what was best for their planet. But that wasn’t something I could say when I was alone in a strange neighborhood with two of them.

The officer continued, “It will not help his reputation if his wife is known as a promise-breaker.”

I couldn’t believe it. “Are you threatening me?”

He leaned toward me and said in low tones, “I am helping you.” He gestured to the street around us. “Do you think I’m the only one who heard the girl’s story?”

I shuddered to see a handful of tephans staring at us from among the crumbling buildings.

The officer said, “The Coalition doesn’t care much for tephan opinion, but if there is enough outcry against one man, even a human representative can be released from his job.”

At first, the thought lifted my spirits. Sent home! To Earth! It was what I’d wanted from the moment we’d stepped foot on this planet. But sent home in disgrace? Roger would have no future in government after such a public failure. It would mean everything we suffered here would be for nothing.

I asked the officer, “You really think they’d protest? Just because I didn’t bow to a child’s ridiculous demands?”

“If a person can’t keep a promise made to a child, how can anything they say be trusted?” His tephan gaze raked over me, like he was dissecting my inner thoughts. “Your people may have different ideas, but tephans still value virtue.”

How dare he—this puffed-up primitive in a human position of power—accuse humanity of being inferior?

My opinion didn’t matter. These creatures thought it a matter of morality that I feed this ragged brat finer cuisine than their planet had ever produced, and nothing I could say would change their minds. Now it seems ridiculous to think that those tephans could ruin us, but in that moment, alone in those unfamiliar streets, seeing how these two strange aliens teamed up against me, I could believe their kind capable of anything.

I looked down at the child. Her big eyes. Her frizzy curls. Her long limbs clutching the book to her chest. The grimy, bog-green clothes that fell short of the wrists and ankles. The smug smirk of a spoiled child who knew she was about to get her way. I had never loathed anyone more in my life.

“Do you have a name?” I asked her. “I’ll need a full name for the restaurant register.”

“I told you,” she said, as though she’d expected me to remember. “It’s Tanza.”

“What’s the rest of your name?” Most tephans I’d met had at least three or four names and were obnoxiously eager to explain them.

The girl's face darkened like I’d offended her. “Just Tanza.”

The officer looked at her with new pity, and even I understood why. You know how important names are to tephans. One name was a badge of dishonor--forever marking her as a child who’d never been claimed by any family, who’d never been given anything beyond the minimum necessary label. Tanza would have felt the shame of that, and I wasn’t quite so surprised that she’d turned into such an irritating little brat.

But I had no room for pity. “Do you have anything better to wear?”

She tugged at the cuffs, trying to stretch them over her arms. “Just more green. And all in the wash. Laundry demerits."

The officer said, "It'll do." He knelt in front of the girl, then looked at me and held out a hand. "I'll bet a fine lady like you carries all kinds of cleaning tools."

I sighed and handed him the nanocleanser from my purse. I showed him the power button, then he waved the metal wand over the stains on Tanza’s clothes. After a few seconds, the stains evaporated and the dirt from the gutter fell away as dry sand.

“Good as new,” the officer said, while Tanza gaped at her freshly-cleaned clothes. These primitives were astounded by the simplest things.

The child brushed through her wild curls with her fingers, swept them back over her shoulders, then stood with her hands at her side and feet apart, as if presenting herself for inspection.

I sighed. “I guess it’s as good as we’ll get. Let’s get this over with.”

Tanza tucked her book beneath her arm and her eyes sparkled with victory.

I looked balefully at the tome. “The book’s coming with?”

“Well, I can’t leave it here.”

I considered insisting that she take it back to the home, but I wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.

“Fine,” I sighed. “Bring the book.”

I was seriously planning on entering the dining room of the High Palace with an alien who thought the proper attire included a set of green work clothes and a giant book. I had gone insane.

The officer stepped aside and gestured for both of us to walk past him. “I’ll escort you there.”

And there went my last hope of escape.

The officer escorted us through winding streets, side alleys and dried up canals until we finally crossed a bridge into a civilized portion of the city with human-designed buildings. One sprawling building of white stone-print bore a black sign with elegant script that proclaimed it The High Palace.

As we approached the building, Tanza suddenly skittered across my path. I almost tripped over her feet.

I glared at her as she fell into step on my right side. “What are you doing?”

She glanced warily to the street corner. “Kids from school.”

I glanced back and saw a pre-teen human boy with short black hair and immaculate clothing. He leaned against the corner of a building while he spoke with a handful of human friends. Well-groomed, friendly, human—why couldn’t that child have rescued my ring? I’d have been glad to take him as a guest to the High Palace.

As I engaged in fruitless wishes, the human children disappeared, and I arrived with my tephan escorts at the entrance doors of the High Palace. Wide glass windows showed a sparkling three-dimensional display of Old Paris in springtime. Tanza studied the images of bakeries and floral shops and fluttering Earth songbirds, as if attempting to dissect the technology. The few people passing by looked askance at the tephan pair with me.

Tanza asked, “Are we going in?”

I looked back at the officer. He just smiled at me and waved us toward the door.

I took a deep breath, put a hand behind the girl’s shoulders and pushed her inside.

The interior was a vision of white and cream: pale artwork on the walls, a glass fountain trickling crystal-clear water, rugs in intricate shades of vanilla, beige and ivory upon white marble floors.

The street sounds disappeared when the door closed behind us. No foot traffic, no rumbling vehicles, no screeching of alien animals. Just the hush of quiet voices, the gentle strings of a European symphony and the trickle of the fountain. It was like we'd stepped into a different world. My world. Except for the alien next to me.

The host standing guard at the dining room entrance stared at Tanza, then looked at me with the horrified compassion of someone trying to tell you there’s a wasp on your shoulder. “Madam, are you aware…?”

The only way to get through this with any dignity was to brazen my way through it. “I’d like a table, please. Two seats. For Priscilla Overton and guest.”

I thought his eyes would pop out of his head. “Your guest? You mean she—?”

“Is my guest. Is that a problem?”

He stared as if incredulous that I didn’t know the problem. I didn’t even blink.

Finally, he put a stylus to his datapad. “Does this guest have a name?”

The girl stood as straight and dignified as I did. “Tanza.”

He poised his stylus over the datapad. “Anythin—”

“Just Tanza.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he set his stylus aside. “Two seats for Priscilla Overton and…Tanza.”

The host led us into a blindingly beautiful dining room. A full wall of windows overlooked a river that glittered in the afternoon sun. The other walls were meshed with holonet that made the room look like a small nook in a formal European garden, with the tables and chairs surrounded by roses, tulips, lilies, and a thousand other flowers whose names I’d forgotten in my years away from Earth. Real potted plants scattered among the tables added to the reality of the image and the string quartet played some of the finest music from Earth's history. The room was a bastion of civilization in this barbaric world. A taste of home. It was more filling than any food could be.

The host led us to windowside tables with an excellent view of the river. My heart lifted. Prime seating—a sign of my place on this planet, which not even a tephan could take away. And it was flanked by two potted gardenia plants that would screen my guest from the handful of other diners.

I took the right-hand seat and motioned for Tanza to take the chair that sat closest to the shrub. Its branches brushed her as she sat down.

The host left us as a waiter handed us our menus. As Tanza sat down, she reached toward the branch above her head, plucked a single white gardenia blossom, shoved it in her mouth, and began to chew.

I froze in terror, then glanced at the waiter. Had he noticed?

If he had, he’d been well trained. He didn’t even stumble in his recitation of the day’s lunch specials.

“Would you like a few minutes to make a selection?” the waiter asked.

“Yes, yes,” I said, waving him away before my guest could decide to take another nibble of the greenery.

He bowed and vanished toward the kitchen.

When he was gone, Tanza spit the flower into a gold-embroidered napkin and wiped her tongue on the far corner. While her mouth contorted in the most disturbing shape, those tephan eyes glared at me. “That’s not a spiceblossom bush.”

“No,” I said, my tone stretched with scorn. “It’s a gardenia. And the blossoms aren’t for eating.”

She wiped her tongue on another corner of the napkin. “Why do they put flowers by the table if you’re not supposed to eat them?”

“For decoration,” I hissed. “And if you can’t behave in a civilized manner, we’ll leave this restaurant, promise or no promise.”

“Well, I’m sorry I don’t know all the fancy human rules of eating.”

Her sarcasm made my blood boil—until I saw her blush. She was prickly, yes, but unless I was very much mistaken, she was embarrassed. Now she was lost in an alien world, and I’d experienced that sensation too recently not to feel a little sorry for her.

But only a little. She had demanded this, after all, at great expense to me. Let her suffer the consequences.

“Rule one,” I said. “Don’t put anything in your mouth unless I tell you to.” I tugged her napkin out of her four-fingered hands before she could run it across her tongue again. “That includes napkins.”

With the napkin gone, Tanza's tongue was on full display in front of her chin as she kept the taste as far out of her mouth as possible. I don’t know if you know this, but tephan tongues can stretch further and thinner than human tongues, and this child made hers come almost to a point. I couldn’t look at that for the entire meal, but I couldn’t have the child destroying all the table linens either.

I waved over a waiter carrying a carafe of water, and I pointed him to our empty glasses. He leaned over our table and filled my glass almost to the brim. Then he turned and saw my guest—her pale skin, green clothes, those big eyes and that long, thin tephan tongue. He yelped, recoiled, dropped the carafe, and knocked over my glass. Water flooded the table and spilled onto my lap.

The child yelped, shouted something in her alien language and scrambled to pull her book out of the path of the water. An old man at the next table dropped his fork and stared at her. Fortunately, the few other diners in the room were too far away to see.

I hushed the child and found myself in the strange position of apologizing to the waiter while I was the one standing drenched. I didn’t know what reznat meant, but I was sure it wasn’t a nice thing for a tephan to say to her waiter.

“Could we...” I asked as I ran the nanocleanser over my clothes, “have another table?”

“C...certainly, madam,” he said, looking at Tanza as if waiting for her to pounce. I half-expected it myself, from the fierce way she curled around that book.

Once my clothes were dry, the waiter brought us to an empty table nearer the center of the room. No window view. No shielding plants. But it was further from the kitchen—where I was certain all the servers would be gossiping about us as soon as this klutz left us.

Once we were settled with new water glasses and dry menus, the server scurried away as if the girl were a poison frog. Tanza muttered alien words while she brushed water from the edges of her book, and gulped water until she got the taste of the flower out of her mouth. Then she glared at me and reverted back to Anglese. “He almost wrecked my book.”

After watching her lug that book around for an hour, my curiosity—and frustration—were mounting. “What’s that book about, anyway? And why are you willing to curse out waiters over it?”

“It’s a biography of Queen Marastel.” She set the book deliberately on the table, and looked around the room as if daring waiters to spill more water on it. “And it’s mine. I finally have a book of my own, and I don’t want it wrecked by an idiot with a water pitcher.”

The book was thick. What I’d seen of the print was small. It was not a children’s history book. I hadn’t expected this grimy alien child to be the biography type. Was there a developmental disorder that gave children irrational attachments to academic texts?

“Who is Queen Marastel?” I asked.

Tanza showed me the book’s cover. It had a picture of a young tephan woman—in her mid-twenties, to my human eyes—with a pale, narrow face, and deep eyes. The woman's dark hair was covered with an elaborate system of veils, and she wore a dress covered in so many white jewels and so much gray and white beadwork that I almost couldn’t see the ivory fabric underneath.

“Her,” Tanza said. “The last queen of Arateph.”

“Arateph had queens?” I asked in surprise. They hadn’t had queens when humanity had found them. It must have been part of their history.

I’d never thought of this planet as having a history. If I’d considered it at all, I suppose I’d assumed that they’d been muddling along the way we’d found them for the last few centuries, waiting for us to show up and drag them into modern civilization.

Tanza said, “The planet was ruled by a monarchy until about forty years before the Coalition showed up.”

“The whole planet?”

Tanza sat straighter and her diction became crisper—she looked like a little lecturer at one of those cultural symposiums that Roger and I always had to make appearances at. “After Kepha joined the other eleven kingdoms, the entire planet was united under the monarchy for three hundred and fifty-eight years.”

Not just a monarchy, but a planet-spanning monarchy. Such a thing hadn’t happened in all of human civilization, and these people had accomplished it when they were still on their home planet, believing themselves alone in the universe. I hadn’t thought such an archaic form of government could rule an entire continent without overextending itself, yet it had ruled their world for centuries. For the first time, I found myself wanting to learn something from the tephan people. How had such a government come about? How had they managed it?

Why did the woman on the cover look so sad?

I didn’t ask any of these questions because just then, a waiter appeared—not the water-spilling one, thank goodness. (I didn’t trust my guest to look at that one without throwing something at him.) This one was older, with crisp lines in his clothes and face. He looked like he could have won a staring contest with a statue—perfect unshakable professionalism.

“Are you ready to order, Madam Overton?” He didn’t even look at my guest.

Tanza’s eyes brightened as she picked up the menu, flipping through the pages to examine the options.

I asked her, “What you want to eat?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had human food.”

My jaw fell. “You wanted to come here and you didn’t even know what you wanted to eat?”

She gave me a withering stare, as though I was the stupid one. “I wanted to try it.” She closed the menu. “Besides, you said I can only eat what you tell me to eat. So what am I allowed to eat, Priscilla?”

I picked up the menu and realized with horror that I didn’t know the answer. What could tephans eat? Were there foods that were delicacies to us and poison to them?

I asked the waiter, “Do you have any suggestions?” I doubted these people served many tephans, but food was their area of expertise, and we were on Arateph.

The waiter looked at Tanza for the first time. “I’ve heard that people of her...race...are rather fond of the amphibian.” He pointed to an entry on my appetizer list. “The frog legs are popular. And a specialty of the chef.”

I hadn’t eaten frog in years. But if I could choke it down for Roger’s political dinners, I could manage it to satisfy a petulant tephan child. “We’ll have that.”

“Excellent. Is there anything else?”

I didn’t want to give Tanza any more chances to upset the wait staff. “No. Just get us our food as soon as possible.”

As the waiter walked away with our menus, an afternoon crowd filled the dining room; within a few minutes, we went from being nearly alone to being surrounded by other diners. I could tell by the sideways glances that most of them noticed my tephan guest. And I could tell that Tanza noticed them. She sat silently at first, growing more and more tense as we all tried to ignore each other, but when a bald man at the next table stared at her for several long moments, she finally snapped.

“Can you stop it?” she barked at him. “You’re giving me the shivers.” The man, red-faced, studied his menu as if his life depended on it.

Tanza turned back to the table, muttering, “You humans look so creepy when you stare.”

I was too stunned to scold her. I’d never considered that the distaste for the other race’s looks went both ways. If she’d lived her life in a mostly-tephan neighborhood, a human face would look just as slightly wrong to her as a tephan face did to me. It sounds strange, but the idea that she found us ugly made me like her more. It certainly made her more relatable.

But I couldn’t have her making a spectacle. “Please, don’t bother the other diners.”

She seemed ready to protest, but I spoke before she could argue. “That woman in your book. You said she was the last queen of Arateph. What happened?”

Her eyes lit up, rude diners forgotten, as she flipped open the book. “Revolution. The People’s House took over and had her and the king executed.”

I shivered. “So violent. And so young to die.”

Tanza gave me a confused look, then glanced at the cover and understood. “Oh, that’s from her first years as queen. She was almost seventy when she died.”

I pictured the woman on the cover with hair turned gray, but the same dark, sad eyes, facing an angry mob as they led her to the scaffold or the firing squad or however these people killed their leaders. It was brutal, but humanity had often been equally brutal, so I couldn’t dismiss it as their backward alien culture.

Tanza flipped through the pages. “They say she was weak and self-absorbed, but this book gives her more depth.” She looked at a page near the cover. “Verai’s a good scholar. Uses lots of primary sources. Very readable.”

Now that her interest was unleashed, Tanza talked on and on, taking me through an alien history, the tale of a queen beset by tragedy upon tragedy as she helped her husband rule a crumbling planet and struggled to produce an heir. All the scholars at those Coalition events were nowhere near as enthralling as this alien child sharing her favorite book.

As fascinating as the story was, I was even more entranced by the pictures—dozens were embedded through the text. Tanza condescended to turn the book around so I could see. It was grandeur like I’d never seen, buildings in alien colors and shapes and patterns, but bringing to mind the grandest palaces in human history, from Versailles to the Forbidden City to the red spires of the North Martian Emperor's summer home. The people in the pictures wore elaborate, brightly-colored clothes, and feasted upon vast tables full of unfamiliar food—including blossoms from the potted trees next to the tables. No primitive civilization could have created such a culture. No wonder this alien urchin was enthralled, and no wonder she’d seized the chance to attend the closest modern equivalent to such feasts that she knew of.

The return of the stone-faced waiter snapped me back to reality. He planted himself next to the table, passing blank-faced judgement by how thoroughly he didn’t look at the book or the way we bent over it. Face burning, I sat back in my chair and felt ashamed to be caught hanging upon an alien’s story like a dim-witted child.

Tanza swept the book under the table and sat primly as the waiters placed the food in front of us. First a gold charger, then the crystal plates bearing the food—ten frog legs, crisply fried in butter and lemon, dotted with parsley and surrounded by a handful of greens.

Half a dozen nearby heads surreptitiously craned in our direction.

The waiters set a similar platter in front of me, and after I’d arranged my napkin on my lap, I thanked the waiter, picked up the silverware, and began to cut the meat.

Tanza watched me carefully as the waiters left. She picked up her silverware, examined it closely—did tephans even have silverware?—and tried to imitate me, but when she touched the food, the prim little professor became the feral street child again. She still used the silverware, but that was her only concession to decency as she gobbled her foot, downing the frog legs almost whole. The butter sauce ringed her mouth and splattered on her clothing. She made the most inhuman snorting noises as she swallowed.

Now everyone was staring—the red-faced man at the next table, his three dining companions, the ten people sitting at the other nearby tables, the waiters who'd halted on their way to the kitchen. People murmured to their companions. Diners flagged down waiters and asked discreetly if there was something that could be done.

My face burned in embarrassment, but I couldn’t stop the girl. With all these eyes watching me—watching me, Priscilla Overton, entertaining an animal at the finest restaurant in Roshen—I couldn’t even speak. I wanted to sink into the carpet. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to run from the restaurant, flee from this planet, and return to comfortable, civilized Earth. But mortification left me paralyzed. I just sat and did nothing as Tanza devoured her food and licked every last drop of sauce from the plate.

Finally, she dropped her plate back on the charger and leaned back with satisfaction. Her big tephan eyes were bright. “That was amazing.” She licked all eight of her fingers, so lost in the euphoria of her food that she was unaware of the horrified crowd surrounding us. She looked at my plate with confusion. “You’ve barely touched yours.”

I let my fork drop to the tablecloth. “I’m not very hungry.”

Her eyes brightened. “Can I have it?”

“No.”

She gave me a disapproving look. “You can’t waste food. At least try to eat it.”

After that display, I’d never be able to stomach another frog leg. “It doesn’t appeal to me.”

“Then I’ll eat it.” Before I could react, she leaned across the table, speared a frog leg with her fork, and was chewing it before she settled back in her chair.

I wanted to scream. I could have tried to correct her, but I had no idea where to begin, and by now, it was far too late.

The stone-faced waiter leaned over my shoulder. He was pale and his eyes were wide—apparently there were some things that could rattle him. “Madam, if you cannot eat your food here, we can send it home with you.”

He was offering me a doggy bag. The finest restaurant in the city, which usually recoiled in horror from such vulgar practices, was so desperate for me to leave that the staff were sending me home with leftovers. I was, in effect, being kicked out.

I didn’t even care. “Yes, thank you.”

In seconds, another waiter appeared, carrying a green box that had probably held some kind of produce in the kitchen, repurposed into this restaurant’s first take-home container. I sat in silence as they poured the frog legs into the container, then I handed them my credit stick, and when I examined the payment screen of their datapad, I added on a gratuity that cost twice as much as the food did. Perhaps with a tip like that, they’d let me show my face here again. At the moment, I doubted I’d ever want to.

I gathered my purse and stood. That creature gathered her ridiculous book and followed me, smiling, out of the dining room.

When we reached the lobby, I thrust the box into the child's hands. “Take it. I don’t want it.”

The girl's eyebrows rose. “You don’t? Are you sure? It’s really good.”

“I think it appeals more to tephan tastes.”

She thanked me as though I’d given her all the jewels that the queen on her book was wearing, then tucked the box under one arm and the book under the other.

I put a hand behind her shoulders and pushed her out the door. When we emerged onto the sunlit sidewalk, all my frustration exploded.

“There!” I snapped, giving her one last push beyond the awning of the restaurant. “You’ve had your meal. Take your food and go!”

She stumbled forward, then stared at me in bewilderment. “What set you off?”

My laugh was tinged with hysteria. “What set me off? Maybe I’m just a little peeved at being disgraced in front of some of the richest people in the city by a tephan who gobbles her food like an animal.”

She stood with her mouth open, struck speechless. Those big green eyes showed surprisingly human-looking hurt. “Was it that bad? I know I’m not fancy, but...”

“You can’t tell me you didn’t notice all those people staring.”

The creature turned red. She stammered, “I thought it was because I’m tephan. You told me not to bother them.”

I couldn’t bear to have that creature looking up at me with those big, sad eyes. I didn’t want to feel sorry for her. “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Maybe in a few years they’ll let me dine there again.” I pushed her steadily but firmly away from the restaurant. “I have more than paid you in full. Thank you for saving my ring. Goodbye.”

Still looking baffled, the girl trudged away from the restaurant. I walked in the other direction.

My anger started fading the moment the child was out of my line of sight. Each step away from the restaurant felt like a step back into a normal world. There were humans around me. I could read the signs. I even knew how to find my way to the train station. I’d be back at the hotel within the hour and I could pretend that this whole horrible afternoon had been a bad dream.

Light footsteps skittered behind me. A green-clad tephan child with a book and a box appeared to my left.

I yelped and reeled back. “What are you—?”

Tanza fell into step beside me. “I’m really very sorry for embarrassing you. I need to make it up to you. Let me show you the way to the train station—”

My previous anger felt like a candle flame compared to the volcano that those words set off within me. “Leave me alone!” I towered over her in my fury. “I gave you your meal! I fulfilled the promise! Now leave!” I stormed away, but at the first sound of footsteps behind me, I whirled around. “I swear, if you take another step toward me, I will see you arrested!”

The child’s face hardened into the petulant mask that I recognized from my first sight of her from the gutter. “Sorry for helping.”

“Helping,” I mocked. “Your help comes at too high a price.” I gave a short, cynical laugh. “I see through your plan. You think you can trail after me demanding handouts all day. Well, I have had enough.” I secured my purse over my shoulder like I was holstering a weapon. “Get out of here!”

Face white and lips tight with anger, Tanza bowed her head and turned away. I strode away in triumph.

An old man looked at me sideways, shaking his head. I made it to the end of the block before the guilt hit me. The old man had reason to disapprove. Tanza had made an offer of help, and I’d responded by screaming at her in a public street. Perhaps she had felt remorse. As embarrassing as it had been to be seen with a girl who ate like an animal, how much worse would it feel to be the one who’d done it? I thought of those pictures in that book of hers. Would I have fared any better at a tephan feast?

I turned around. “Tanza, wait—“

“Hey, Tanza!”

The voice, coming from the other end of the block, was louder, harsher, and younger than mine. A crowd of boys stampeded down the sidewalk—all humans, about twelve years old, and led by a boy with slick black hair and gray and white clothes in the latest crisply-cut fashions. The children Tanza had noticed when we’d first arrived at the restaurant.

Tanza—standing near where I’d left her—tried to move away from them, but hesitated when she saw me standing at the other end of the block. In seconds, the boys had her surrounded.

The ringleader prodded her shoulder. “Escaped from your cage, Tanza? What are you doing among civilized people?”

His yellow-haired friend poked at the box of frog legs. “Looks like she’s looting houses.”

Tanza yanked the box away. “I’m not a thief!”

The ringleader tugged at the book under her other arm. “That’s a big book. Still playing at being smart, small-brain?”

Tanza pulled it back. “Don’t touch that!”

One boy pried up her arm while two others slid the book away from her. “Ooh, it’s a small-brain book!” the ringleader said in mock delight. He flipped through the pages with dirt-stained fingers. “It’s even written in their pretend letters.”

Tanza snarled, “Give that back!”

He slammed it shut and pulled it toward his chest. “Why? Scared it’s too complicated for me?”

“It’s mine!”

He looked at it thoughtfully. “Is it, though? I don’t think a charity case like you can afford a big book like this.”

“It’s mine!” she repeated, nearly shrieking now. “Teacher gave it to me!”

“Bet she stole it,” said a voice from the crowd. “She’s just a grubby little nameless charity house thief.”

Tanza, driven past the breaking point as the ringleader held the book just beyond her reach, shrieked in outrage and pounced. She tore at the book while the boys yanked it away from her. The individuals disappeared into a storm of arms and legs and paper. Five against one. I watched in terror for a few moments before thinking to call for help. I had my wristcomm. I could hit the emergency button….

It was over before I could lift my wrist. Tanza was sprawled across the sidewalk, surrounded by the shredded, dirty pages of her book. Her box had been torn open. Fleshy frog legs were scattered on the ground as though the animals had been thrown against the wall.

The boys, barely scuffed, loomed over her, mocking. They lifted the empty binding of the book like a trophy, cheering over it and slapping each other on the back. Then, satisfied with their destruction, they ran off the way they came, leaving their victim on the ground.

Numbly, I shuffled toward her, feeling lost in a different sort of nightmare--one where I was one of the monsters. Those boys had been waiting for her. If she’d had an ulterior motive for coming after me to apologize, she had been hoping for protection, not handouts. And I’d thrown her to the wolves.

Tanza pushed herself onto her knees and pulled the pages toward her, like a mother hen gathering up chicks. She looked more vulnerable than I’d ever seen her, eyes wide and glistening, her face slack with horror. Her emotionless mask was gone. She pressed an armload of shredded pages to her chest, curled into a fetal position, and cried.

Curled up like that, face and hands hidden, she didn’t look like a tephan. Not like the rude negotiator at the gutter. Not like the little professor or even the animal at the table. She was just a friendless little girl, surrounded by the wreckage of her most prized possession.

I thought of the last time I’d seen her lying in the street, arm threaded through a storm drain while she reached for my ring. The ring was in my pocket, safe and whole. How had I thanked her for her service? Tried to duck out of the promise, treated her like a savage, screamed at her in the streets, and left her at the mercy of bullies.

The ring I loved so much was one of dozens that I’d brought from Earth, and my day had been destroyed at the thought of losing it. This book was the only one she owned, and it was gone forever. I couldn’t imagine her distress.

How had I thought her the savage?

My stomach twisted with loathing, and for the first time all day, it was directed toward myself. I could fool myself no longer; I’d done nothing to be proud of today.

But that could change.

Approaching Tanza with soft, careful steps, I crouched next to her. “Tanza?” I brushed a finger across her shoulder.

The girl recoiled from my touch and turned away. She came up on her feet, but stayed scrunched into a ball, protecting her pages and hiding her red eyes.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

Her voice was thick with tears. “Go away.”

I grabbed one of the pages. “I can help—“

She whirled her head toward me and snapped, “I said go away!”

I stumbled back, and for a moment I was ready to do as she wanted. This was not my problem and she didn’t want my help.

Then my good sense returned, and I barked, “Don’t be stupid. I’m not going to leave a child in the street.” I started gathering pages. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

I looked around for help. The crowd had merely started taking a wider berth around us, but after a moment, I saw the green and silver flash of a Coalition policeman’s uniform—on a policeman with tephan hands.

I’d never thought I’d be glad to see that officer again. I waved toward him, shouting, “Officer! Please, can you help?”

My voice startled the officer, and his surprise turned to concern as he neared and saw the devastation. He crouched next to us and asked me, “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing,” I said. The twist in my stomach reminded me that those words weren’t the complete truth, so I amended, “I didn’t destroy the book. There was a group of boys...”

The officer had already turned his attention to Tanza, speaking low-toned words in their tephan language. When they finished, his demeanor toward me was less hostile but more disappointed.

“Now you want to help her?” he asked.

That now was an accusation that cut like a knife. I deserved it, but I met his gaze boldly. “Yes,” I said, daring him to deny me.

He spoke a few more words to Tanza, then told me, “Gather pages.”

He helped Tanza to her feet while I gathered what I could of the paper. Torn edges, smeared alien words, and pictures of long-dead royals who stared at me with accusing eyes. The queen providing food to the poor, shelter to the homeless, clothes to shivering orphans. She’d done all that and wound up executed; looking at Tanza and the tephan officer, I couldn’t help wondering how much worse they thought I deserved.

When I’d gathered all the pages I could into a crinkling, crunching mess, I followed in silence as the officer led us along the route we’d taken, every block seeming as long as a mile. When we reached the familiar yellow building where everything had started, I gave the pages to the officer, and he motioned for Tanza to go toward the stair of the building.

“Is there anything else I can do?” I asked Tanza, almost desperate.

Tanza just turned her head away.

“I think you’ve done enough,” the officer said. The words were soft, but I heard the condemnation in them.

I shouldered my purse more firmly, avoided Tanza’s eyes, then asked the officer, “Can you tell me where to find a train station?”

The officer pointed down the street in the opposite direction from where I’d originally approached the building. “The nearest one is just beyond the Killing Square.”

The words shocked me out of the numbness I’d been feeling. “The what?”

But the officer was already rattling off directions, and I was too busy memorizing the steps—left, then right, past the purple tower, turn two blocks after the bridge—to ask what exactly a Killing Square was. I didn’t think a uniformed police officer would purposely send me to my death, so I assumed something had been lost in the translation.

“Thank you, officer,” I said when he finished. Then I looked at the girl and added, “Thank you, Tanza.”

Tanza's green clothes—now scuffed from battle—hung loosely off her slumped shoulders. After a long moment, she raised her head and looked at me from beneath lowered lids. “Goodbye,” she said.

Her tone meant, “Good riddance.”

My pride flared at that. I thought I'd been rather compassionate--helping her gather the pages, hailing the officer, even trailing her all the way to her home to make sure that she arrived safely. Surely she could show a little gratitude.

But as I walked through the narrow, battered streets, it was my own rudeness that haunted me. Snatching the ring from her fingers as though afraid she'd contaminate it. Fleeing from her rather than fulfilling the promise. Leaving her to fight five against one when a moment's action on my part could have saved her. All day, I'd thought myself better than her because I was human, but my actions had been inhumane.

I tried to put it behind me. There was nothing else I could do. The book was gone, beyond repair. Tanza probably never wanted to see me again. It was best to move on and forget all about the tephan girl and the dark-eyed queen that so fascinated her.

Then I turned the corner and came face to face with Queen Marastel. A picture on the gray stone wall, larger than life, showed the woman whose face I’d seen a hundred times in Tanza’s book. I stopped in my tracks, mesmerized. The image was a photo, more or less, but not like any photo or holo-image I’d ever seen from human technology. The colors were more muted than reality, while a strange vibrant shimmer added depth to the image, so it looked as though I could walk inside the pictured scene with a little effort.

The queen’s hair had gone completely gray, her jewels were gone, and her vividly colored gowns had been replaced by a white fabric sheath. What I noticed most were her eyes—they were striking in most of the book photos, but here, her gaze knocked the breath from me. Surely no human gaze could show that much sorrow.

How was she here? Would this queen haunt me wherever I went on this planet, reminding me of my sins against the child?

I noticed a small plaque next to the picture, with a tiny Anglese translation at the bottom, which explained that the image showed Queen Marastel in front of this very building, moments before she was led to death in the center of the square. “Oh,” I said aloud, turning slowly to examine the streets and buildings around me as understanding struck. “The Killing Square.”

This was the center of the revolution that had ended this planet’s monarchy. It was a hauntingly bland neighborhood; no sign of the violent destruction that Tanza had told me of, not after more than eighty years’ worth of repairs. But pictures and plaques decorated almost every building I saw, telling the story that time had erased. Seven brothers from Kepha stood scarred but proud before a jeering band of executioners. A red-haired older woman tried to cheer up three children as armed rebels escorted them all to prison. The king himself stood tall and white-haired, every line of his face showing his fierce love for his planet even as his people tried to kill him.

I could list examples all day, but I could never make you understand the feeling of being there, gazing at these people in the moments before their deaths. They were young and old, tall and short, had hair and skin in every imaginable shade. They came from regions I hadn’t known existed--desert wastes and mountain ranges and snow-covered tundras. These people had families they’d hated to lose, homes that were as familiar to them as the cottage by the Atlantic had once been to me. They’d made mistakes and suffered for it. They, too, had regrets.

Fear, anger, hatred, love, bravery, cowardice--every possible human emotion filled those alien faces, and it didn’t take long for me to stop seeing them as alien at all. They were people, who’d lived on this planet just as I did, who had loved it the way I’d loved Earth.

I’d never even wanted to know about this world before, but now I was desperate to understand every story these pictures presented. Without Tanza’s book providing context, would I even have paused to look at these pictures? Would I have cared about these people? I doubted I would have. Tanza's childish enthusiasm for a book had upended my world--as I’d upended hers.

With that thought, I found myself back before the picture of the queen. Her sorrowful eyes pinned me in place. It seemed, to my overworked imagination, that she was disappointed in me.

I glared at her. “What else do you want me to do?” I demanded. “What’s done is done. I can’t fix it. I don’t even know what book it was.”

In that hall of death, it seemed a pitiful excuse.

I tore my eyes away from the picture, and my gaze landed upon a door I’d wandered past in my history-induced daze. It was brown and wide, with a sign above proclaiming it the entrance to the Museum of the Alogath Execution Center. I wandered toward it, then froze in my tracks only a few steps away. Next to the entrance was a window—and through the window, I saw books.

This was a museum! Museums—even tephan ones—had gift shops! If there was one place in this world that sold books about Queen Marastel, it was likely the museum that displayed her face on a public street.

I raced into the building, almost giddy, and found the shop just beyond the main entrance. The tiny nook held pamphlets and trinkets, and at the front of the room, a big, silver BookVend machine printed and bound volumes with lightning speed.

I raced through the door. The tephan woman behind the counter dropped her book in surprise as I leaned, panting, against her counter.

The woman asked in smooth Anglese, “Can I help you?”

I stood up and tried to look less like a maniac. “Yes,” I said, in my best politician’s-wife voice. “I need you to help me find a book.”

The door to the charity home loomed large in front of me. I hesitated with my hand before the door. Was I doing something stupid? The freshly-printed book under my arm might not change the fact that the child would want nothing to do with me.

This wasn't about me. I had to try.

My knock was answered by a pale, knobby tephan woman with wisps of blond hair hanging around her face. She stared when she saw my face and clothes. “Madam?”

“Excuse me," I asked, "but does a girl named Tanza live here?”

The woman's eyes glazed over as she struggled to translate my Anglese.

I tried again, speaking more slowly. “Is Tanza here?”

“Tanza…” She trailed off in confusion before her eyes lit with understanding. “Oh!” Gently, she corrected, “It’s pronounced Tanza.”

It sounded exactly the same to me. I was starting to believe those people who said tephans could speak and hear sounds that humans couldn't.

The woman called into the building, and after a storm of voices and footsteps, a slight tephan girl in green clothes came to the door, her curls making a curtain over her still-puffy eyes.

Tanza scowled when she saw me. “What do you want?”

I took a deep breath and stepped forward. “I wanted to apologize,” I said. “For what happened. How I treated you. You saved my ring and I treated you like an animal. That was wrong.”

Tanza crossed her arms. “Glad you noticed.”

This child kept finding ways to irritate me, but I swallowed my words before I snapped back in response.

I pulled a book from under my arm. “I know this doesn’t erase what you went through, but I wanted to undo some of the harm that I’ve done today.” I handed her the book, which had the same cover as the book she’d brought to the restaurant. “This is for you.”

Warily, Tanza examined the queen on the cover. “It looks the same.” She flipped through the pages, and her eyes brightened. “It is the same!”

“I printed a new copy. There’s a BookVend down the street. You rescued my ring; it was only fair that I replace your book.”

"Yes, but I didn't think..." She examined the book in amazement before turning that astonished gaze upon me. "This is really mine? To keep?"

“Yes, of course,” I said.

Tanza clutched the book to her chest and smiled at me, positively radiant. That smile transformed her from a feral orphan into a polite little princess.

I couldn’t keep from smiling back.

“Thank you,” Tanza said. Then she saw the other book under my arm. “What’s that one?” she asked, as though hoping it was for her and not daring to ask.

I pulled it out and showed her the cover. It showed the same image of the queen, but this time above an Anglese title—The Queen of Sorrow. “The Anglese edition,” I explained. “This one’s for me.”

If I’d thought she was happy before, it was nothing compared to her radiance now. “You’re going to read it?”

I shrugged. "I couldn't resist. You made it sound so interesting."

She bounced on the balls of her feet. “Wait until you get to Chapter Five. That’s when she first meets the king, and you would not believe the uproar it causes."

She set down her book, grabbed mine, and started flipping through the pages, desperate to show me the start of the story.

From down the hall, an adult voice barked, “Tanza! Don’t bother the woman. I’m sure she’s busy.”

Embarrassed, Tanza closed the book. She pushed it back into my hands. “Sorry. I don’t get to talk about it much.”

“I don’t mind. You’re an excellent instructor.”

Her eyes brightened with hesitant hope. “I could show you more. If you want.”

“I’d be grateful.”

Tanza called over her shoulder. “Garsa! Can I have a visitor in the study room?”

The tephan woman appeared in the entryway. She blinked, taken aback. “As long as she leaves before supper."

Tanza looked up at me. “Do you want to stay?”

No tephan had ever asked me that question before. In all my time here, I’d been an outsider. An invader. I’d never had the desire to be anything more. But those words, coming from Tanza, felt like a welcome.

I was glad to receive it.

I put a hand on Tanza’s shoulder and smiled. “I’d love to.”

#arateph #fairy tale retelling #sci-fi

49 notes · View notes